God, I want him to break me. I’ll put my heart on the line. I’ll pine for him when I move back to LA or when he finds a woman whose investment doesn’t get burned down and whose ex-husband isn’t hard to manage and whose friends don’t betray her trust.
I’m tired of taking hits. All this forcing myself into a posture of invulnerability has drained me. I’m desperate for soft and gushy.
Does he want to bring out that side of me? Is hethatinterested?
The server brings us plates of eggplant parmigiana and bowls of pasta. I twirl a forkful, and Brady talks about getting drafted after his junior year of college and deciding not to finish his degree. The Sharks took him on, but he got injured a few weeks into playing for their triple-A team. The following season he suffered another tear on the same hamstring, which meant he didn’t play in the Majors until his third season. In his fourth season, he tore the hamstring a final time and called it quits on his baseball career.
“I spent a year brooding in LA. My life got pretty pathetic. My girlfriend from college, who came down to LA to live with me,decided we were better apart. Or, make that, she decided she was better off with a waiter who was between acting jobs. How pathetic am I to lose out to that guy?”
“She’s the pathetic one.”
“She wanted to have her fun. We dated for six years. She's married now. Has two kids. They live in Phoenix. On social media, her life looks perfect. I’m happy for her.”
I give him a flirty once-over. “Me too.”
He gives me another one of his charming grins, and a raw, needy intensity builds inside me. Should I seduce him? Throw myself at him? Talk dirty until he’s tearing off my clothes with his teeth?
I feel myself touching my neck, letting my hand drift back to my nape. Brady watches, his gaze dark. Is this how I cast a spell on him?
The server brings us bowls of pistachio ice cream covered in hot fudge. Brady tells me about soul searching in Seattle and volunteering for wildland fire crews in the Pacific Northwest.
“One thing led to another, and I entered the Fire Academy.”
“But it’s so dangerous.” I scoop up a bite of the sweet, nutty green ice cream and thick fudge.
“There's danger. There’s also training and know-how and trusting your crew. Those things mitigate the danger. I've been doing this for eight years, and no one I’ve worked with has gotten seriously injured. Everyone's very careful.”
He makes it sound like any normal job, which it’s not. “You get to be a hero. You saved Ollie from getting burned or worse. He could’ve died out there. My family thinks you’re the greatest.”
He shakes his head. “It’s a job, a good one for me. I like the intensity and the challenge. I think most of all, I like living in Whispering Pines.” He glances around the diner. “People are good to each other. They respect each other. They’ve got each other’s backs.”
I set my spoon next to my empty bowl. “I think ultimately that's the reason I moved back here. I wanted to be in a place where Lara and I would feel secure. That feeling of people having your back is hard to come by in LA, especially if you're not from there.”
“I know what you mean. I felt lost in LA. In Whispering Pines, everyone knows each other and they have their fights and their opinions. But when it comes down to helping one another, there’s no question. People step up for each other.”
I look down at our empty bowls. I don't want this night to end. I don’t want to go back to Mom and Dad’s place and worry about Lara and fires while wishing I was with Brady.
“I know you’ve got work tomorrow, but does that mean you have to go to bed early?”
“Nope. Ah, what do you have in mind?” The hot firefighter’s cheeks darken.
“A drink at Winkles? Is that okay?”
“Yeah, I can go for a beer at Winkles.”
The night carries a sharp bite of autumn chill. We head in the direction of Winkles’ neon sign on the next block. Should I take Brady’s arm? Hold his hand?
“Oh, god,” I say, stopping in my tracks as the realization hits. “When people see us walk in there together, they’re gonna think we’re announcing ourselves as a couple.”
Brady shrugs. “Let them think what they’re going to think.”
“I guess Jake and Daphne probably already told everyone we were having dinner at Pines.”
“Then they know.” His fingers brush mine, and desire warms me in soft waves. We weave our fingers together. His hands are manly, callused everywhere, and thick. These are hands that take care of people, save lives, and score home runs.
He could score one with me.
Winkles Saloon on Friday night is packed as usual. It smells like wood soaked in beer and decades of tobacco smoke. I can almost make out the lyrics from a Carrie Underwood song under the laughter and conversation.
