The Fireman I Loved to Hate by Jenna Gunn
Chapter 3
“I am not letting this go,” I tell Monroe, as he yowled in his crate. “Trisha is checking you out, and that is final. I have no idea what else you did out there, besides climbing a tree you had no business on. Quit whining, because it’s not getting you out of that crate.”
I grab my keys, phone, and purse on my way out the door, grateful she had an available appointment open so quickly after his escapade yesterday. I back out and I’m halfway down the road, before I realize Monroe stopped his yowling. “Decided to be a good boy now?”
No. He didn’t.
I left him in the house.
I dart back home and run in to find him asleep in his crate. I whisper, “Oh, you really are a good boy.” I carry him carefully to the car, strap his carrier into the passenger’s seatbelt, and we’re off yet again.
On the drive, I can’t stop thinking about the fireman from yesterday. I didn’t even get his name. He just showed up, ignored what I told him, and got my cat out of my tree. And then, I kissed him. It’s so unlike me. I have no idea what’s gotten into me. And he didn’t even want to make small talk or love on Monroe. Who does that?
It’s a long drive to Trisha Nash’s veterinary practice, but well worth the extra attention Monroe is afforded. She’s the best vet I’ve ever known, and also my best friend since high school. Being in a rural area, there are a ton of country vets, but even if we weren’t besties, I’d still bring Monroe to her. People come from far and wide to have her see their animals. Plus, the drive gives me time to think.
Back to the fireman. In my line of work, I don’t often interact with men. Romance novels are usually tailored to women, the industry is rife with them, and in the past, I’ve gone weeks without speaking to a man. So, dealing with a close-mouthed, almost gruff guy was odd for me.
But he’s a good build for a hero or a villain. Tall, almost a foot and a half taller than me, which puts him over six feet. Giant shoulders. Shaggy chocolate hair. Dark brooding eyes that told me he had secrets to share. High cheekbones, square jaw. Strong nose that might have been broken once or twice. Long black lashes-
A car honks at me. I shake myself free of my reverie, wave an apology at the driver behind me, and speed off. He probably thinks I was texting at the stoplight, I sigh to myself. Just fantasizing about my next hero. Or villain.
He was sort of rude. Not rude really, so much as brusque. I felt no stubble when I kissed him. Clean hands. I bet he manscapes like every other modern man.
Yuck.
Okay, so maybe he wouldn’t be an ideal historical hero. I like writing about real heroes, the gallant, the dashing. Manly men, with three-day stubble and chest hair. Men who treat a woman like a treasure and sweep me off my feet with wild romantic gestures…I mean, sweep my readers off their feet with wild romantic gestures. They don’t make men like they used to, so I make them like they used to.
I realize I’m already four buildings from Trisha’s, before I even know it. I must have spent more time on the fireman than I thought I had. The downtown area is adorable, if you can even call it a downtown. There’s a handful of buildings, including a Dollar General and a bar. Throwing my car into park in her dirt parking lot, I grab Monroe’s crate and we go into her blue office.
I push the car door shut with my hip and Trisha is already coming out to greet me. Her crooked smile makes me return the look. In her southern drawl, she says, “Raina Groves, as I live and breathe, you get my favorite three-legged kitty in here!”
“Trisha Nay-ash,” I assault her with my terrible southern accent, “well, how the devil are you?”
She laughs and steals Monroe’s crate from my grasp. “You had to inflict that impersonation of a proper accent on me?”
I shrug, “It’s better than my Cockney English accent I try when I’m writing my books.”
“Oh, spare me, please,” she holds the door open and we go in, bypassing the front desk girl. “So you moved from Mount Pleasant so you could be an hour from anywhere important?”
“I like the quiet,” I say with a shrug.
“Sure,” she teases. Once we’re in the exam room, she gloves up and gets Monroe free of his crate. As she scratches his hind end, she says, “Tell me again what happened?”
I plop onto the counter and dangle my feet with a kick. “He got out a window and climbed up a pine tree.”
“Did he seem hurt yesterday?”
I shake my head. “I mostly just wanted to be extra safe. He seemed fine. Upset at the rude fireman, but fine.”
“Oh, that I had more clients like you. Overprotective. Paranoid. You know,” she looks at me with a gleam, “city clients.”
“I told you, I moved to Rockville for the quiet. I am not a city person.”
“You are going to be missing your Starbucks any day now, Raina, I know you.”
I shrug. “I have a coffeemaker and honestly, Trisha, I haven’t slept this well in years. I don’t hear the traffic all day. No airplanes. I have real fresh air. It’s already done wonders for my creativity.” I toss her a bag of Monroe’s favorite treats and she catches them. “I think he’s happier, too. He never had the urge to go exploring in Mount Pleasant.”
“Well, cats do that sometimes, when they’re in a new environment. You’ll want to keep him on lockdown for a few months, windows shut, that sort of thing. Just to be on the safe side. And speaking of safe side, I’m going to draw some blood.” She grabs the tools she’ll need for it. “He seems fine, but I’d like some definitive proof.”
“Don’t you have any other appointments today?”
“Nope. Country people usually don’t bring their animals to me out of an overabundance of caution. They bring them when they have to.”
I frown at her. “I am not a city person.”
“Mm, hmm. So, there was a fireman?”
I blink. “What?”
“You said there was a rude fireman. What happened?”
“Oh, right. He was the one to get Monroe out of the tree.”
Trisha asked, “What did he do that was rude?”
“Nothing in particular. He was just short about everything. Clipped. You know what I mean?”
“Was he hot?”
“No!” I say a little too fast for my own liking.
Her arched eyebrow tells me she’s onto me. “Oh?”
“He was a dick. He didn’t even pet Monroe after he got him out of the tree.”
“Is that all he did to earn such a terrible reputation?”
“No. He seemed like he was too good to be doing the petty job of saving my little man.”
Trisha smirks. “So he was a little too Mr. Darcy?”
“Oh, don’t you dare besmirch the good name of Mr. Darcy!”
She giggles and so do I. We grew up on the film adaptations of Pride and Prejudice, though more accurately, I insisted we watch them when it was my night to pick the movies. Trisha says, “Raina, he doesn’t exist.”
“The fireman?”
“Mr. Darcy. I know you’re holding out for him, but-”
“Not this again, Trisha,” I say with a sigh.
“Fine. Tell me more about your firefighter. Was he good-looking?”
I hesitantly nod. “Tall, dark, and built like a linebacker. But too clean-shaven. Too neat.”
“Mr. Darcy was always impeccably dressed and clean-shaven,” she digs at me.
I roll my eyes. “He was no Mr. Darcy.”
“And you’re no Elizabeth Bennet, but we all make do.”
I faux-gasp in protest. “How dare you!”
She laughs. “He must be awfully handsome for you to be protesting so hard. What’s the ye-olde saying about that?”
“‘The lady doth protesteth too much, methinks’, and you know I hate when you use my historical fixation against me.”
“Well,” she draws the blood and begins to stow her tools, “I think you like him, and you don’t want to admit it.”
I look away and confess, “I kissed him.”
“WHAT?”
I’m certain my face is bright red. “I was in the moment, I felt like a heroine in one of my novels, like he was rescuing me, not Monroe, and I kissed him out of gratitude, nothing more.”
Trisha giggles, “You harlot!”
“How are things here?”
Thank goodness she lets it drop. Her assistant comes for the blood sample moments later. Trisha tells me all about her receptionist’s boyfriend troubles, a client who mistook his dog’s nipples for growths, and a weird guy’s pigs. I make mental notes of her turns of phrase. Southerners tend to use similar phraseology to Regency English, so there’s a pattern to their word groupings that is almost poetic and very useful to my work. An assistant hands her a printout, and she glances over it. “Well, Monroe is perfectly fine, per his bloodwork.”
“Thank goodness,” I smile at him and he ignores it. If I were worried, he’d probably bounce around the room. He’s a very empathetic guy.
“Wanna grab lunch?”
“Is there a place around here for lunch?”
She rolls her eyes, “It’s not that small here.” After a walk to the fanciest diner in town (which happens to be the only restaurant in town), we sit outside on the patio for a sandwich. “So, this firefighter…”
“What about him?”
“Name?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t catch it.”
Trisha’s brow furrows, “A handsome guy comes to your rescue, you kiss him, and you don’t ask his name?”
“It wasn’t like that. I was worried about Monroe and everything happened so fast.”
“Easier to keep them at arm’s length if you don’t know their name, too, right?”
“Why are you on me about this? Don’t you have a love life of your own?”
She laughs, “At the moment, I only have yours to toy with.”
“Didn’t work with the mechanic?”
She shakes her head. “We had a difference of opinion and it would not be remedied by further dating.”
“That’s oddly specific and terribly vague. What’d he do wrong?”
“When I mentioned that I’d be happy to vaccinate his dog for free, he said he doesn’t believe in vaccines.”
“Oh,” I stifle a laugh. I know exactly how she feels about that.
“Yeah. It was never gonna work after that.”
I nod. “Well, hopefully, you’ll find someone who believes in medical science as much as you. Maybe a doctor.”
She laughs. “Not likely in this town. But you never know. People move to small towns all the time.” She stares intensely at me.
“This again?”
Trisha says, “You are a city girl, Raina. When you said you were moving to Rockville, I was beyond shocked. And I’m worried you did it because you were running away from your bad breakup. You know I worry about you, Sweetheart.”
I sigh. “I know. You’re the closest thing I’ll ever have to a sister. It’s nice to be worried about.” I think about it and add, “Sometimes. But you have to let me handle my love life. Or, my lack of one.”
“Do you want to talk about Spencer?”
“Not at all. And he’s not why I moved to Rockville. It’s just that, I stayed in Mount Pleasant, waiting for something good to come my way after him, and it never came. So, I decided I needed a complete change, a fresh start. Is that too weird?”
She smiles. “Not at all. Actually, that sounds really healthy. I’m glad to hear it.”
“Oh my gosh, did you just approve of something I did?”
That earns a giggle. “Maybe. But don’t get used to it.”
-
Later that night, I’m home in bed, wondering about the fireman. He was rather dashing, saving Monroe like it was no big deal. His broad shoulders would block out the sun, were he on top of you, I muse. As if I would have sex outdoors. Still, he was a good kisser, particularly for someone who hadn’t known he was about to be kissed.
My hand trails between my breasts, downward. I circle my navel, before my fingertips find someplace good. My back arches, while my hips shudder to life. Been a while, and the fantasy of the mystery fireman gets me hotter than I expected. His chiseled cheeks flushing as I bring him off. His groans…god I love when a man is vocal in bed. Before I know it, I’m panting and closing in on the good stuff. He’s so tall, I bet he’s well endowed. Thinking about him swelling even bigger inside me, that does it. I buck and gasp loudly in the dark, all alone.
When I stop shaking, I crack the window for some air. It’s boiling in my bedroom now. Or maybe that’s just me.
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