Man Cave, page 6
“Didn’t help,” Verna called again. This was my fourth day on the job, and she seemed to know my moods. Although to her, there only seemed to be one.
Her husband fought a smile but didn’t win. “You are surly.”
Surly? Try horny.
Okay, so I had two moods.
I arched a brow and didn’t argue because I was cranky today. More than usual because I was never quite this agitated. Turned on. Needy.
Coffee from Steaming Hotties wasn’t going to solve the problem. Mallory would. Getting her alone. With a bed. A couch could work in a pinch. Her naked. Or partially naked. Definitely her on her knees.
Fuck, I was obsessed with her kneeling before me.
I dropped my arms and set the laptop–again–in front of my poorly timed hard-on.
I’d been in town less than a week and had more free time than I knew what to do with. So far, I’d worked, slept, hung out with Mav and Bridget, and finger fucked Mallory in a restaurant parking lot.
My mission in life for the past fourteen years had been medicine and saving lives. Now my mission was how many different ways could I get Mallory off.
“Maybe I’m average on being surly. You and your wife could be too upbeat for your health. Ever get tested for it?”
If Mallory gave me that sass, I’d–Fuck… knees again.
He laughed because he thought I was joking. I was serious, and that made me officially surly. There had to be something wrong with serially perky and cheerful people. Like Mallory.
She was a fucking ray of sunshine. Who came like a dream. Who boldly put my hand on her pussy and pretty much called me out for being all talk and no action.
Oh, I took action. Her pussy had been so fucking tight. And dripping. If–no, when–I got my dick in there, I wasn’t sure if I would last longer than the teenage one-pump chump who got there first and ruined her. Why she hadn’t tried again in all those years was something I needed to figure out. There was no trauma there, not with the way she initiated and then came so quickly.
There was more to her than she let on and it seemed I could see through the cracks in her rainbow and unicorn facade. I was going to find out what made that woman tick, and scream.
Soon. Very soon, if my dick was in charge.
“—monthly volunteer fire department training.”
I blinked.
“Sorry. What?”
He repeated himself. “One of us goes and participates at the volunteer fire department training.”
“Meaning me.”
He nodded. “Our granddaughter has a softball tournament in Missoula so it’s your turn. It’s important to work closely with the rescue crew and other resources. I’m sure you’ll enjoy using your emergency skills and they’ll be thrilled to have someone with your background. Besides, you need to meet people, make new friends.”
Make friends? I wasn’t nine going off to a new school or summer camp. I steered clear of that and said, “I dealt more in gunshots and multi-car pile ups than avalanches and bear attacks.”
He tapped his chin, in deep thought. “Hasn’t been a bear attack around here in… oh, eight years.”
“Ten,” Verna shouted.
“As for an avalanche, I’ll tell the ski patrol leader that you’re eager to take their first class this winter.”
I shrugged. “I’ll take snow over bears.”
12
MALLORY
* * *
“How was the date?” Bridge asked.
I was at the gate waiting for my flight to Las Vegas, phone to my ear. I’d been at work, then driving to the airport and hadn’t had a chance to catch up with her until now about her arranged date with Tom. Plus, Bridge had been on a plane herself. She’d texted this morning asking if my vagina had had a workout, and since my six-year-olds were coming into the classroom, all I’d responded with was a sad face emoji. I didn’t even have time to respond to my mother’s text asking after the groceries.
No one sat on either side of me, but I glanced over my shoulder to see if anyone was in the row of seats that backed up to mine. All clear. I wasn’t having a usual conversation with my bestie where people could overhear. Who knew what we were going to say?
My college friends, Alana, Megan, and Lia, left from Boise and Seattle and were already in Vegas. Alana, who was getting married in Mexico on New Year’s Eve, sent a photo of the three of them lounging by the hotel’s pool earlier and I’d been jealous. I’d been lucky though and found a cheap flight that left after school was over today so I only had to take one day off. I’d be with them by the pool tomorrow soaking up that warm sunshine.
“Not great,” I replied into my cell, remembering Tom had fled the restaurant like a sprinter off the mark.
“What’s wrong with him?” she wondered. “Bad breath? Did he order something with garlic? Bad kisser?”
“No garlic. I don’t know about the kissing. We didn’t get that far.”
I wondered how much to tell her. I certainly wasn’t going to mention the diarrhea. She had to work with the guy. As for Theo’s presence, I didn’t want to share that either because what we did in the parking lot? H.O.T. But even I couldn’t explain what that had been.
If a little finger fun was all I ever got from him, I didn’t want it to be awkward for Bridge. She was marrying into that family someday.
“He didn’t even kiss you?” she sounded insulted for me. As if the two of them had made a plan at school and he hadn’t followed through.
“No. He said goodbye to me at the restaurant.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” With him.
“Hmm. Did he talk about the Civil War through dinner? I told him not to do that.” So they had chatted.
“No Civil War talk. Just… no connection.”
Not like I had with Theo, although half the time I wanted to whack him upside the head and half the time I wanted to climb him like a monkey.
“Mmm, yeah. That won’t work. When I get back, I’ll see if I can get anything out of Tom.”
Since they worked across the hall, I had no doubt she’d do some asking, especially if she advised him on topics to avoid in advance. He wasn’t going to say anything about the date. I was absolutely positive about that. At this point, I wanted to forget about it, too.
How could I be interested in Tom after Theo and his magic fingers? I didn’t know how long it took him to get me to come, but it wasn’t long. Like ridiculously fast. Under a minute.
Why? Because he was a filthy talker. The guy wore khakis and dress shirts and the man–when he wasn’t talking about bowel problems–was lethal.
You want people to know you’re being finger fucked in a parking lot?
I could still hear the deep timbre of his voice as he said that.
Did I? Want to get caught? No. But… no.
How would I know? I’d never been finger fucked not in a parking lot before.
Now, before getting on a plane, was not the best time to have wet panties.
“How’s it going there?” I asked, clearing my throat and squirming in the hard seat.
She was already in Boston with Mav to take down her dick professor. A perk of flying a private jet.
The bitch.
“The meeting’s tomorrow,” she said.
“Mav must be eager, in his usual calm, cool way.”
“Oh yeah. He’s been wanting to rip this guy’s balls off and shove them down his throat since that night at your brother’s bar when he learned the truth.”
I heard Mav murmuring something in the background, but I couldn’t make it out. Something like, the man’s going to wish he got his PhD in French.
I remembered that night. Theo was there. And Mav went creepily quiet and stole Bridge away.
“At a minimum, he won’t be able to get a job teaching addition to kindergartners when Mav’s done with him,” I said, eager for justice for her.
I was all for women taking care of their own shit, but there was something about a guy like Mav, all evil lumberjack, ready to rip the man’s head off for fucking with his woman.
The gate agent got on her little microphone and announced it was time to board.
Bridge laughed. “You’re all so ruthless.”
Mav grumbled again, then Bridge giggled.
Mav was at the top of the ruthless list, but I was right behind him. No one fucked with my bestie.
“I gotta go.” I stood, grabbed my purse and the gossip magazine I picked up at the small store after security. “The plane’s boarding.”
“Have fun with your friends. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Which was anything in Las Vegas because she hated the place. The people, the noise, the lights. All of it. Me? It screamed fun. Except the fun I’d been thinking about all day had been with Theo the night before. I wondered what might happen next. Had that been a random one-off? He said, ‘You want sex. I’ll give it to you.’
Would he? Or had it been a spur of the moment thing, the fooling around in the parking lot? Did he have regrets? Had I done it right?
I’d come really fast. Like ridiculously quick. I assumed it’d be flattering to a guy, being so responsive, but it was also over faster than it took to walk across the lot. I hadn’t really even touched him. I could’ve reciprocated. A hand job or a BJ or something. But maybe he wanted someone skilled. I’d have fumbled with my hands or probably gagged myself.
Gah! I was getting on a plane doubting myself. I hadn’t satisfied him, obviously. But was he satisfied by what he did?
I had no clue because we hadn’t talked more after he licked his fingers, then tucked me into my car and shut my door.
He hadn’t said goodbye, only knocked on the roof before walking off.
I didn’t even have his number. No way in hell was I getting it from Bridge either.
“I’m not that bad,” I muttered, heading for the short line, trying to put sexy thoughts of Theo out of my head. That one orgasm in the restaurant parking lot and I knew I couldn’t just fuck any guy. I had a pretty good feeling my vagina–and the rest of me–was only interested in Theo.
“Yes, you are. Don’t get married like Lindy and Dex,” she warned. “Ooh or arrested!”
Right. As if.
13
THEO
* * *
“It’s stations day.”
I arrived at the station at nine and was met by Mac, the chief of the volunteer fire department. As we walked through the bay area, he pointed out each fire truck and piece of rescue equipment.
“I’m sure you saw the blood donation bus.”
I nodded. I couldn’t miss the rig with a photo of a woman giving blood on the side of it. No one could, which meant good advertising.
“The nurses who run the bus are organized and well prepared, but the newer EMTs will practice vitals before and after someone gives blood.”
He pointed out the doors to the front parking area. Cones had been set up creating a one-way path for cars, like a drive thru. “That’s for car seat installation and check. Quick in and out.”
I nodded again. There wasn’t much to say. The guy and his crew had this well organized. With the firefighters in either all navy, with t-shirts with HVFD in huge letters across the back, or in heavy-duty bunker pants and boots, they were easy to identify.
“The real fun’s happening out back.” He grinned and his impressive mustache curled up at the ends. He was probably my age, maybe a little older. Rugged in appearance, as if he lifted huge fire truck tires for exercise. He had probably thirty pounds on me of solid muscle, but I could probably run farther. Which meant if there was a bear chasing us, I’d outrun the fire chief. Except he’d probably stand his ground and punch the beast in the nose.
He cut between two gleaming fire trucks and out the huge, open garage door in the back. Two totalled cars were resting in the middle of the back lot. Men and a few women, all turned out in their firefighting gear, including helmets and safety goggles, were placing emergency tools on a tarp beside each one. I recognized the Jaws of Life, an ax, and a pry bar.
“I don’t get to see this side of MVAs,” I commented.
“All set, Chief,” a man called. His t-shirt said lieutenant on the front, although the letters disappeared as he zipped up his bunker coat. “Hey, Doc,” he called to me.
I raised my hand in hello as Mac nodded in response.
“Ready to have some fun?” he asked, slapping me on the shoulder. It was a brisk morning, but perfect weather if suited up in the thick bunker gear.
“Sure.”
“Good. You’re victim number one. See Gant over there and he’ll get you suited up.”
I arched a brow. I expected to be doing some pretend resuscitation or intubating or something. “Victim?”
He nodded. “You’re going into the back of that car and we’re going to rescue you. We’ll try not to poke you with a tool. If we cut off your arm or break your neck practicing our medical skills, you’ll be able to tell us what we’re doing wrong.”
“If I’m going to get poked this morning, I’ll give blood.”
“You can do that after the training. We have thirty minutes to get you out to stay within the golden hour to ensure we can transport the patient to docs like you in time.”
He referred to the immediate window of time after an emergency during which chances of preventing death by getting someone to medical care was the highest.
“The slower team buys dinner and drinks later.”
The man I imagined was victim number two just finished suiting up in bunker gear and awkwardly climbing through a broken passenger window on one of the totaled cars. A wool blanket was handed in after him, then flung over his head. Since he was only a pretend victim it was obvious they wanted to shield him from broken glass or any other fun debris from the extrication.
The firefighters grabbed their tools, got organized and got busy. The revving of power equipment cut through the peaceful fall morning.
“Claustrophobic?” he shouted over the noise.
“Not yet, but I might be after this.”
He laughed.
I was serious.
“Let me guess, a trauma surgeon’s idea of fun is sharing x-rays of the worst impalements?”
Unfortunately, he was probably right. The things I’d seen, and many of the impalements were intentional, sexual and through the anus, were pretty crazy.
Instead of answering, because I figured the question was rhetorical since he already knew the truth, I countered, “And this is your idea of fun?”
My brow never went down the entire time he talked. He and I both did our best to save lives, but the difference between his kind and mine was clear. He did the real saving and I just ensured they stayed alive.
“Hell, yeah.”
“Come on.”
He took me over to the unoccupied totalled car and introduced me to the group as I put on the borrowed bunker gear, piece by piece. Five men and one woman. All young. Fit. Excited.
I listened as they talked through their action plan, then was helped into the car. I had to climb through the front windshield on my stomach, then slither between the two front seats, only narrowly missing losing my balls on a stick shift before settling into the back seat. The ceiling was crumpled down and it was fucking tight. Through the dirty windows I saw the team grabbing their tools. Mac stuck his head in the front window and shouted over the power generator that just kicked in.
“You good?” he asked as I settled the borrowed helmet on my head, then tugged the safety goggles down from the brim.
“I’ll buy the entire crew food and drinks if they get me out of here in under fifteen minutes.”
He grinned and handed me the wool blanket, just like the other fake victim had received. “Now’s when I tell you you’re joining me at my kid’s school on Monday. Career day.”
I took the blanket, then stilled. “What?”
He grinned and his mustache twitched. “Career day. You. Me. Monday.”
“I’d rather give blood in the bloodmobile,” I muttered, but he heard me.
“Why’d you become a family doc then, Doc?”
“I’m thinking I may have had a mini stroke before I said yes,” I muttered, looking around at my surroundings. Totaled car, hopefully competent firefighters wielding the Jaws of Life and other ridiculously sharp and pneumatic-driven power tools. “If I say no to career day, will you still get me out of here?” I yelled, then tossed the blanket over me. I wasn’t sure if he was an asshole or really fucking devious.
Make new friends, Jeff had said. Right.
14
MALLORY
* * *
“I got arrested.”
I was sitting, awkwardly in my dress–the one that I thought was sexy when I put it on the night before–on the Las Vegas courthouse steps. I had the worst case of walk of shame ever. The dark green halter dress and strappy heels only looked slutty and sad in the bright morning desert sun.
Bridget laughed in my ear. “What was it? You felt up a Chippendales dancer? Stole chips off a whale at a baccarat table?”
I didn’t know what a whale was, but I didn’t really care. I didn’t care about much of anything right now. I was hungry, dehydrated, broke, and humiliated.
“I know! You were counting cards,” she continued, enjoying her own jokes. She knew very well she was the one who could count cards.
“Prostitution,” I muttered.
She laughed even more. “You? Prostitution? Good one.”
I frowned at a crack in the cement step. “Good enough to be handcuffed on the casino floor, put in the back of a squad car, fingerprinted, had that fun photo taken, and put in a holding cell with a few others arrested for solicitation who I’m now social media friends with until my appointed time in front of the judge and was told my case would be bound over and had to pay bail for my release.” I said that in one long rush, the worst run-on sentence ever.
