Hot For You (7 page)

With most of the guys she’d dated, that wouldn’t have been many. Faith had never had any trouble calling a stop to things in the bedroom. She’d assumed she simply had more self-control than most women, but ever since Mick’s lips had touched hers in the gazebo at the Fireman’s Ball, she had begun to suspect she simply hadn’t met the right guy.

The kind of guy who made her body hunger for his touch, who made her dream of his hands sliding over her skin and his mouth trailing hot kisses down her neck while his—

The dong of the doorbell made Faith jump, jarring her from her heated thoughts and sending Captain Snugglepants leaping from the back of the couch in a flurry of white fur.

“It’s going to be fine, fine, fine,” Faith chanted softly.

She took a deep breath, blew it out, and reached for the doorknob, determined not to let Mick see how off-kilter she felt.

“Hey.” He grinned as she opened the door.

“Hey,” she said, taking in his black jeans and blue sweater with what she hoped was a neutral expression.

He looked amazing—good enough to go back for seconds and dip the crust in gravy—but he probably already knew that. Knew that sweater made his blue eyes pop like the first stars sparkling in the night sky, and that the black curls falling messily over his forehead only made him more impossibly handsome.

“Wow.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You look…”

“Ready for target practice?” Faith propped a hand on her hip, glad she’d decided not to get dressed up. Jeans, her black shit-kicker boots, and a long-sleeved black thermal were plenty fancy for a low-key dinner and some quality time with a gun. And her outfit would make it clear she intended to keep things casual.

“I was going to say sexy as hell,” Mick said with a nervous-sounding laugh. “But then I thought that might be off-limits.”

Faith shrugged, playing it cooler than she felt. “No need to stress about words. It’s actions that matter.”

Mick nodded. “So…you ready to go?”

“Just let me put out some food and fresh water for the cat.” Faith motioned him inside. “I’ll only be a second.”

Mick stepped inside and closed the door behind him, casting a glance around her place, a smile spreading across his lips—those tempting lips that a part of Faith would love to kiss until neither she, nor Mick could remember the dumb bargains they’d made.

“What’s the smile for?” Faith asked with more heat than she intended, her frustration with her wayward thoughts finding its way into her voice.

“Nothing,” Mick said. “I just didn’t think you’d have so much white fluffy stuff in your apartment.”

“What’s wrong with white fluffy stuff?” Faith propped her hands on her hips, ignoring Captain Snugglepants, who had started to twine in and out between her legs, meowing for his supper. She always fed him before she went out, and he knew to expect his food dish to be filled before she headed for the door.

Mick laughed. “Nothing. I like it. It’s cute.”

“I’ve told you several times, Whitehouse, I am not cute. In any way.”

“I know, I know.” Mick crouched down to hold a hand out to Captain Snugglepants. “So what’s your cat’s name?”

“Captain Snufflmpth,” Faith mumbled, spinning on her heel to stomp through the dining area and into the kitchen.

“What?” Mick called after her.

“Captain Snugglepants,” she shouted over her shoulder as she filled the cat’s bowl, not surprised to hear Mick start laughing again. She braced herself for more cute accusations, but when she returned to the door his shoulders were still shaking.

“What?” She crossed her arms. “He likes to snuggle, okay? He’s the
captain
of snuggling. It’s a perfectly reasonable name.”

Mick continued to laugh, until Faith was torn between the urge to punch him in the gut and start laughing with him. She went for the punch—deciding it was the more pride-protecting option—but Mick caught her wrist and spun her into him, locking his arms around her chest.

“What’s with women wanting to abuse me lately?” Mick asked, his breath warm on her neck, his strong front glued to her back in a way that made Faith’s cheeks hotter. “First Naomi, and now you.”

“Must be your natural charm and charisma,” Faith said, not caring for the quiver in her voice or the tingles skittering across her skin.

“Must be.” Mick’s arms tightened around her for a moment, before he released her with a suddenness that made her dizzy.

“So are we good to go?” he asked, clearing his throat. “We have reservations at
David’s
for six-thirty. I figured we could walk there and then come back to pick up my truck before we head out to the firing range.”

Faith frowned. “
David’s
? That’s awfully fancy.”

“I finished a big remodel job yesterday,” Mick said with a shrug. “I’m feeling flush, and I wanted to take you somewhere nice. You can’t deny they have the best steaks in town.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Faith said. “I’ve never been.”

“Well, then we have to go,” Mick said with an intensity that left no doubt how seriously the man took his steak. “I need to see the look on your face when you have your first bite of the rib eye. It’s going to blow your mind.”

“Should I change?” Faith motioned to her decidedly casual outfit, still uncomfortable with the idea of Mick spending so much money on her.

That didn’t seem low-key, but maybe she was reading something into it she shouldn’t. She knew Mick wasn’t wealthy, but his parents were well-off and his older sister, Naomi, was a gajillionaire. He probably ate out at fancy restaurants all the time and didn’t think a thing of it, unlike Faith, who hadn’t eaten anywhere without a ninety-nine cent menu until her first fire station holiday party.

Mick shook his head. “Some people dress up, but you don’t have to. I’ve seen families there in t-shirts and jeans.”

“Okay.” Faith forced a smile, determined to stop reading too much into things. The whole point of a casual relationship, after all, was to enjoy herself without having to stress and she was going to have a good time, by God, or die trying.

“Then let’s hit it,” she said. “I’m starving. I ran nine miles today, and I think my stomach is about to start digesting my pancreas.”

Mick laughed, holding the door open for her as they passed out into the cool night and headed down the stairs to the street.

“We wouldn’t want that,” Mick said as they turned onto the sidewalk and headed toward Main. “I hear you need your pancreas for…reasons I can’t remember.”

“For digestion.” Faith nudged him in the side with her elbow. “I thought you said you had a college degree.”

“I do,” he said. “But it’s in computer programming. I could hack into your medical records, but my understanding of human anatomy is pretty remedial.”

Faith glanced up at him, brows furrowing. “So how do you go from getting a degree in computer programming to working as a carpenter and handy man?”

He shrugged, his gaze falling to the cracked sidewalk beneath their feet. “I don’t know. By the time I finished school, I was feeling pretty burned out. I needed some time to relax, work with my hands—get back to basics, you know?”

Faith nodded. “Yeah. I get it. I think I’d stab myself in the eye if I had to sit in front of a computer all day.”

Mick laughed. “Exactly. Wish I’d figured that out in time to change my major, but… Whatever. A degree is a degree, and something to fall back on if I need to down the road.”

“So, do you think you’re going to stay in Summerville long-term?” she asked, telling herself she didn’t care one way or the other.

“I think so,” Mick said. “It’s home, and my family is here. That’s started to seem more important. When Maddie and Naomi were going through their hard times this year, I was glad I could be there for them.”

“It’s good to be there when people need you,” Faith agreed. “Though sometimes I wish my family was a little less needy, but it could be worse, I could still have to live under the same roof with them.”

Mick nodded. “Relatives—a blessing and a curse.”

“It’s mostly my mom,” Faith said, slowing as they reached the restaurant. “She’s always mid-crisis. But she’s been in New Orleans with her latest loser since the week before Christmas so… I don’t know. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m actually starting to miss her.”

“Nothing wrong with missing your mama.” Mick opened the door for her, letting his arm slip around her waist as they moved toward the hostess station. “I’m missing mine too. She and Dad have been in Florida since November.”

Mick turned to give his name to the hostess, and Faith allowed herself a brief moment to relish how nice it felt to have his arm around her. They’d said no holding hands in public, but they hadn’t said anything about arms around waists. This was probably acceptable, and at the very least, not a violation of their agreement.

Even if it were, you wouldn’t say a word. You’re weak, Miller. At this rate you’ll be stripping that sweater off of him with your teeth by ten o’clock tonight.

Faith bit her lip and willed herself to put some distance between her and Mick, but then the hostess motioned for them to follow her through the restaurant and it seemed easier to let Mick’s arm stay where it was until they sat down.

Once they were seated—at a candlelit table in a cozy corner of the darkened restaurant that Faith refused to acknowledge was incredibly romantic—their easy conversation resumed without a hitch. They talked about his parents, her mom, his latest remodel job, and Faith’s rather odd work schedule.

“So you don’t go back to work until…Monday?” Mick asked.

“Monday at noon,” Faith said, moaning with appreciation as she set her fork down and gazed sadly at her empty plate. “Oh my god, that really was the best rib-eye I’ve ever had. I hate to see it end. I think I’m going to tear up a little.”

Mick laughed. “Don’t tear up. We’ll come back again before too long.”

Faith looked up, meeting his gaze across the table, confusion and contentment warring within her. On one hand, she was so pleasantly full and enjoying herself so much it seemed a shame to go poking at things, but on the other hand, it wasn’t low-key to hint that they’d be dining out at fancy restaurants together for the foreseeable future.

In the end, confusion won out. She was about to ask Mick what was going on, and if this was really what he considered a
casual
date, when her phone blared like a fog horn inside her wallet.

“Sorry, let me check who it is.” She fumbled to grab the phone before the other diners banded together and threw her out for destroying the mood.

It was an unfamiliar number, but she answered the call anyway, thinking it might be one of her cousins. They were always getting a hair up their butt to take a trip and calling her in the middle of the night from Memphis, Biloxi, or some bar down in Panama City to make sure she knew all the fun she was missing.

“Hello?” Faith moved her napkin from her lap to the table, in case she needed to step outside.

“Faith?” The second the voice on the other end of the line sobbed her name, Faith knew her night was ruined.

“Hold on, Mama. I’m somewhere I can’t talk, give me a second,” Faith said softly, before covering the bottom of her phone with her hands. “I have to take this,” she said to Mick, rising from her chair. “And I’ll probably have to leave when I’m done. It’s my mom, and from the sound of it she’s in trouble again.”

“I’ll pay the check and meet you outside,” Mick said, not missing a beat. “No worries. Go take your call.”

Faith nodded, relieved that he wasn’t going to make a big deal out of her needing to bail. Her first, and only, long-term boyfriend, Eli, had been laid back most of the time—which Faith had appreciated after her drama-filled childhood—but he had hated sudden changes in plans. Every time Faith had backed out of something last minute, whether it was because of her mom, or because somebody at the firehouse needed help, or simply because she didn’t feel well, Eli had gone into a sulk that would last for days.

His final sulk, which started at a Halloween party when Faith asked to go home early because she’d been awake for almost twenty-four hours and was afraid she was going to fall asleep in the punch bowl, had been the last straw. She’d dumped him that night and only occasionally thought of him since.

Sure, there were nights when she was so lonely she would curl up in a ball on the couch and cuddle Mr. Snugglepants like a pathetic old cat lady, but most of the time she was fine. In her mind, it was better to be alone than weighed down by a man who brought more misery to her life than joy.

Her mama, of course, was of a different opinion…

“What’s up, Mama?” Faith stepped out onto the darkened street, wandering away from
David’s
front door to stand in the warm glow of the streetlight.

“Oh, honey,” her mama said, her voice thick with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Faith said, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

Mama always started off with a good five minutes of apologies, but as far as Faith was concerned they were a waste of time and breath. If her mama was really sorry for inconveniencing her and, occasionally, when it came to helping kick men twice Faith’s size out of Pressie’s house, putting her in danger, then Pressie would have changed her behavior.

But she hadn’t changed, not one damned bit since Faith was a little girl. The only difference now was that Faith was old enough to help bail her mother out of trouble instead of clinging to Pressie’s skirts, feeling powerless to make her mama stop crying.

“It’s bad this time, baby,” Pressie said with a sniff. “So bad. Gary left me.”

“I’m sorry.” Faith stopped fighting the eye roll.

Gary, her mom’s latest, was a creep who worked on an oil rig six months out of the year and had rolled into Summerville looking like a mountain man with six types of critters living in his beard. He was gross, and not even that fat wallet full of oil money her mama was so excited about would have made Faith touch him with a ten-foot pole.

“He took my money and he left me.” Pressie sobbed, her voice going high and thin. “And I’ve only got one more night paid up at the hotel. Come tomorrow morning, I’m going to be kicked out on the street. I’m going to be homeless in New Orleans.”