Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
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.”