From Air (Wildfire)

Chapter Eight

JAYMES

The smoke jumper base is a quick drive from the hospital. Since Fitz escaped to his room for the rest of the night after our standoff, I’ve decided to pay him a visit today with a container of chocolate chip cookies.

The sewing revelation has piqued my curiosity. Do these jumpers really sew their gear?

And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to mess with him.

I tap the light dusting of snow off my boots before stepping into the entry. A nutty caramel coffee aroma greets me along with country music. Displays with pictures and historical details about smoke jumping cover the walls. A mannequin wearing a tan jumpsuit snags my attention because the high rounded collar looks Elvis inspired.

A young blonde with curls turns down the music on her phone behind the counter and offers a welcoming smile. “Hi. Are you here for a tour?”

“I’m here to see Calvin Fitzgerald. I’m Jamie, his roommate.” I open the container and hold out the cookies. “I baked them yesterday.”

She smiles. “Oh, wow. Thanks! They smell amazing.”

I point to the mannequin. “What’s the deal with the funky collar?”

She takes a bite and hums her approval. “It protects the neck when falling through trees. The suit is made of a protective Kevlar material and lots of padding. Smoke jumpers get dropped into some pretty harsh terrain. It’s a badass job. But I’m sure Calvin’s told you all about it.”

I try to imagine Fitz in that getup. “He’s rather selective with his sharing.” I give her a wry grin.

She laughs. “I’m Bailey, by the way. Come with me. Let’s find Calvin. He might be eating lunch.”

I follow her past a room with industrial sewing machines, all idle. We end up in an open space resembling an oversize garage with crates and boxes stacked along the perimeter, workout equipment on one side, and a picnic table with Fitz and two other guys eating lunch on the other.

When he catches a glimpse of me, he stops midchew. I’m instantly rewarded with his obvious shock. It’s fair to assume he’s caught off guard by my presence because there’s nothing sexy about my purple scrubs and puffy white jacket.

Perfect.

“Fitzy, I brought cookies for you and your friends.” I plaster on my best smile. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” I slide the container of cookies on the table.

I can tell by his narrowed eyes and how he slowly sets his sandwich on the paper bag that he’s not offering any introductions. His buddies must be used to his stellar manners because they don’t hesitate to introduce themselves.

“Gary.” He adjusts his snowboarding-moose baseball hat, sharing a glimpse of his bald head, before offering me his hand.

I shake it. “Jamie. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Fitzy’s newest roommate.”

The grin on Gary’s salt-and-pepper scruffy face brings me so much satisfaction. He likes me, my nickname for Calvin, or the cookies. Perhaps all three.

“Todd.” The other guy offers a friendly nod. He looks closer to Calvin’s age. Maybe early to midthirties with what appears to be a dark-blond mullet under his solid-navy ball cap. Todd is the guy who drove Fitz home from the bar, but I don’t mention it because Fitz doesn’t need to know I spent the rest of the evening with one eye trained on him.

“A pleasure.” I scoot the cookies toward him.

The sugary aroma mixes with Todd’s open bag of cheesy Doritos for a rather interesting combination. He snags one and stares at it while grinning. “ Fitzy , you never mentioned your new roommate is a baker. You also never mentioned she’s beautiful.”

“Aw, shucks, Todd.” I tuck my chin and twist my body. “You’re the sweetest.”

He puffs out his already broad chest, clad in a green Missoula Smoke Jumpers T-shirt, and winks at Fitz, who rolls his eyes. “Well, are you going to give her the tour, or am I?” Todd addresses Fitz with a grin.

“I really should get back to work.” I peek at my watch.

“It won’t take that long,” Todd promises, grabbing another cookie and shoving half of it into his mouth.

“Well”—I corkscrew my lips—“I suppose I have time for a quickie.”

Gary covers his mouth and coughs a laugh while Todd perks up with a face-splitting grin.

“Christ,” Fitz mumbles, stuffing the last part of his sandwich into his bag.

“A quickie it is.” Todd begins to stand.

Fitz grabs his shoulder. “Just sit your ass down.” He jerks his head in the direction from which I came. “Let’s go, Jaymes.”

“Bye, guys. Nice meeting you. Make sure Fitzy brings that container home to me.” I give them a wiggly-fingered goodbye.

“Stop by anytime.” Todd delivers his invite with a flirty smile.

“Oh, you can count on it.” I skip to catch up to Fitz and his sexy ass in gray cargo pants.

Of course, he’s wearing a red smoke jumper shirt that’s accentuating every muscle beneath it. And I’ve decided I’m mildly obsessed with him wearing brown leather boots that are rarely tied. He might as well be my celebrity crush. I’m never going to tell him, and he’s off limits.

“We’re even now. Understood?” He shoots me a hawkish expression.

“Even? Whatever do you mean? I brought you and your friends cookies.”

“And I’m giving you the quickie you suggested. We’re even.” He nods to the room with sewing machines. “That’s where we sew shit.” We parade a few more feet, and he points to the right. “That’s the ready room. And over there is the loft, and the rigging room is beyond that.” He turns abruptly, and I bump into him.

When I take a step back, he gives me a tight grin. “There was your quickie. Thanks for coming by.”

I snicker, offering him an easy nod while wetting my lips. “Was it good for you? I’m not gonna lie—I didn’t climax this time. Perhaps Todd would have been more effective.” I peer toward the rooms we didn’t visit. “You barely gave me the tip. Maybe that’s all you have to give. A dickhead of sorts.”

He crosses his sinewy arms. “Are you done?”

I bounce my head noncommittally. “Are you?”

He blinks several times before he surveys the entire length of my body. I hold stone still and think of gross things like vomit and nasty flatulence, anything to keep from blushing. Fitz feeds off my uncontrolled vulnerability.

“How deep do you want it?” he asks in a throaty voice, reaching for my hand and pulling me toward the tall room with hooks hanging from the ceiling. I try to focus on the surroundings since I’ve never seen a room like this one. However, all my focus goes to my hand in his.

Mine’s cold but soft.

His is calloused but warm.

And despite our size difference, my hand fits nicely in his.

That notion sends me down another rabbit hole. Would other parts of our bodies fit this well?

In the next breath, he drags me through another door, leading to a room with lengthy tables and walls of cubbies with packs. He drags me to the far end at a vicious pace and stops, releasing my hand and spreading his arms like the Christ the Redeemer statue. “We went all the way. Did that do it for you?”

I hold his gaze, and we have a stare-off. Then I mutter, “I could use a cigarette.”

Fitz’s facade cracks, and he grins. “Get the fuck out of here.”

I bite my lower lip and pivot, retracing my steps to the exit. Best I’ve ever had, I mouth as I peek over my shoulder.

After work, I grab a workout at the twenty-four-hour fitness center that I joined a few weeks ago. Then I pick up a pizza to make up for my burned calories.

When I don’t see Fitz’s truck in the driveway, a pang of disappointment hits me, and I quickly reprimand myself for having that sentiment. Maren’s home. She and Will are my favorites anyway. Or so I tell myself.

“Ugh! You’re killing me.” Maren slams the fridge door when I enter the house. “I’m starving. I need to buy groceries, and you brought pizza I have to smell?”

I toe off my boots and set the box on the counter. “Good thing I’m thoughtful and like to share.” I open the lid, releasing that woodsy, tangy, sweet oregano aroma. “Help yourself. But if the guys show up, hide the box. I think they eat ten thousand calories a day.”

She gathers her wavy hair and pulls it over one shoulder with a grin before nabbing a slice of pizza. “Jaymes, you’re my favorite person.”

“How was your trip?” I ask, washing my hands.

“Boring.” She tugs at the neck of her white hoodie.

“How’s your inheritance looking?”

Maren laughs. “Not you too.”

“Just kidding.”

She plucks a mushroom off the pizza and pops it in her mouth. “How was your day?”

“Never boring.” I lean my hip against the counter and take a bite of pizza. It’s still hot and so good.

“How have things been around here? Have you seen the boys much?”

I laugh at her reference. “I don’t see Will that often, but I see Fitz in the evenings when he’s in town. He’s ...”

“Fitz?”

I nod. “He’s so intense.”

“Mmm ...” She sets her slice onto the box lid and takes a swig of her Razz-Cranberry LaCroix. “That’s just him. He likes his space. Spends a lot of time alone. He’s a voracious reader. Antisocial. Laser focused on things that are important to him. Controlling. And yes, intense.”

“His job. That’s what’s important to him. He’s a total Capricorn.” I take another bite of pizza and chew it slowly. “I respect that.”

Maren fists her hand at her mouth for a few seconds and swallows. “Yes, well, I don’t know much about zodiac signs. But he loves his job.”

“And he’s never been married?”

“Fitz?” She coughs a laugh. “No. That would require him to pursue a woman beyond”—Maren’s lips twist while she contemplatively gazes at the ceiling—“the bedroom. He can get women to sleep with him. I mean, look at him.” Maren grins. “But he either has no desire for anything beyond that, or he’s emotionally dead, because I’ve never met a single woman in his life. I suspect he’s not a virgin since he sometimes doesn’t come home at night. But who knows? Maybe he is.” She tosses the last bite of crust into her mouth.

“He’s never brought anyone here for the night?”

She shakes her head, bending the tab of her LaCroix can. “Have you seen Lars and the Real Girl with Ryan Gosling?”

“No.” I tear off a paper towel to wipe my hands.

“Well, he plays a character in love with a life-size doll named Bianca. Will’s waiting to meet Fitz’s Bianca doll.”

I snort into my napkin. “Stop ...” I shake my head. “Poor Fitz. I think you and Will are awfully hard on him.”

“No. No. No. There is no ‘poor Fitz.’ In case you haven’t figured it out yet, he can give it just as good as he can take it.”

“Oh, I’m aware. We’re currently in the middle of something he started over a month ago. I’m waiting for the perfect moment to get revenge, but if I’m being honest, I feel like the revenge is the torture he’s experiencing waiting for me to get my payback.”

Maren holds up a finger. “Watch your back. Fitz is ruthless.”

I hum while sipping my water. “I might be more ruthless. Actually, he can be charming.”

Sexy. Downright irresistible.

Maren inspects me through narrowed eyes like I’m speaking a different language.

The front door creaks open.

“Speaking of,” she whispers.

I peer over my shoulder at Fitz. He eyes me and then Maren. “Talking about me?”

“Well, I’m going to shower. Thanks for the pizza, Jamie.” Maren saunters past Calvin and playfully nudges him.

He squints at her, but he also relinquishes a tiny grin. When his attention shifts to me on his way to the kitchen, I scramble. After tossing my napkin in the trash and emptying my water glass, I nod to the pizza box. “There’s two slices left, if you want them.”

He lifts the lid and inspects them before eyeing me. “What did you do to them?” He sets the empty cookie container on the counter.

“Do to them?”

“Yes. What did you do to them?” He steps past me, snatching a kombucha from the fridge. “Poison? Pubes?”

“Pubes?” I suppress my laughter. “I’ve spent my life in a bikini, Fitz. I don’t have pubes to spare for your pizza.”

Fitz turns, removing the lid. He doesn’t make the slightest effort to hide where his eyes are pointed or the wolfish grin taking up residency on his face.

“I feel thoroughly violated.” I find a toothy grin.

In its own sweet time, his gaze crawls up my body.

Fuck him. Really. Could he be more obvious? Is this payback for my visit to his work?

Is this a test?

He’s toying with me, causing me to overheat just to make me blush so he can reveal his victorious smirk. I reject his smirk—no victory for him.

“Were you abandoned?” I blurt out before he can focus on my red cheeks.

“Excuse me?” His brow knits tightly.

“I heard you’re dating a blow-up doll. That screams abandonment. Are your parents still alive? Did you get dumped by your one true love? Did your family dog get hit by a car?”

There’s a pregnant pause.

No words.

Not even a blink.

It’s just me and Fitz’s unreadable expression.

Finally, he blows out a slow breath and stares at his feet. “She’s not inflatable. Her name is Mrs. Wilke, after my parents’ old neighbor who touched me inappropriately the summer I turned fourteen. She invited me over to discuss payment for mowing her yard. She told me to sit on the sofa while she fetched her purse. When she returned, she asked me if I liked her dress. I shrugged. Then she said it was made of the softest cotton her skin had ever felt. And she asked me if I wanted to feel it.

“I shrugged again. In the next breath, she grabbed my hand and guided it up her arm and then down the inside for some serious sideboob action, holding it there . And she said, ‘How does that feel, Calvin?’”

I can’t move. Can’t breathe. And Calvin’s frown deepens with each word as his eyes narrow at the floor between us.

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugs one shoulder and sighs. “So I named my sex doll Mrs. Wilke. And when I fuck her, I say, ‘How does that feel, Mrs. Wilke?’”

What the hell?

Calvin finally glances up at me and scratches his chin beneath his barely restrained grin. And that says it all—everything is a lie.

“Sucks being homeschooled.” I wink and saunter toward the door for my boots and coat. “Fitz, if you and Mrs. Wilke are ever open to a threesome, let me know. It’s been a fantasy of mine for years.”