Charming the Firefighter (7 page)

He flinched.
Sweet.
Whoop-de-freaking-do. Sweet was friend-zone material. Sweet did not get a guy laid.

The last girl he’d had a thing for had thought he was sweet, too. Estelle Monroe was gorgeous, even prettier than Kennedy. They’d met in the spring, had gone out a few times while she’d been in town visiting her father. She’d been his first kiss, though he’d never admitted that to anyone.

Especially when it hadn’t gone well.

Still, they’d worked through it and when she’d gone back to Houston with her mother, they’d tried the whole long-distance thing. But after a few weeks, they’d both lost interest. Last time she’d texted him, she’d admitted she was seeing some college guy. He told her to go for it. To be honest, it hadn’t bothered him. He wanted a girlfriend he could actually see every day. Talk to. Touch.

Kennedy leaned toward him, her shoulder pushing against his arm as she helped herself to a chip from his plate. He froze, could barely breathe with her so close. She smelled amazing, like sunshine and sunscreen and some sort of floral scent that he figured was her shampoo.

“Did you try the cookies Luke’s mom made?” she asked, nibbling on the chip. “They are, like, so good. I had two.”

Then, her eyes on his, she slowly ran the tip of her tongue along the corner of her mouth, licking a speck of salt, then rubbed her lips together.

Andrew went rock hard.

Shit.

“Drew?” she asked, a small, satisfied smile on her face. “Did you hear me?”

He blinked several times, had to look down at his plate. What had she asked him? Oh, yeah. “Uh...I had a couple of the chocolate-chip ones.”

“Those were good, too. But these were the spice ones with cream-cheese frosting.”

He hated cream cheese. “I’ll have to try one later.”

She patted his arm. “I’ll grab a couple for you.” She climbed to her feet, once again using him to balance as she swung her leg around the bench, except this time, she pressed close to him and spoke directly into his ear, her breath washing over his skin. “Be right back.”

Don’t watch her go. Do
not
watch her go.

But he couldn’t stop himself. When she disappeared around the corner of the Sapkos’ one-story brick house, he jerked his attention to his food. Hoped no one had seen him staring at her, drooling over her like some dog.

Wanting his best friend’s girl.

Andrew shoved his burger aside. Not that he’d ever come on to Kennedy or anything. Not while she was with Luke, anyway. There was a code, one he wasn’t about to break even if he didn’t understand it all that well. After she and Luke broke up—like, a few weeks after maybe—and when Luke was okay with it, Andrew would make his move.

Kennedy and Luke wouldn’t last their entire high-school careers. They couldn’t. It would burn out eventually, then Andrew could prove he was the right guy for her. She already liked him. Yeah, as a friend, but there were times he thought maybe she had a thing for him, too. Times he’d catch her watching him, interest in her eyes. And she was always touching him—when Luke wasn’t around. Nothing major, just a quick stroke of his arm or hand. She stood close to him when she saw him in the hallways at school, her hip or thigh touching his.

She even texted him sometimes late at night, just to talk. Andrew didn’t think she told Luke about any of that. He sure as hell wasn’t about to.

Not because he felt guilty, he quickly assured himself. Or because they were doing anything wrong. It just wasn’t any of Luke’s business. They weren’t messing around behind his back or anything so why make it into a big deal?

He lifted his head to see Kennedy walking toward him in her short cutoffs. Her waist was so narrow he could probably span it with his hands, her stomach flat. A light breeze lifted the ends of her hair; the sun made her skin glow. He couldn’t look away.

“Here you go,” she said, her voice husky as she set a thick cookie in front of him.

“Thanks.” He took a bite, forced himself to swallow without grimacing. “You’re right. They’re good.”

Sure they were. If you liked sour milk. But he’d eat an entire bowl of cream cheese frosting if it meant she’d smile at him the way she was now.

“Told you.”

They ate their cookies in silence. The wind picked up and he considered putting his shirt back on, but Kennedy kept shooting looks at his chest and abs. He straightened and inhaled slightly, knowing it made the ridges of his stomach stick out.

He didn’t quite have a six-pack, but he was close.

She leaned toward him, setting her hand on his thigh. “Do you want to go for a walk?” she whispered.

His mind blanked. Just...shut off with an audible click. She wanted to go for a walk? With him? “Everything okay?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s just...Luke. You know how he gets around all the guys.”

Andrew had no idea, but Luke had obviously done something to upset her. It wouldn’t be a big deal, them disappearing into the woods behind the house. She probably only wanted someone to talk to.

He flicked his gaze to her hand on his leg, liked how it looked against his skin. Imagined her sliding her hand higher, under the hem of his shorts, in between his thighs, those fingers curling around—

“Dude.” Luke slapped him on the back. “You are one lucky bastard.”

Andrew jumped. Kennedy slipped her hand to her own lap and edged away.

“What?” Andrew asked, knowing damned well he sounded guilty. He tried again, this time even adding a grin. “Why’s that?”

Luke sat on Kennedy’s other side and pulled her in between his legs, linking his hands across her bare stomach. He kissed the side of her neck and murmured, “Hey, baby.”

She wiggled out of his arms. “Oh, so you have time for me now?”

He tugged her back. “Come on. I always have time for you. And you’re not going to be able to stay pissed at me once you hear how I found Drew the perfect girl.”

Andrew glanced at Kennedy, who sat stiffly, her arms crossed, her mouth pulled into a frown.

“A girl?” Andrew asked stupidly.

Luke wiggled his eyebrows. “A hot girl.”

“What are you talking about?” Kennedy asked, turning slightly to face him.

“I found our good buddy here a date.” Luke grinned widely, proud of himself for somehow managing to find someone to go out with Andrew.

Andrew’s hands curled into fists. Jesus, way to make him sound like a pathetic loser who couldn’t get his own dates.

“Who?” Kennedy asked.

Luke took a drink from his water bottle. “Jessica.”

Kennedy narrowed her eyes. “Jessica Constable or Jessica Wilber?” She slapped his chest. “It had better not be Jess Hanover. She is such a slut.”

“None of the above. It’s Jessica Kloss and I have it on good authority that she has a thing for the Free-man here.” He held out his hand, leaving Andrew no choice but to slap it. “Congrats, bud.”

Kennedy’s mouth pinched. “Jessica said she liked him?”

Luke tapped his phone. “She texted me a few minutes ago asking if he was talking to any girls. I told her no and gave her his number.” Luke nodded at Andrew. “Don’t be surprised if she texts you tonight.”

Andrew felt for his phone, but it remained silent and still. “Who’s Jessica Kloss?”

Though this town and school were small, there were still close to eight hundred kids at the high school. “She’s a sophomore,” Luke said. “Dark blond hair to here.” He motioned to his shoulders. “Plays varsity volleyball...” He scrolled through his phone, typed in something, then held the screen up so Andrew could see his Instagram feed.

“Cute,” Andrew said of the sunny, smiling blonde in the picture.

Cute, but not Kennedy.

“When she texts you,” Luke said, putting his phone away, “see if she wants to hang out this weekend. The four of us can go to the movies or something.”

Andrew couldn’t help but glance at Kennedy. She stared at the table. What had he expected? That she’d give him some sort of sign, a signal that she didn’t want him talking to Jessica? Didn’t want him with her?

That was stupid. Kennedy wasn’t his girlfriend. She was Luke’s. He had to remember that.

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “That’d be cool. That is, if it’s okay with you, Kennedy.”

She lifted a shoulder but didn’t meet his eyes. “Why wouldn’t it be?” She shifted and wound her arms around Luke’s neck, her hands in his brown hair. “I’m bored.”

Luke hooked his finger under the strap of her swimsuit and ran it up to her shoulder, then down to the swell of her breast. “Yeah? I thought you wanted to play Wiffle Ball.”

“I changed my mind.” She arched her back and Luke’s free hand settled above the curve of her ass. She wiggled closer. “Maybe we could find something...else to do?”

“We could always ditch the picnic for a few minutes,” Luke said, his voice low. “Hang out in my room for a while.”

Andrew wanted to stab his ears with a fork.

“I’ll meet you there in five minutes.” She stood and kissed Luke.

And when she straightened, she looked directly at Andrew. Held his gaze for one long heartbeat then walked away, her hips swaying.

“Dude,” Luke said, “if my parents ask about me, tell them the last time you saw me was at the pool.”

Andrew tried to smile. “Yeah. Sure.”

Luke took off, keeping his own pace slow.

Andrew slumped in the seat. Someone called his name and he saw a couple of the guys near the driveway waving him over. He lifted his hand and stood. The last thing he wanted was to sit there and think about what Kennedy and Luke were going to be doing in five minutes.

But the more he tried not to think about it, the more images filled his mind. Except they weren’t images of Kennedy and Luke, but Kennedy and Andrew. Of her hands on him. Her mouth. Of what it would be like to be able to touch her whenever he wanted. Wherever he wanted.

His body stirred, his groin tightening. Damn it. Again? He quickly sat down, adjusted himself in his shorts. Some days he wished his penis had an on/off switch. It’d be less embarrassing that way.

“Having fun?” Luke’s mom asked as she joined him.

And just like that, he went from turned on to contemplating never again even thinking about sex.

Mothers had that effect on people.

“Yeah,” he said, his face warming as if she could somehow read his thoughts. “It’s great. Thanks again for having me.”

“Have you seen Luke around? He promised he’d help gather wood for the fire.”

Andrew swallowed, forced himself not to so much as glance at the house lest she figure out what her son was doing in his bedroom. “Uh...he might be in the pool still.”

Making a humming sound, she studied him, as if weighing his words on her bullshit meter. He must’ve passed, because she smiled, wrinkles forming at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She was very...round. Round face. Round body. Her short brown hair was half gray, but then she was pretty old. Older than his own mom, even. Like maybe...fifty.

“It’s a shame your mother couldn’t come, too,” Mrs. Sapko said as she gathered the empty plates and glasses from the table. “I was looking forward to getting to know her better.”

His mom wasn’t exactly friendly at the best of times. She was awkward and unsociable and tended to put people on edge because she always had to be right. Had to be the smartest and best in the room. “She...uh...she already had plans. But she asked me to tell you thanks for, you know, inviting her.”

“She’s welcome here anytime, as are you. I’m glad to hear she’s made friends in town,” Mrs. Sapko said before walking away with the garbage.

Andrew snorted. His mom didn’t have friends. Even before he’d gotten sick, she’d never gone to lunch with other women or had a night out. She spent her time with him and his dad or at work.

Period. No hobbies. No outside interests. He couldn’t even remember the last time she went to the movies.

People avoided her. She was uptight, anal and uncomfortable with herself, and made everyone around her feel that way, too.

Was it any wonder he hadn’t told her she’d been invited here?

The last thing he needed was his mommy hovering over him, telling him what he could and couldn’t eat, watching him from the corner of her eye, as though she was afraid he’d take one misstep and fall off a cliff. She was way overprotective and too controlling. He just needed a few hours away from her.

But it bugged him, a little, how sad she’d looked when he’d asked if he could come here instead of hanging out with her all day. How weird she’d acted when he’d left. How unlike herself.

His stomach cramped. Not from guilt. Probably something he ate. His mom was fine. She liked being alone.

If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have left his dad.

She was probably doing paperwork or reading some book about the dangers of wheat or how dairy products were causing all of America’s health woes or something else to make his life more miserable. It was better that she hadn’t come. He didn’t want her here. She’d ruin everything with her endless worries and constant nagging. He finally had friends. Was accepted into a group. They all thought he was just a normal kid.

He
was
normal. And he didn’t want anything, or anyone, to take that away from him.

CHAPTER SIX

B
Y
9:33, P
ENELOPE
HAD
zoomed past worried, had a brief visit with anger, and was now firmly in frantic mode. She paced the width of the living room, stopping only long enough to peer out the front window to the street, but there were no signs of headlights, no sound of a motor. Where was he?

She called Andrew’s phone. Again. It went directly to voice mail as had her other six calls. “Andrew, it’s me. Call me. Now.”

Chewing her lower lip, she considered her options. There was no sense calling the police—he was only half an hour late and she had no reason to think he was anything other than perfectly fine. That he was running late due to bad decision making and possibly a flat tire.

No reason except her overactive imagination and the fact that life didn’t come with guarantees of safety or good health. She wasn’t naive. Didn’t fool herself into believing that nothing horrible could ever happen to her or her child. She was a realist, one who had faced every parent’s worst nightmare and had, fortunately, gotten through it.

Because her child had lived through it. He had lived.

All she wanted was to keep Andrew safe. That was her job, the most important thing a parent could do. Protect her child. It would be a lot easier if he’d listen to her.

And come home on time.

What if something
had
happened? What if he’d had an accident on the way home and was, right this minute, lying in a ditch calling for help? Or had been knocked unconscious?

What if he needed her and she couldn’t get to him?

Still pacing, she tapped her phone against her mouth. She hated this feeling of helplessness. Her son was missing. She needed to spring into action, take whatever measures were needed to find him and bring him home.

Then, when she knew he was safe, she’d kill him for turning her into a living-room-pacing, cell-phone-tapping lunatic.

Headlights flashed and she rushed to the door and threw it open, only to watch as a pickup turned left and drove down the road. She slammed the door shut, the sound amping up what was becoming an impressive headache.

She was never drinking again.

Probably.

She pressed the number nine on her phone. Andrew wanted to test the boundaries? Wanted to see how far he could push her? Well, he was about to find out. No more Miss Nice Mom. She was going to file a police report, say her car had been stolen. When they found her car, they would find her son. Problem solved.

Great idea,
her inner voice said in a decidedly sarcastic tone.
The Shady Grove Fire Department already thinks you’re careless and can’t be trusted to light a grill. Might as well let the police department know you’re also paranoid and can’t control your son
.

Perching on the edge of the armchair, she frowned. Why did her inner voice always have to be right? It was so annoying.

Okay, she needed to think this through. Chances were Andrew was fine. He’d lost track of time or, more than likely, wasn’t paying attention to it in the first place. And if the police found him hanging out at Luke’s house, safe, sound and rebellious, she’d feel and look like a fool. Plus, they might charge him with auto theft.

That she briefly considered her son getting arrested a fitting punishment for missing his curfew had her dropping her phone as if it had caught fire.

Dear Lord, she was losing her mind.

Lights illuminated the room. This time she didn’t move until the car pulled into the driveway.

She shut her eyes and sent up a prayer.
Thank you.

By the time she reached the back door, Andrew was strolling toward the house, whistling under his breath—whistling, for God’s sake!—as if he didn’t have a care in the world. When she constantly worried about everything, spent most of her time weighing options, planning for the next possible disaster.

It wasn’t fair.

But then, who ever said life was fair?

She stepped onto the deck, the wood planks cold, the dampness soaking into her socks. “You’re late,” she snapped. “Where have you been?”

“Luke’s.” His tone suggested he wanted to add a
duh,
but thankfully, he refrained. He stepped inside, forcing her to retreat. “Why isn’t the grill covered?”

She glanced at the grill and, sure enough, it was not only uncovered, but the plate of raw turkey burgers was still on the side table. “I forgot.”

He tossed the keys onto the counter. She sighed and picked them up, hung them on the hook where they belonged.

“I thought after using it we were to always clean the grate, let the grill cool completely, then cover it,” he said in that snide tone she hated. “No matter what.”

“Funny how all of that escapes your mind when it’s up to you to cover it, but the one time I forget it’s suddenly deeply ingrained in your head.”

He opened his mouth, probably to give her some grief, then narrowed his eyes. “What happened to your face?”

She bristled. She didn’t consider herself vain, but those were words no female wanted to hear. Ever. “When I lit the grill there was a small...flare-up.”

His eyes widened. “You got burned? Are you okay? Did you go to the hospital?”

“I’m fine. It’s a minor burn.” Though it had hurt like the dickens when she’d showered, but the aloe she’d put on had helped.

“Are you sure?” he asked, sounding concerned and scared. For her. It was a new sensation, him worrying for her health and well-being. A nice one.

She unbent enough to pat his arm. Soften her tone. “I’m fine. Really. It was a stupid accident, which is why we always need to be careful when we’re lighting the grill.”

“I guess.” He tossed his sweatshirt onto a chair and pulled out his phone. “Six calls? Overzealous much?”

Overzealous?
Seemed she wasn’t the only one who used their advance vocabulary words when the time was right. “You could have answered at least one of them.”

“I was driving. No talking or texting while driving, remember?”

“I highly doubt you were driving the entire time as it takes less than ten minutes to get from Luke’s to here.”

“Your first call was at eight-fifty.”

“I didn’t want you to forget to be home by nine. Which, I might add, you weren’t.”

He texted someone, not even glancing at her. “I’m not that late.”

She was so tired of this. So very, very tired of the fighting and lecturing. Of always having to be responsible, of being in charge. Of taking care of him.

To her horror, tears stung her eyes again.

Maybe she was having some sort of mental breakdown. After the day she’d had, she figured she deserved one.

“You are late. Over half an hour.” Her voice shook, but she fought to maintain control. “And after I let you go over there, the least, the very least, you could do was be home on time.”

He shifted his feet, reminding her of how, not that long ago, he’d hated getting into trouble, had hated making anyone feel bad or hurting their feelings. “Look, I’m sorry I was late, okay? We were playing Wiffle Ball and the game was tied. If I had taken off, my team would have had to forfeit.”

Playing Wiffle Ball? In the dark? Highly doubtful.

But if she asked, he’d get defensive and accuse her of thinking he was lying.

Which she did. She just couldn’t prove it. Didn’t have it in her tonight to try.

“Fine.” She stepped outside, grabbed the burgers and covered the grill haphazardly before returning, locking the door and turning off the outside light. “I’ll let it go this time. But next time something like that happens, please do me the courtesy of calling me to let me know.”

“I will.” He studied her, his mouth twisting in concern. “You sure you’re okay? Your hair looks funny.”

No kidding. She brushed her bangs to the side. First thing tomorrow morning she needed to make an appointment to get the fried ends cut off. “I’m fine.”

“I’m glad.”

Then he did something so shocking, so out of character, all she could do was stare.

He hugged her.

He
hugged
her
.

Oh, it wasn’t a real embrace, just a one-armed sort of squeeze, but she’d take it, mostly because he’d initiated it. It was like her birthday, Mother’s Day and Christmas all rolled into one.

Except on those days she was the one doing the hugging while he silently suffered through it.

He stepped back. “Next time, be more careful,” he said, sounding so much like her she blinked.

Her lips twitched. Who would have thought she’d find a reason to smile today?

An image of Leo Montesano, all tall, dark and muscled, sprang to her mind. Yes, he could definitely put a smile on a woman’s face, but he was like the moon. All golden and bright—and out of reach. She had no business thinking of him. He was pure fantasy.

Penelope preferred to live in the real world. No surprises. No changes in direction unless she was the one doing the navigating. No trips off course or to destinations previously unknown. Some, like her ex-husband, called her negative, but she preferred to think of herself as pragmatic. Did good things happen? Absolutely. But that didn’t mean you could count on them. Better to be prepared for the worst and pleasantly surprised by the best.

“How was the picnic?” she asked as Andrew stuck his head in the refrigerator.

“Okay.” He straightened, three plastic containers stacked in his arms.

“Didn’t they feed you there?”

He set the food on the island. “Yeah. We had burgers and stuff, but they put the food away like, over an hour ago.”

“An eternity,” she said drily. He grabbed a fork, peeled open the taco salad and stuck it in, taking a healthy bite. When he went in for another round she grabbed the container. “Ugh. No. Just...no. Sit.”

He did so and she got him a plate and dished out his food. Poured him a tall glass of milk, then sat next to him.

She never got tired of watching him, her boy. Even when he hunched over his plate and shoveled food into his mouth as though afraid someone would snatch it away and never feed him again. He was smart and handsome and complicated and strong. He was the one and only person to ever truly be hers.

She was terrified of losing him.

“You know,” she said slowly, “I realize I have high expectations of you. I have them of myself, as well. I won’t apologize for expecting you to do and be your best, but I understand that it might get frustrating, having someone pushing you all the time.”

He shrugged, kept his head down. “It’s okay. I mean, yeah, it’s a pain in the a—er, the butt being told what to do all the time. But I know why you do it. I’ll do my best to get better grades this year.”

“That’s all I ask.” She wanted to ask for straight As, which she thought him perfectly capable of, but even she knew where her limits were. “I appreciate you putting in the extra effort. And to prove that, I’m willing to extend your weeknight curfew to nine-thirty—”

“Yeah?” he asked, grinning widely.

“After you prove to me you can meet the original curfew of nine o’clock for a month. If you do, and you’re not late once, we’ll extend it and your weekend curfew, too. Sound fair?”

She waited, breath held. If he thought it unreasonable, he’d explode, have one of his impressive tantrums or give her the silent treatment for days on end, using grunts as his only form of communication.

Actually, she didn’t mind that one too much.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “That’s fair.”

Her breath whooshed out. She smiled. Reached out to brush his hair off his forehead, but didn’t want to ruin this moment by having him flinch from her touch so she lowered it to her side. For now, sitting with him like this, no tension between them, was enough.

For now, she’d enjoy being with her son.

* * *

T
HE
NEXT
AFTERNOON
, Penelope looked up from her computer at the knock on her door. Before she could open her mouth, Emilia Moore, the company’s receptionist, stepped into the office.

Penelope set her eyeglasses aside and pinched the bridge of her nose. She was lucky to have found a position at Stone, Bragg and Smithfield. They were one of the more successful accounting firms in southwestern Pennsylvania and she enjoyed the work and her supervisors.

But she couldn’t get used to the lack of concern over the proper way of doing things. Such as waiting until someone actually bid you to come in before entering an office.

“There’s someone here to see you, Ms. Denning,” Emilia said, her tight white jeans leaving nothing to the imagination. Not that there was much left to imagine. The low-cut burgundy blouse bared a lot of the younger woman’s assets.

Frowning, Penelope flipped through her daily agenda. As she’d thought. Blank. “I don’t recall having any meetings this afternoon.”

“You don’t. Your calendar is wide-open,” Emilia said, her voice, as always, cheerful and bright. It was enough to give anyone a headache. “Which is awesome since you’ll want to give this particular visitor as much time as possible.”

“Why? Who is it?”

Emilia paused and Penelope had no doubt it was only for dramatic effect. “Leo Montesano.”

Penelope’s mouth dropped. Literally dropped. Worse than that, she couldn’t seem to do anything about it. Only God knew how long she sat there, jaw hanging wide open, gaping at the pretty brunette.

“You okay, Ms. Denning?” Emilia asked, her face scrunched up in what Penelope supposed passed for concern. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Penelope finally managed to shut her mouth and even stood, though her movements were jerky. “I’m fine. Thank you.” She wiped her damp palms down the front of her skirt. Hated to admit her hands were trembling. “Did...uh...Mr. Montesano say what his visit pertained to?”

“Nope. But then, I didn’t ask.”

Of course she didn’t.

“I’m sure he just needs help with a tax question,” Penelope said, shooting for nonchalant, but suspecting she came across as slightly psychotic.

Emilia’s smile had a sharp edge. “Well, yeah. I mean, why else would he want to see you?”