Some like It Wild (The Wild Ones #2)(23)
Author: M. Leighton

If I’m even capable of doing something like having a little fun.

Frustrated, I walk to the fridge. My eyes move over the peach preserves and the butter, and the milk and the pack of ham, but nothing strikes my interest.

Until I see the peach wine.

It’s Saturday night. There would be nothing wrong with me having a glass of peach wine. Nothing at all. But thoughts of having one alone make it much less appealing.

I glance out the kitchen window, the sun now barely visible on the horizon. It’ll be dark soon. Another night alone. Another night without Jake.

Everything in me pauses on a gasp, it seems.

Unless I pay him a visit.

As soon as the thought enters my head, I instantly think of at least ten reasons why I should not go visit him. But, still wrestling with getting rid of the girl I’ve always been, I stand in front of the open fridge until the bottle of peach wine and my desire to test the flames of attraction overwhelm my reservations and mute them into silence.

Impulsively, before I can change my mind, I take the stairs two at a time. When I walk into Jake’s room, I think absently about how I probably should’ve moved into another room already. But rather than exploring the reasons why I haven’t, I focus on picking out a change of clothes instead. That’s much more fun and much less stressful.

I’m glad I hadn’t unpacked at my parents’ house yet. My exit the night they dropped Shane on me would’ve been much less dramatic if I’d had to spend half an hour packing up in my room. But as it was, I just tossed a few things in my smaller bag, zipped all my belongings into my bigger one, and took off. At least I have everything I need and no reason that I have to go back if I don’t want to. Because I don’t. At least not yet.

Speeding through a quick shower, I slather on some scented lotion and slip into a little white, summery skirt and a peach-colored top with spaghetti straps. After I slide my feet into white platforms that make me look taller and my legs look longer, I step back to appraise myself.

My hair is still in a messy updo from the shower, something that actually goes quite well with this particular outfit. My makeup could use some freshening, so after a quick swipe here and there, I’m ready to go.

Downstairs, I grab the peach wine from the fridge along with a couple of leftover chocolate cupcakes, toss a bone on the back porch for when Einstein shows up, and hit the door running.

I’m still trying to outdistance my better judgment. My cautious self. I’ve had enough of her for a while and would rather she just shush and let me get on with some semblance of a life.

It’s not until I turn into the lot of the fire station several minutes later that I begin to get nervous.

What the hell were you thinking?

With the engine still running, I sit in the parking lot, staring at the closed bay door, debating the wisdom of what I’m about do. The wine bottle in the seat beside me draws my attention. Reaching for it, I unscrew the cap and take a sip as I think. I take several sips actually. Enough to calm my jangling nerves and give me the courage to turn off the engine and get out of the car.

I straighten my clothes and make my way to the main door. It’s locked, of course, but there’s a lighted red buzzer to the left that says PUSH HERE FOR ASSISTANCE. So I do.

Within a few seconds, I see a shadow through the frosted glass. It appears at the top of some steps. After a few seconds, I see it move lower, coming down the stairs.

My stomach twists into a sick knot.

Just before I can bolt, the door opens. And Jake is standing there. Smiling.

“Damn if you’re not a sight for sore eyes! Did you know I was leaving?”

I stare at him, gape-mouthed, for a few seconds. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah. Ronnie just came in to relieve me. He wanted the overtime. I was heading home.”

“Oh, well in that case . . .” I say, feeling like a complete idiot. “I guess I’ll see you there.”

I start to turn away, but he grabs my upper arm. “Hold on, what’s this?” he asks.

It takes me a minute to figure out what he’s referring to. “Oh, it’s, uh, it’s peach wine. From your house.”

“You brought wine? To a fire station?”

His grin isn’t meant to make me feel small. No, I’m managing that quite well on my own.

I dig out the strong woman, the person in control, from way down deep. I’m not sure how much she’s ever in control, but at least she puts on a good front. “I guess that was pretty silly. It was an impulsive thing. I was bored. And I thought it would be nice to share a little of your hard work.”

Jake takes the bottle from my hand then wraps his fingers around mine and pulls me inside. “See, it would be a crying shame for such a gesture to be wasted. Let me show you around, and then we’ll get into this wine the right way.”

I don’t ask what that means. I simply go along, silently. I’ve already made enough of a fool of myself for one night. Best to just keep the mouth shut and hope I don’t make matters worse.

We ascend a set of grated steps painted an austere yet spotless pale gray. At the top are two doors, also painted a drab gray. Jake takes me through the first one. It opens onto a long hall with doors on either side. “This is where the living quarters are, as well as the office.”

I nod, looking around. “Everything is very clean. And . . . gray.”

We pass a couple of doors, both shut, both clearly marked who they belong to. The third door has a window in it. A blast of mouthwatering air hits me in the face when Jake opens it.

I peek around his shoulder to see three guys sitting at a round table pushed off to one side of the combo room. Opposite the table is a small kitchen, in front of that is a pool table, and in front of that is a couch and two chairs, all facing a television.

“Hey, I’m gonna take a friend of mine for a quick tour before I go. See you dicks in a few days.”

Three heads turn toward the door, eyeing me curiously. “You sure you don’t wanna hang around?” This from a thirties-looking short guy.

“With you apes? Nah, I think I’m good.”

“I meant her, dumbass. ’Course, if you’re afraid I’d steal her from you, I’d understand.”

“She’s not a lesbian, Johnson,” Jake says acerbically. “Oh wait, you’re supposed to be a dude, right?”

The other two start laughing, and Johnson just shakes his head. “That’s just wrong, man,” he says woefully. The others laugh that much harder.