Louie

What had Jessica thought of the basket? I’d spent all day wondering. Wondering and picturing her lifting her face to the sky and biting into a red apple, juice wetting her lips. How I’d love to lick them clean. It was no wonder apples had been the forbidden fruit, the symbol of temptation. They were a sensual fruit.

Surely Jessica had been surprised to receive the basket. But had she been surprised in a good way? Happy to know I’d been thinking of her? Or had it been an unwelcome surprise from a man whose firefighting and dog-catching skills she appreciated, but who she otherwise had no real interest in? When we’d talked in the car yesterday while searching for Stinker she’d seemed to be enjoying my company. But maybe she was that way with everyone. Maybe she was just a friendly person.

My phone pinged with an incoming text. I grabbed it from the coffee table in the station’s lounge.

How’s Stinker? The band sounds great. Count me in. Thanks for the apples. I’m baking a pie.

It figured she’d ask about the puppy first. Jessica was a caring person. But pie, huh? That sent my mind in a very different, very naughty direction. I should probably have been ashamed of the thoughts I was having. But instead I enjoyed them.

Once the fog of lust cleared from my brain, I pondered the text. While I was glad to hear from Jessica in any form, I’d been hoping she would call me so I’d be able to hear her voice and better gauge her level of interest. Texts could be difficult to interpret. She’d used no exclamation points. No emojis, either. But she had said seeing the band sounded “great.” She could have just gone with “good” or “okay.” I chose to interpret her words as an expression of immense attraction, because that’s what we men do. We tell ourselves whatever we need to hear to protect our big yet surprisingly fragile egos.

I was glad she liked the apples. Before ordering them I’d debated calling a florist, but sending flowers would have sent a different, more serious message and would have made us both feel more awkward had she not been interested and turned me down. Fruit had seemed a safer bet, and apples seemed like the perfect—if typical—gift for a teacher. I’d shelled out a hefty fee for a quick and early delivery, but it had paid off. Jessica Bellingham would be my date this Saturday. I pumped a discreet fist. Woot!

Harrison was sprawled on the recliner nearby, watching the Rangers-Orioles baseball game on the station’s big-screen TV and running a hand over the back of Stinker, who lay dozing contentedly by his side. The little pup had already stolen everyone’s hearts and made herself at home at the station.

I cut a glance at the seasoned paramedic. “That teacher’s coming with me to see your band Saturday night.”

“Teacher?” He cocked his head. “The busty redhead, the leggy blonde, or the cute one with the curls?”

“Curls.”

“You could have had any of those women. You know that, right?”

“Yeah. I know.” Boy, how times had changed since my days as Meatball. Back then, I couldn’t get any girl to give me a chance, despite my status as a varsity football player. I’d asked three girls to the junior prom. All three had turned me down.

He dipped his head. “You made the right call, DeLuca. The others would be fun for a month or two. But curls? She could be a keeper.”

My thoughts exactly.

I wanted to call Jessica, to hear her voice, to see if I could get her to muster up that sexy giggle that got my juices flowing. But I didn’t want anyone else listening in and there was nowhere in the station where my privacy could be guaranteed. So I sat back on the sofa, lifted my feet to rest them on the table, and drafted a text response. I snapped a surreptitious photo of Stinker lying next to Harrison and sent that along with a message that read Stinker’s settling in. Everyone’s fighting over her. It was true. Two of the guys had played a game of rock-paper-scissors earlier to see who’d get to take her out back for some playtime. Refusing to accept defeat, the loser had followed the winner and the puppy outside and played with her, too. The only time my coworkers didn’t argue over the puppy was when she’d had an accident on the station’s floor. They were more than happy to let me take care of the messes she made. I’ll pick you up at 7:00. What’s your address?

Jessica’s reply came a few minutes later. Glad to hear Stinker’s having fun. She followed up with her address and apartment number. Third building on the right. Second floor.

I recognized her address. It was for an apartment complex on south Bellaire Drive, west of Texas Christian University’s enormous football stadium, but far enough from the campus that rental prices were more reasonable than those in the immediate vicinity of the college.

Got it. See you then.

Now all I had to do was get through the next day. Something told me it would be a long one.

* * *

It was indeed a long day. I found myself constantly checking the time, which seemed to move at a slug’s pace. I also found myself repeatedly rereading the text Jessica had sent me. I’m baking a pie. Had that been a come-on? Should I have asked to go over to her place for a piece of pie? Or had it been an innocent statement merely meant to let me know she was enjoying the apples I’d sent? Ugh. Dating could be complicated, especially at first when you didn’t know someone well and had to learn how to read them.

The only saving grace was that I had Stinker at the house with me. She proved to be a good distraction. I took her for a three-mile run, though I spent most of it trying not to trip over her when she darted right in front of me or untangling her from the signposts she’d circled around. Looked like we’d have to work on this a little more before she’d learn to stay by my side. We also played tug-of-war with the rope toy. I threw a ball for her several times. “Fetch, girl!” She brought the ball back to me once, but the other times she either ran past the ball, lay down to gnaw on it, or changed course en route to chase after a butterfly. Despite my taking her outside every half hour, she piddled once on the kitchen floor and once on the carpet. I wagged a finger at her, but she didn’t get the message, biting my finger with her sharp little puppy teeth instead. It was impossible to get angry with her, though. She was just a puppy with a lot to learn.

I took a shower at 6:00 and stood in front of my closet wearing nothing but a towel. I normally didn’t pay much attention to what I wore, even when going on a date. One shirt’s pretty much as good as another, isn’t it? But for some reason I gave my clothing a little more thought tonight. I’d wear my tan loafers and my best pair of jeans, but with what shirt? My first thought was the green-and-white striped button-down. But should I wear the dark blue shirt with the contrasting plaid collar and cuffs instead? My mother had bought the latter one for me. She’d probably know what a woman would find attractive. After all, she was one. I decided to go for the blue shirt and hung the striped one back on the rack.

Once I was ready, I loaded Stinker into the car and drove her to the fire station, where the firefighters on duty would gladly babysit her and keep her company until I picked her up later. The pup taken care of, I drove to Jessica’s apartment complex, circled through the lot until I spotted her unit, and parked. A few seconds later I was standing in front of her door. It wasn’t unusual for my heart to be pumping wildly when I went into a home, but normally it was because the home was on fire. I took a deep, calming breath as the instructor had taught us in the fire academy years ago and raised my hand to rap on the door. Knock-knock.

She opened the door.

Whoa.

When I’d seen Jessica on Monday and Wednesday, she’d been dressed in casual, comfortable clothing. Well, that and the windbreaker. Tonight, she wore a pair of black heels—wedges?—with ribbons that laced up her shapely calves. Sexy. Her pink dress ended at her knees and came up high around her neck, but it had no sleeves, leaving her arms and shoulders bare. She’d pulled her curls up into a pile on her head, leaving her neck exposed, too. So much touchable, kissable skin . . .

My mouth spouted the words in my mind. “Wow. You look beautiful.”

She blushed softly. “Thanks. It’s nice to have a reason to dress up.”

A Persian cat sauntered up and twined between her legs, rubbing himself on her firm, smooth calves. Lucky cat.

She bent down and picked him up, turning him in her arms to face me. “This ball of fluff is Shirazi.”

I reached out to take one of his paws and improvised a handshake. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Jessica giggled, that soft feminine sound that made me instantly hard. Her cat laid his ears back and eyed me suspiciously. He must have smelled my hormones kicking in and realized I wanted to do naughty yet pleasurable things to his mommy.

“Ready to go?” I asked.

“I just need to grab my purse.”

She set the cat back on the floor and grabbed a small black purse from a table near the door. After stepping outside, she turned around to lock her door. I couldn’t help myself. I leaned in while her back was turned and silently sniffed her hair. Vanilla. Sweet. My jeans seemed to shrink another size.

We walked to my Jeep and I helped her into her seat. I’d left the top on the Jeep tonight. I’d learned that women don’t like their hair to get messed up after they’d spent time fixing it.

I cranked on the air, tuned the radio to the classic rock station she’d chosen when we’d searched for Stinker on Thursday, and aimed for the pub.

We made small talk on the short drive over.

“The kindergarten classes are taking a field trip next Wednesday,” she said. “We’re going to the Museum of Science and History.”

“That’s a fun place.” I hadn’t been there in years, but I had fond memories of going there as a kid. It was one of the few museums that featured hands-on exhibits children could touch and manipulate.

“The kids love it,” she continued. “We go every year. The only hard part is getting enough chaperones. Few of the parents are willing to spend one of their vacation days chasing children around. Of course, I can’t much blame them. I’m hoping we can take the kids to a play at Casa Mañana in the spring, too. Depends on how much money the PTA still has in its budget.”

I cast a glance her way as I turned a corner. “You like live theater?”

“I love it,” she replied.

I made a mental note of that fact. If tonight went well, maybe I could take her to see a performance at Bass Hall. The venue featured traveling versions of many of the hit Broadway shows.

We reached the pub a few minutes later. Some of the others from the station had already arrived with spouses, boyfriends, or girlfriends and had pushed two long tables together at the back of the patio. I rounded up a couple of chairs and we joined them, taking seats next to Frankie and her boyfriend, Zach, all of us waiting for the band to take the stage. When the waitress came around, we ordered burgers and beers.

“Plus a shot of whiskey,” Jessica said.

That raised my brows. “Going for the hard stuff, huh?”

Her eyes twinkled. “I teach five-year-olds. I’ve earned it.”

Several of us around her chuckled.

We were finishing up our food a half hour later when Harrison and his fellow band members took the stage, dressed in powder blue tuxedos with the white ruffled shirts and shiny white shoes of a bygone era. The pub’s manager stepped up to the mic. “We’ve got a great band here to entertain y’all tonight with some of your favorite songs from yesteryear. Give it up for The Imitations!”

The crowd applauded, whooped, and whistled as Harrison took the mic and launched into the Four Tops’ hit “I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie/Honey Bunch).”

I grabbed my beer bottle and held it like a microphone, singing into it. I couldn’t help myself.

Jessica smiled and issued a soft giggle. Was there any sweeter, sexier sound on earth?