"Uhhh," I said as she turned toward the door, my brain apparently having abandoned all higher functions. "You know, we could, ahh, do that again. Kiss. That was, I mean, wow, it just — "
Before I could finish making a complete fool of myself, Izzy turned back, stepped into my space, and kissed me again. This one was slower, deeper, a promise of more to come.
"Yes," she murmured against my lips when we broke apart. "We definitely could."
And then she was gone, leaving me standing in my doorway watching her taillights fade into the distance.
I closed the door, leaned against it, and let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. Then, because there was no one there to witness my complete loss of dignity, I pumped my fist in the air and did a little victory shuffle around my living room that would have made my college football team proud.
"Holy shit," I said to my pothos plant, which seemed to nod approvingly in the lamplight. "She kissed me! Wooo!"
Lieutenant Isabela Delgado, the most competent, intimidating, and beautiful woman I had ever met, had kissed me. In my kitchen.
I was so,sogone.
chapter
eleven
I madeit exactly three blocks before I had to pull into the Shell on Maple Street. Not because I needed gas — my tank was three-quarters full — but because my hands were shaking too badly to trust myself on the road.
I pulled up to pump three and just... sat there. The taste of tres leches lingered on my tongue, sweet and rich and somehow perfect. My lips still tingled from that second kiss. The way Jimmy had looked at me when I'd turned back, like I was giving him everything he'd ever wanted just by wanting him back.
God, that kiss.
When was the last time someone had cooked for me?Reallycooked, not just thrown together a sandwich or picked up takeout? When was the last time someone had been nervous about whether I'd like something they'd made?
When was the last time someone had wanted toimpressme instead of change me?
A sharp honk from behind made me jump. I looked up to find an irritated-looking guy in a Suburban gesturing at the pump. How long had I been sitting here? The pump wasn't even in my hand — I'd just pulled up and zoned out completely, lost in the memory of Jimmy's hands shaking as heserved dessert, the panic in his eyes over the tres leches, the way he'd said "I really, really wanted to impress you."
I waved apologetically at Suburban Guy and fumbled for my phone, my cheeks burning.Jesus, Delgado, get it together. You're a fire lieutenant who runs into burning buildings, and one kiss from a sweet nurse has you forgetting how gas stations work.
But my fingers were already typing:
I sat in my truck for five minutes trying to remember how to drive. Pretty sure that's your fault.
I stared at the message for a second — was it too much? Too forward? — then hit send before I could overthink it. Then, because Suburban Guy was looking increasingly murderous, I actually got out and went through the motions of pumping gas I didn't need.
My phone buzzed:
Jimmy
Fair is fair. I think my brain is STILL short-circuiting. Thank you for tonight.
Then another:
Jimmy
And I hope the tres leches didn't give you nightmares about cultural insensitivity.
I found myself grinning at my phone like an idiot as the gas pump clicked off.
Only nightmares about how good it was. I might have to demand the recipe.
Jimmy
Trade secret. But I might be convinced to make it again sometime.
