Chapter Twelve
Parker scrubbed shampoo through his hair a second time. He was convinced the wash, rinse, repeat instructions on shampoo bottles were written by a firefighter. The smell of smoke clung to everything, clothing, furniture, and especially skin and hair.
They’d gotten called to an apartment building fire. Some dumbass college kids were grilling on their balcony and poured an entire bottle of lighter fluid on the charcoal grill. Thing went up like a flash bomb. The flames caught some kind of gauzy netting strung around the balcony that had been put up to keep bugs out.
It kept the bugs out all right. And lit up like dry tinder.
At least there were no injuries. They were smart enough to call 911 right away and close the patio door. Parker and his crew got there in under five minutes and had the fire out in ten. The balcony was made of some kind of cement material. Not the prettiest, but great for stopping the spread of fire. All in all, they just had some warping to the patio door, a bit of smoke damage, and hopefully a lesson in not being an idiot.
Fully rinsed, he shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. He had been the last in, letting his crewmates take first dibs while he did the equipment check. They took turns sharing duties, and he enjoyed showering last. Gave him a few moments alone to decompress. Even a non-fatality call screwed with your head. Because every first responder knew it could have gone the other way.
Running a towel over his body, Parker reached for his phone to check his messages. He had a new email from his PI. Eager for any news, he opened the message and began to read. Frank had dug into all the public information available on Thomas Hayes and found nothing suspicious. He’d also interviewed past coworkers, which was technically legal, but ethically might be seen as a bit sketchy to some. Thomas had been married before, to Tamsen’s mom, which Parker already knew. But she’d died suddenly of a brain aneurysm when Tamsen was three.
Damn. That sucked. He dealt with death often in his job. He knew how precious life was, how it could be taken away at a moment’s notice, but it was still hard to deal with the fragility of it all.
He continued reading. Thomas Hayes had been working for the Denver Public Library for the past two and a half decades and was set to retire in a few more years. He had a pension and some retirement saved. Not anywhere close to what Parker’s mother had in the bank, but nothing about the guy screamed red flag. And yet…his gut still said something was up. It also called him an asshole for secretly investigating his mother’s fiancé while wildly flirting with his daughter.
“The two have nothing to do with each other,” he said into the silent air.
His attraction to Tamsen had nothing to do with his desire to know more about her father and his intentions. Besides, he hadn’t done anything about it.
Yet.
As much as he hated to admit it, his willpower plummeted around Tamsen, and her apparent eagerness to throw caution to the wind and indulge in…whatever the hell this chemistry thing was between them, was not helping him stay the path.
Replying to the email, he asked his PI to dig deeper. Criminal records, civil complaints, anything that might indicate Thomas wasn’t the perfect guy his mother and Tamsen claimed him to be. Was he reaching? Maybe. Creating an issue where there wasn’t one? It wasn’t like he wanted there to be an issue; this was his mom. He wanted her to be happy, but there was no such thing as too thorough when looking out for the person who always looked out for him. And if his guy still didn’t find anything after this? He swore to himself he’d back off.
Yeah, some people might say he had trust issues, but he trusted his crew. Kind of a necessity, since you had to trust the people at your back when lives were on the line. But he trusted them with his life. It was trusting people with his heart Parker had a problem with. How did people do that? Put such blind faith in another person? Be so emotionally vulnerable and open. Hand them the power to uplift your soul…or destroy it.
He didn’t understand how people did that.
After getting dressed, he headed out into the main living area of the fire station. Turner, Díaz, and O’Neil were sitting at the table playing cards. Ward was in the kitchen, oh crap, making dinner. He glanced at the schedule on the wall. Yup, sure enough, tonight was Ward’s turn to make the evening meal. He’d have to check his locker to make sure he had enough antacids to survive the night.
As discreetly as possible, he made his way over to the kitchen, stretching his neck to see if he could get a glimpse of what Ward would be subjecting them to tonight.
“It’s chowder, asshole,” Ward said without turning around.
Busted…
“I didn’t say anything.”
Now Ward glanced over his shoulder, spearing Parker with a suspicious glare. “You didn’t have to.” His chin nodded to their crewmates at the table. “I’ve already had an interrogation. And don’t worry, I didn’t make it. I’m just reheating it.”
“If anyone can fuck up reheating soup, it’s you, Ward,” Díaz called from her card game.
“Thanks, Díaz. Appreciate the vote of confidence. Do you have to bust my balls when all I’m doing is making a nice meal for everyone?”
Without glancing up from her cards, Díaz shrugged. “From what I hear, your balls could use a little action lately, and I’ll save my appreciation once I know the meal goes down and stays there.”
Parker laughed, turning it into a cough when Ward sent him a death glare.
“I should put poison in this,” Ward grumbled as he turned back to the soup. “Just to spite you dickwads. And my balls are none of your concern, Díaz.”
She snorted. “Thank God for that.”
Parker shook his head, making eye contact with O’Neil and Turner, the three sharing a silent communication as they always did when Ward and Díaz went at each other. Which was every day.
“You want in?” O’Neil asked when Parker took a seat at the table.
“Five card stud.”
His game. “Deal me in.”
Fifteen minutes later, the soup was ready and Parker had won three hands. They didn’t play for money since they were on the clock. Bragging rights were better than cash anyway, especially anytime he beat Díaz. The woman hated to lose—at anything. But she was a good sport about it, at least with him. If she ever lost to Ward…well, he was just glad Ward sucked at cards because he did not want to see that outcome.
Hell might freeze over.
Ward’s chowder was surprisingly good. Really good, in fact.
“This is excellent, man,” Turner said as he helped himself to a second bowl.
Parker agreed. This might be the first time one of Ward’s dinners didn’t have him racing for nausea medication. “Yeah, where’d you get this?”
“I called up 5280 Eats. Tamsen recommended it and sent it over while we were at the call.”
“Tamsen? My Tamsen?”
All sounds of eating stopped. Four pairs of eyes focused on him with varying levels of curiosity.
“Your Tamsen?” Ward asked, eyebrows high.
“Shut up, you know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t think we do,” Díaz said with a smile. “Enlighten us.”
Oh, so now she decided to play nice with Ward. When they could gang up against him. Jackasses. It was just a slip of the tongue.
“You two were looking awful cozy at trivia last night,” O’Neil commented.
“We were talking.” And flirting, making sexually charged bets, eye fucking each other from across the room. “Nothing more.”
“Uh huh.” Díaz tilted her head. “That talking have anything to do with the reason we lost last night? Again?”
Yeah, Díaz definitely hated losing. But it hadn’t been his fault entirely. The Lumbersnacks were really good. And okay, he might have been a little too distracted by Tamsen to focus completely on the game, but they were a team. They couldn’t put all the blame on him for losing a round or two.
“I think our lack of knowledge about eighteenth-century impressionist painters was the reason we lost.” He tried to get the focus off him and Tamsen. “Why the hell would they pick such a specific category?”
Turner pointed toward the calendar hanging on the firehouse wall. “It’s the sidewalk art festival this week. I bet they were going for a theme or something.”
“That explains the category,” Ward said with a nod. “But not how the Lumbersnacks—worst name ever, by the way—managed to get every single question right that round. I mean, come on, who knows that much about dead artists?”
“Tamsen.” Shit! He shouldn’t have said that. Now everyone was staring at him again for an explanation. So much for shifting the focus away from him. “What? She’s an artist. Ward, O’Neil, you knew that.”
“No, we didn’t,” O’Neil stated.
“You were both on her call with me.”
“Eh.” Ward gave a small shrug. “We knew she was doing an art project. I thought your girl worked at a restaurant.”
“She does, but she’s also an artist, and interns at a gallery, and she’s not my girl.”
“Then how do you know so much about her?” Turner asked with a knowing smile.
Were there any people nosier and more infuriating than firefighters? Seriously, they gossiped worse than a bunch of high schoolers in the locker room after prom.
“Look, Tamsen and I are friends, okay? Nothing more.” Not yet, anyway. “We’re planning a wedding shower for her dad and my mom, so we’ve hung out a bit. And I’m done talking about this.”
Ward opened his mouth, no doubt to say something obnoxious Parker would have to smack him for, but just then Parker’s phone pinged with an incoming text. Saved by the phone. He pulled his phone out of his front pocket, heart racing when he saw the sender.
Tamsen.
“Who is it?”
He glanced up at Ward, careful not to reveal anything on his face as he stared at his fellow firefighter, refusing to give him anything. The smug ass smiled, his eyes lighting with mischief.
“It’s her, isn’t it? Tamsen.”
Parker pushed his chair back, standing and taking his empty bowl to the sink as he threw over his shoulder, “I’m not discussing this.”
“Ha! It’s totally her.”
“I’m going to grab some air.” And some privacy, because if he didn’t step outside, he’d have four necks craning over his shoulder trying to read his conversation. Irritating, but he knew he’d be doing the same thing if the situation were reversed. When you basically lived with your coworkers half the week, they became more like family. Nosy, annoying family.
He stepped out into the warm evening air. It was just after six, but the summer sun still hadn’t made its way behind the Front Range yet. The noisy traffic from the Denver city streets filled the air. He sat on the bench by the front of the firehouse door and pulled up Tamsen’s text.
His thumbs flew across the screen as he texted back.
He waited as the three little dots danced on his screen, curious as to what she wanted to see him for. Could be something about the bet. Maybe she wanted to set a time to cash in on her winnings? Or sex.
He really hoped it was sex.
His hopes sank. The party. Of course she was talking about the party.
He leaned back against the bench, surprised at how disappointed he was. Which was ridiculous. She’d been the one to proposition him the other night, and he’d put the brakes on it. But all that flirting at trivia—and his friends were right, it had been flirting—was really testing his resolve. He couldn’t ever remember wanting anyone as badly as he wanted Tamsen, but it wasn’t just that. He also really liked being around her. She was funny and smart and had this warm quality that just made everyone feel…at home.
Corny, but it was really the only way to describe her.
His phone chimed again.
That sounded ominous. After the water bottle trick, he’d learned Tamsen had a wicked sense of humor. He dug it, but who knew what she was going to subject him to?
Damn. He should have.
She sent back a winking kiss face emoji. Laughter spilled out of him. Even in text this woman could get to him. He was super curious about what prop she found but even more curious if she wanted him to be naked while she painted. He hoped so. Him naked might lead to her naked, and then they could have naked time together.
His favorite kind of time.
Bad idea, future stepsister, investigating her father.
He ignored his conscience. Wishing for something and actually having it happen wasn’t the same thing.
He held his breath while more dots appeared, wondering what she was going to say, a feeling in his gut telling him it was something big.
Oh shit! She did intend to draw him naked. As much as he knew he shouldn’t be excited by that prospect…he was. God, he was so tired of fighting the attraction he had to this woman. After their kiss the other night, it was damn near impossible now. Maybe if they took one night, and were up front about their expectations with each other, they could get it out of their systems and go on as friends. What was the alternative? Lusting after a woman he’d soon be pseudo-related to? That couldn’t happen. His mother was a smart woman. She’d see something was up and take him to task for it.
No, better to try and burn this fire out before it got out of control and destroyed everything.
After sending the heart eyes emoji back to her, which received another winking kiss face emoji, he slipped his phone back in his pocket, adjusted his pants, and counted backward from one hundred until he could walk back into the station without a raging hard-on he knew his crew would notice and comment on.
Now all he had to do was make it through the rest of his shift and then…Tamsen.
A little voice in the back of his brain warned him getting involved with her while investigating her father was a bad idea, but he ignored it. What he and Tamsen did had nothing to do with his checking into her dad. They were two separate things. Besides, so far everything with Thomas looked on the up and up. Parker hoped Frank wouldn’t find anything else, and he could let this heavy suspicion go. His mother would get a loving husband, he and Tamsen could have their fun, and no one would ever have to know anything about the PI.
Everybody won.
And he’d just ignore the tiny clench in his gut warning him he was headed for a five-alarm fire of epic proportions.