Chapter Eight
Shane knew he was going to catch hell when he showed up for his next shift. He’d actually expected more of that from the guys at the diner, but they’d held back. Probably because Caitlin was new to town, but more likely because they wanted a read on the situation.
And whatever they thought they’d seen worth reading, they were dead wrong.
Not that that would change anything.
He had a mouthful of a bacon and egg-white concoction Matt had put together on an English muffin when it started.
“Not cool to get involved with her when you have one foot out the door,” Matt said. “Now none of us get a chance.”
Shane took his time chewing, appreciating the attempt at humor despite the fact that it didn’t hide that Matt was calling him out for being a jerk. “As if you had a chance anyway,” Shane finally threw back, though without taking his attention from the Formica tabletop. Actually, he was surprised he’d had a chance. Most of the women he dated were…compliant. Caitlin seemed to enjoy driving him nuts, and a rejection would have been right up there. Not that they were dating, much less out of rejection territory.
But that kiss. Goddamn. It was all he could do to get out of there, and then he’d spent the whole night awake, thinking about going back. Wondering if she’d actually stop by to see him, then deciding he was crazy for thinking she’d consider it. He’d caught her off guard, and unless he managed to forget that hold she’d had on his mouth and every touch that went along with it, he’d be paying for that for a long time to come.
If he knew her at all, she’d see to that.
“You don’t know I didn’t have a chance,” Matt said. He wiped his hands on a dishtowel and went back to the bacon. While on shift, they all took turns with dinner and were mostly on their own for lunch, but Matt usually took the helm at breakfast. No one knew why, nor did they complain. Anything hot was better than granola or cereal…unless it was something Lexi fixed. That woman had actually ruined PBJ—and to some extent, an entire departmental picnic—an extraordinary feat which in itself was the extent of her talents in the kitchen.
Shane measured his words. As long as Lexi was in the picture, he doubted a bus full of swimsuit models would turn Matt’s head, but Matt would be the last person on earth to admit it. He settled for neutrality. “I don’t know the last time you went out on a date, so don’t blame your drought on me. And on that note, what the hell is on this sandwich? Who has bacon and egg white in one place?” Egg whites, he thought, were for health nuts. Bacon was…bacon. Not exactly a match made in heaven, at least if you were the type to dispute a yolk.
“And butter,” Diego added, catching the conversation as he walked through the door, the napkin in his hand all that was left of his own breakfast sandwich. “It’s all over the English muffin.”
“It’s not just egg white,” Matt said dryly. “You may have noticed the yolk is smaller and tends to be in the middle, surrounded by the white. Perhaps if you took a man-sized bite?”
“He’s been watching Food Network again,” Jack cut in with a laugh. He’d walked in behind Diego, both having beaten Shane to the breakfast table and cleared out before he settled in. Shane wasn’t normally last in, but then again, he didn’t normally spend a few extra moments staring at himself in the mirror, wondering if his mouth looked as different as it felt. None of his paramedic training explained the weird tingling that lingered on his lips long after he’d left Caitlin on her doorstep.
“He did have a date last night,” Jack said. “He’s probably worn out.”
“If you say what I think you’re about to say,” Shane warned, “I’m going to put you on the floor.” He may have entertained a few dozen thoughts about what he’d wanted to do to that woman, but if any of them voiced a single one, he’d follow through on that threat before they finished the first sentence.
Jack gave him an incredulous look. “You want to beat me up because I think you hurt yourself begging?”
Like hell that was what he meant, but Shane let it go. “I didn’t beg,” he said, “because it wasn’t a date.”
Diego snorted. “Note the implication that he does beg on actual dates.”
“Don’t you have an engine to wash?” Shane asked, trying not to glare. He didn’t have a thing with Caitlin, and he knew they were just kidding around, but something fiercely protective clawed at him, and he wasn’t sure what to do with it.
Diego and Jack scattered.
Shane stuffed half the sandwich in his mouth so he could ignore whatever Matt was about to say.
Naturally, he said it anyway. “Don’t you think it’s fucked up to get involved with her when you’re leaving?”
Shane took his time chewing. And swallowing. “I’m not involved,” he finally said. “And it’s not her concern where I go. As long as she doesn’t forget how to call dispatch, her odds of survival are the same whether I’m here or in Denver.”
Solid argument, he thought.
Matt apparently disagreed. “I’ve seen you look at a lot of women in the last few years, and I don’t think I’ve seen you look at one like that.”
Shane toyed with his food. He wasn’t convinced he’d looked at her in any kind of way, though he had to admit—if only to himself—that she was different. No one before her had made him feel this way, which didn’t make it deep or monumental, but damned if he wasn’t struck by it anyway. “We had to rescue her twice in less than six hours. It’s self-preservation.”
With a knowing look, Matt said, “Yeah, I think I’d call that the opposite of self-preservation. Maybe you should stick around and see where it goes. It’s not like Denver is going anywhere.”
The suggestion was deceptively casual, but it hit a nerve. Shane did a half-ass job of tamping down his irritation. “Yeah, but I am. Period. I’ve done what my mom wanted, or my sister wanted, most of my life. This is for me, and it’s long overdue.” Too long. What had started as a guilt-driven nicety had taken control of his life, and he wanted it back. “As for what is or isn’t going on with Caitlin, I’ll tell you what, Matt. You admit you’ve got a thing for Lexi and we’ll talk. Until then, you’re the last person to call BS.”
Matt stared for a moment before shaking his head and walking off.
Shane studied his sandwich. Damned if the thing didn’t have a yolk after all. He finished it in one large bite and rinsed the dishes Matt hadn’t gotten to yet, then headed out after the rest of the guys. The line about the engine hadn’t been an excuse. The equipment had to be washed every morning, which tended to suck in the dead of winter, but it wasn’t so bad during the warmer months.
He found his gaze drifting toward the bridge and the neighborhoods beyond. He hadn’t spoken to Caitlin since he’d left her standing on her porch, staring after him in shock. He’d been grateful then for the chance to turn his back and throw on a helmet, because that kiss was supposed to put that irritated fire in her eyes, not send him into a tailspin at the thought of her little whimper. She’d probably forgotten all about it, whereas he’d spent the last thirty-six hours thinking about nothing else.
She must have gotten to work the day before. Probably this morning, too, though it was still early. She had Uber and a footbridge under her belt, besides which, she was a grown, capable woman. She would cross the bridge a thousand times without him, and he’d be gone without a second thought, so he wasn’t sure why he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Which was probably why he didn’t see it coming when the first blast of water hit him in the chest.
He sputtered.
Matt hit the ground laughing.
Jack stood to the side, hands out in a gesture of innocence he didn’t quite sell, but he obviously wasn’t the one controlling the spray.
Which only left one.
Diego peered nearly hidden from behind the engine, a telltale pool forming at his feet. Shane hid a grin. The leaking nozzle gave it away every time.
“Better sleep with your eyes open,” he warned to thin air, a whopping millisecond before the next blast hit.
But this time he wasn’t blindsided. He launched, slinging himself around the corner of the truck with a one-armed grab that sent him flying at Diego with warp-like speed.
Diego took aim again, but Shane managed to spin the nozzle on him, the brunt of the spray missing them both.
“Oh—!”
At the sound of a woman’s voice—Caitlin’s voice—Shane and Diego both let go of the hose at once. It hit the ground with a plop, landing directly on the handle and spurting a final stream of water directly up into Shane’s face.
“Ah, hell, I’m sorry,” Diego said—not to Shane, but to Caitlin—and Shane had never believed him more. He’d never seen anyone look more horrified, except maybe Caitlin herself.
Still half blinded, he wiped the moisture from his face with his wet forearm. Not the most effective tactic, considering all he did was move it around, but it was enough to give him a slightly less water-blurred view of Caitlin, who stood at the edge of the meticulously landscaped lawn, staring down at her wet white shirt, a water-splattered paper coffee cup in each hand.
“Go grab one of my off-duty shirts,” Shane called over his shoulder to Matt.
“Really sorry,” Diego repeated, before adding, “and for the record, not looking.”
Yeah, she’d just won every wet T-shirt contest in existence. No way Diego had missed that. “If you hadn’t looked,” Shane snapped, “you wouldn’t know not to look now.”
“Well, I’m not looking now,” he said dryly, “so that counts for something.”
“It would be great if no one would look,” Caitlin said.
Not a damned chance, Shane thought, but did his best to avert his gaze from tight dark nipples easily visible through the shirt and the bra underneath. At least two parts of her were cold, and he felt like an ass for standing there thinking of how he’d like to warm them up with his mouth.
“Here you go,” Matt said behind Shane.
Shane took the shirt, grateful for the distraction. “Thanks, man.” He settled the fabric over Caitlin’s head, then relieved her of the cup she held in each hand. She was probably freezing. It was a nice day, but not exactly warm enough to compensate for being drenched with cold water.
Her bright green eyes dug into him as she shrugged into his tee. It hung large on her, and immediately gained wet boob prints, but at least it wasn’t transparent. She used the bottom end to wipe water off her glasses then settled them back in place. “I brought you the book,” she said, digging into the bag he’d failed to notice, but now peeked from under his shirt. “And one of those is yours.”
“You brought me coffee?” It was so…domestic. And also quite possibly the most casual gesture on the planet, so he needed to stop reading into it.
“Yes. Black. I figured anything you might want to add to it would be stocked in the kitchen here, and that flavored stuff didn’t seem to be working for you.”
Her words took him aback. To be honest, he hadn’t expected her to show up with the book, and if he’d harbored a guess, he’d figure she’d pitch it at his head before handing it to him nicely, much less alongside a gift of coffee. Especially since she’d already admitted she’d considered they had coffee at the station, not to mention had already figured out he wasn’t as into cinnamon-roll flavoring as he may have led her to believe. To that point, he asked, “What made you think I wasn’t a fan?”
“You kind of wrinkled your nose going in.”
“It was new.” And also not good. She’d nailed him there, but he didn’t need to make it easy for her.
“Every sip?”
He laughed, though inwardly he cringed. The woman could already read him, but hell, she’d bothered to read him. “You watched every sip?”
Her cheeks turned pink. “Yours is the one with the X on it,” she said, completely ignoring his question.
He inspected the cups then handed hers back to her. “May I assume I’m forgiven?”
She dug the book out of the bag and handed it to him. “Now that you’ve admitted you did something in need of forgiveness? Probably not.”
“Hey, that was a cheap shot.”
Her brow rose. “And soaking me with a water hose?”
“That was Diego’s cheap shot,” Shane protested.
She shrugged. “I’m pretty sure you were in there, but either way, Lieutenant, it’s your shift. Aren’t you supposed to make them behave?”
“Probably, but they’re restless, not having to escort you across the bridge this morning. Did you walk?”
She shivered and took a sip of her coffee. “I did not.”
“If you ever need a ride, just let me know.” He wished he’d given her a better one last night, and currently entertained a less ass-hatted desire to take her to work or wherever she needed to be, because driving her had to be a better option than walking a few blocks in soaked shoes, but he mostly just wanted an excuse to see her.
He wouldn’t have many more opportunities for that.
She batted her eyelashes in an obvious bit of mockery. “So you’re in it for the whole two weeks, then?”
Ouch. He wished he had a read on the sentiment behind her words. Did she want to see more of him? Or was this another lob of sarcasm, calling him out on what she probably thought to be insincere bullshit. “Yeah,” he said. “The entire time.”
She pointed at his motorcycle in the parking lot and said, “I’ll keep that in mind next time I want my thighs to vibrate all night.”
Goddamn. Did she have any idea she was throwing these double entendres? No one could be that innocent, but she didn’t look the least bit interested in toying with him. At least not like she had after that kiss. He must be every bit the presumptive jerk she thought he was, because he could have sworn he’d been one bite of her lip away from being invited inside. But what had he done with that?
Fled.
And now, he harbored regrets. Raging motherfuckers. “Sweetheart, if you want your thighs to vibrate—”
“If I need a fireman,” she said firmly, “I’ll call 911.”
“If you need one,” he all but growled, “you’ll call me.”
“And once you’re gone?” She’d said the words as a challenge, like she was finally up for playing his game, but damned if they didn’t hit hard. Again.
He sipped his coffee to put off having to answer, but it didn’t help. He couldn’t shake the attraction, or the uncertainty that followed his every thought of Denver. He knew what he wanted. A high-stakes, high-adrenaline job in a place he was needed. A chance for advancement. His father’s legacy.
Women, warm and willing, who wouldn’t throw up roadblocks at every turn.
And not one of them would be Caitlin.
She watched him, expecting an answer.
He gave her one that made no sense under any circumstances whatsoever.
“Call me anyway.”