Fridays have always been my favorite day of the week. Aside from the obvious introduction to the weekend, it is also the conclusion of another week of working hard towards a better future.
Today is especially good because after a private showing of my still-not-sold deceased estate property—the very one that brought Marco into my life—an offer was presented, and following some pretty minor negotiation, I’m now in the office boardroom with my real estate broker/boss, John, and a very happy young family of four, ready to sign on the dotted line.
As with all of my other sales, I haven’t told anyone about this one because I’m superstitious when it comes to counting my chickens. It’s probably why I took my time warming to a certain lieutenant too.
With all the formalities taken care of, I stand and shake their hands, laughing when the wife pulls me in for a hug and whispers, “Thank you,” in my ear.
I walk them out, handing them the bottle of champagne I bought to commemorate their new home with, and wave them off as they disappear down the road.
Returning to the boardroom, I find John sitting back in a chair, hands on his head, manspreading like he was born that way. His eyes and smile are pinned my way. “Another one in the books, Ren. What does that make it now?” John asks.
I grin at him as I gather together all the sales paperwork from the table. “That was lucky number one hundred and fifty in Chicago.”
“Congrats. We should all go out to celebrate,” he says, looking up at me.
John is a nice, respectable, decent man—he’s just never done it for me. I’m a woman who knows pretty early on whether there’s potential for anything past friendship. John is a good friend, an awesome broker to have at my back, and reliable to a fault. What he’s not is a ten years younger Italian American who makes my heart race at the mere thought of him, who turns me into a klutz whenever I’m near, and who has me sleeping next to his jacket just because it smells like him.
He’s also not the first person I’d want to call about good news, like a milestone house sale. A certain Chicago firefighter, however . . .
With the signed contract papers in hand, I straighten and focus my eyes gently on John. “I’m actually having a quiet night in because I’ve got big plans tomorrow night.” Big plans. Huge, if what I’ve felt of Marco so far is accurate.
“Oh. Well, good for you,” he says, standing and walking around the table. “Then I won’t keep you any longer. Make sure you get some downtime this weekend. You’ve earned that much at least.”
“Thanks, John. I’m planning on it.” Sometimes down, sometimes top, and then maybe standing up if Marco has enough stamina.
God, what is with me? Ever since Marco’s dirty promise of dinner and sex, the latter part of that sentence has been the only thing I can think about. I’m not a virgin—far from it—and I’m not a prude, but it’s not healthy to spend an entire week thinking about the sex more than the dinner before it, or seeing Marco’s house for the first time, or even just the man himself again. I almost feel guilty about it but then I realize it’s Marco’s fault for kissing me breathless, pushing me up against my house—something which he seems to like doing—and putting all these dirty thoughts into my head.
“Good. You deserve it. I forgot to ask—has there been much interest in the Gold Coast apartment and the duplex the owners are selling as well?” John asks, referring to Gilly and Ezra’s two listings as he leans against the table
“I’ve given a list of some of my existing clients to Elaine to call; we’ve had some bites on the marketing ads. Now it’s just a case of doing the showings we’ve got planned and then hoping we get offers.”
John nods. “That’s what I like to hear.” He glances down at my black patent leather pumps. “You’ll have ten more pairs of those in no time.”
My love of heels is not a secret around here. My female coworkers make it a point to ask me about my shoe-buying exploits whenever they see me.
“And to help you in that, I might have a few very interested buyers for you. I’ll email you their details and you can follow up if you want to.”
“Absolutely. That sounds great. Thanks so much, John.”
“It’s my pleasure. Now, hand me that contract and get out of here. Go start your quiet night in early and I’ll see you Monday.” He claps me on the shoulder and walks out of the room.
I check the time and see it’s just after three o’clock. Marco is working but he’s also said to message him whenever I want. The other night he had some downtime while on-shift and we were texting back and forth for a good twenty minutes before they got a call-out and he had to go. With this in mind, I pull out my phone.
Renee – Hey, Lieutenant. I have good news and the first person I thought to tell was a certain brown-haired, coffee-eyed firefighter I know. Is he around?
A few minutes pass before the three little dots appear on the screen.
Marco – He just left. Will I be an adequate stand-in?
My lips curve up.
Renee – Maybe. Do you have any jackets I can borrow? I seem to have a new habit of acquiring that particular item of men’s clothing.
Marco – Sorry, I’m all out. I left mine with a sexy realtor to guarantee she’d see me again.
Renee – That’s very sneaky.
Marco – It is, but I made my intentions for our next date very clear so I’m hoping she’ll return the jacket tomorrow.
Renee – And if she turns up without said jacket because it’s now got a new home in her room where she can smell it whenever she wants?
I can see he’s typing his reply but he keeps starting then stopping again. I’m moving toward the boardroom door when my phone starts vibrating in my hand.
“Hey, Lieutenant. This is unexpected.”
The sound of him chuckling in my ear sends a wave of warmth through me. “I couldn’t work out what to say without it sounding dirty so I figured I’d go to my office and call you instead.”
“It’s nice to hear your voice.”
“You too, princess. How’s your day going?”
“I could be cheesy and say it’s so much better now that I’m talking to you, but that would be one of your lines.”
“Still nice to hear it though. It means I was on your mind.”
“When are you not these days?” I murmur, half to myself and—obviously—to him
“If it helps, that affection is entirely mutual and not at all unwelcome on my part. I’m looking forward to tomorrow night,” he says, his voice dropping to that low and melts-warm-chocolate tone I like. He so knows the effect it has on me too.
“So . . .” I say, trying to redirect the conversation before it gets too deep. I’ll do deep, just not when the man in question is on-duty until seven a.m. tomorrow morning.
When the phone goes quiet for a little too long, Marco’s soft chuckle breaks the silence. “Princess, are we running out of conversation topics already? You said you had good news . . .”
That makes me smile. “No. I mean, yes.”
“Which is it, beautiful?” I can hear his amusement.
I frown. “You distracted me with your sweet-talking.”
“You’re the one giving me thoughts I can’t entertain at work, Ms. Hamilton.”
“I’ll try to behave. Especially if you don’t like it . . .”
“You can give me all the dirty thoughts in the world. Wherever. Whenever. I’ll deal. Especially if you’re the one responsible.”
“And why’s that?” I ask coyly.
“Because then it means I’ll have a stockpile of ideas to play out in person when you’re laid out naked in my bed.”
“Damn. Now you’re giving me inappropriate ideas while I’m at work.”
“Seems like we’re torturing each other then.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because we both have to wait twenty-four hours until we can act on any of these thoughts.”
“Well . . .” I say, leaving him hanging.
“Well what, princess?”
“I can act on some of mine. It’s just, you’ll only be there watching in my imagination.”
“Fuuuuuuck,” he curses, making me smile. “You don’t play fair.”
“What if I promised not to act out anything until we’re within touching distance?”
“That would only make it slightly better.”
“I’ll take it into consideration.”
His low chuckle in my ear sends a shot of heat straight through me. “You do that. Or else I’ll make you tell me in graphic detail while giving me a blow-by-blow re-enactment.”
“Blow-by-blow?”
“If I play my cards right, fuck yeah.”
I huff out a breath, fanning myself as I do it. “It’s lucky I’m good at multitasking then, Lieutenant.”
“If you weren’t, I’m a really good instructor.”
“Oh, you are, are you?”
“Mm-hmm.”
The phone falls quiet except for the sound of his breathing.
“You said you had good news?” he asks, confusingly.
“I did? Oh wait, I did. You distracted me with all your non-dirty, dirty talk.”
“Non-dirty, dirty talk? You sure know how to wound a man’s ego.”
“I didn’t mean . . . What I meant was—”
“Princess?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m just messing with you.”
I sigh, resigned to the fact that for all Marco’s pros—and so far, there are a lot—his only con is his love of winding me up. “I’m getting used to that.”
“Aww, baby, if I promise to kiss it better will that make it up to you?”
My lips quirk up. “Depends what you’re kissing.”
His responding groan is music to my ears, and I’m the one snickering this time.
“So, yes. Good news. I sold the house we first met each other at.”
“That’s great. Congratulations.” His voice is full of warmth and pride. “We should celebrate.”
My breath catches. “What?” I whisper, my throat getting tight.
“You had a win; we should celebrate. Renee, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing it’s just . . . I didn’t even tell you that it’s my one hundred and fiftieth sale in Chicago.”
“Even more reason to celebrate, but now, we need to go big. I was going to let you off cooking tomorrow and whip something up myself, but instead, let’s go to Wrigley for the Cubs’ night game.”
“What?”
“That is, if you want to, I mean. I’m not exactly going to let you cook your celebration meal. My mama would never let me live that down if she found out.”
I open my mouth to say something but I’m still in shock.
“Do you not want to go to the game? We don’t have to.” The sound of fingers hitting computer keys fills the line.
“There are seats on the second level near the visitors’ dugout, but I promise I’ll buy you a Cubs shirt so no one mistakes you for a Brewers fan.”
That snaps me out of it and my forgotten sass returns. “I am not a Brewers fan.”
“Oh I know, princess. You seem a little shell-shocked so I had to pull out the big guns to snap you out of it.”
I narrow my eyes even though he can’t see me. “I’m seriously starting to think you get off on annoying me.”
“No. But I do like riling you up, because then you give me that smart mouth and that gives me a reason to shut you up.”
“You don’t need a reason. Feel free to shut me up whenever you like,” I retort.
He chuckles. “Good to know. I’ll remember that.”
“Are you seriously booking tickets right now for tomorrow night’s game?”
“Nope.”
“No?”
“Already booked. Just paid for them. You can still bring my jacket though—that deal definitely hasn’t changed. And pack an overnight bag. You’re staying the night.”
“Sleeping in your bed?”
“In my bed? Yes. Sleeping? Probably not.”
And with that, Marco has proven that yes, it is possible to have a spontaneous mini-orgasm from words alone.
“Marco . . .?”
“Yeah, princess?”
“You’re really good at this.”
“That’s funny. I was just thinking the same about you.”
“I’m going to go now because otherwise, I’ll start telling you about my inappropriate ideas again,” I say, my voice soft and husky.
“You can thank me by showing me all the best ones tomorrow after the game.”
“Now that I can do.”
“I think I’m looking forward to that more than the game now,” he says, just as the bells start ringing in the background. He groans in my ear. “Sorry, baby. I’ve gotta go.”
“I know, Marco. I know what that sound means.”
“And that’s something else we’ll be talking about tomorrow, along with why you’re so surprised whenever anyone wants to do something nice for you. Until then, drive safe and have a good night, princess.”
“Look after yourself, too.”
“Always, but especially when I have a night of no sleeping planned with a certain pretty lady coming up. I’ll text you tomorrow. Bye,” he says, before ending the call, leaving me sitting in the empty boardroom with a goofy grin on my face, my stomach full of butterflies for the first time in a long time.
Baseball and a sleepover with a man I can’t stop thinking about. I don’t even care that he wants to talk about my past. I can’t expect Marco to be completely open and honest with me if I’m not willing to be the same with him.
So far, everything Marco has done has me wanting to see where this might go. He’s the first man since my ex who’s had me feeling that way.
In other words, it’s about damn time.