Big Hose: A Firefighter Romance by Jasinda Wilder

Author:Jasinda Wilder [Wilder, Jasinda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jasinda Wilder
Published: 2022-04-28T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Jake

We never ended up able to reconnect that night after the scene was wrapped up—I got pulled one way to write up reports and get my third shift crews resettled, and Jovie was pulled the other, transporting victims to the hospital and dealing with her own after-incident duties. I realized partway through the hours-long response that I still had her keys in my pocket and had a probie with an unexpected blood sensitivity nausea issue find and deliver them to her.

We then continued to miss each other, as I stayed at the station and she went into her next shift early, and then we both crashed separately, with only a brief text exchange between us, both of us too exhausted for anything more.

We chat on the phone briefly the next day, but the day after that is a full moon and thus meant a chaotic twenty-four hours for both of us—me especially. I end up at the station for going on seventy-two hours, catching a couple hours’ sleep on the couch in my office and eating some cold leftovers in the truck on the way from one call to another, slugging hours-old, lukewarm coffee while doing paperwork.

My eyes burn and droop as I finally catch a break and can go home. I’m a zombie as I drive home, keeping the windows open and the AC blasting, rock music blaring, all to keep myself awake. I barely make it home, eyes drooping dangerously.

I’m ravenous, in need of a shower…and, weirdly, clamoring for attention above even those priorities, is missing Jovie. Not just the need to finish what we started, and I don’t mean literally the act she was doing when we were interrupted, although I certainly wouldn’t mind if we revisited that. Just…the whole evening. Being with her. The different side of her—teasing and funny, but also softer, sensual, erotic.

Fuck, she’s amazing.

I find myself shuffling around my kitchen aimlessly, thinking of Jovie instead of fixing food.

My buzzer rings. “Hello, yeah?”

A somewhat gruff and possibly female voice answers. “Door Dash delivery.”

My brain is in a fog. “I didn’t order anything.”

“It says here, uh, paid for by a J Martin?” The voice is odd, but I can’t place what about it is wrong, and I’m too fried to figure it out.

I smile to myself. “Oh. Well, god bless the woman. Come on up.”

I wait at my door, opened and leaning against the frame. I see the delivery person leave the elevator. It’s a woman, her head bowed, studying the receipt. She’s kind of oddly dressed for a delivery person—plain, skin-tight pink workout leggings and a white V-neck tank top, also tight and molded to her body, wearing a plain white ball cap, hair pulled through the back, carrying a tiny little wallet-purse-thing by strap from one wrist, barely big enough to carry some cards, cash, and a phone, and maybe keys if there’s only car fob and house key.

I’m so slow of thought that even though some caveman portion of my hindbrain

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