He certainly wouldn’t give up. Leonides Estevez never accepted defeat. He looked for ways to get things back under control and to move forward. No dwelling on the negative allowed. Solutions, not problems. That’s what he needed to concentrate on.
His cell phone buzzed. “Hello? Rico Estevez.”
A soft Texas drawl greeted him. “It’s Adam.”
And despite his earlier conviction to remain strong and focused, Rico’s heart leaped and he struggled to remain calm.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“I talked with my battalion chief, and he’s gonna do some checking with the powers that be, but he thinks you using our kitchen won’t be a problem.”
The sky, only moments ago so dark and forbidding, now brightened; the sun filtered through the trees, dappling the ground with warm, beautiful light.
“Seriously? Oh, man, I can’t believe this. Thank you.”
“It’s okay. I’m glad I can help. I’ll call you later and give you the details.” His voice dropped. “You, um, remember where my firehouse is?”
How could he forget? Rico bit back his answer.
“Yeah.” His voice came out a bit more brusque than intended. Things between them wouldn’t get out of hand this time. He wouldn’t be caught off guard by a hot mouth and a beautiful cock. “I remember.”
“I gotta go. And Rico?”
“Yeah?”
“It was good to see you again.”
Without giving him a chance to respond, Adam disconnected, leaving Rico in a position he didn’t often find himself. Edgy. Restless. Uncertain.
“Damn.” But he had no time to dwell on the sexy fireman. Breaking into a jog, he headed back down the block to return to his apartment and make a list. First thing being to call Gideon, but he couldn’t help thinking about spending the next few days in close proximity to Adam Barton.
Chapter Sixteen
“Heads up, Red.”
At the sound of his nickname, Adam Barton looked up in time to see a football go flying over his head. With a smile, he reached a hand up to snag it, causing his fellow firefighters to howl in outrage. “Fuck you, Barton; give us back our ball.”
“But I like playing with balls, haven’t you heard?” He flipped the football back and forth in his hands, then tossed it over to Patrick, who flipped it back to the guy behind him.
A collective groan rose in the dining area, and he grinned. “What’s wrong? TMI?”
“You’re a regular comedian, Barton. You should go on late-night television. You’re wasting your time as a fireman.”
“Hey.”
He glanced up at the nudge to his arm to see Patrick’s freckled face and quirked a brow. “What?” Adam even let his lip curve a bit in a smile.
“That fire this morning, the one in Cobble Hill?”
His stomach clenched. He knew what was coming, yet he lazed back in his chair, pretending a nonchalance he didn’t feel. “Yeah, what about it? Turns out it was a cigarette. First the bedding went, then the drapes. One big fucking mess because of a careless idiot.”
“I know that. I read the report. But the catering store underneath, isn’t that store owned by that guy who was at the fire in that synagogue a few months back? The one you couldn’t stop staring at?”
The smile slipped. “What’re you talking about?” Patrick only knew he was seeing someone, not Rico specifically.
Impatient now, Patrick shot a look at the opposite end of the table to the other guys engrossed in a discussion of the baseball season, then glared at Adam.
“I saw you watching him at that fire, and after that all your lunches started coming from that store.” He gave Adam a smug smile. “I figured it out. When you said you were seeing someone, it was him, right? The Spanish guy who owns it with his friend?”
