Vonnie Davis - For the Love of a Fireman

“Ah…” What kind of man researches douches? A man who goes to bed with three women, Molly. Now concentrate.

Two broad hands clasped the edge of the counter. His index finger had a nasty red-rimmed cut on its side. An appealing mixture of sawdust, lime and ginger snagged her attention and, when the man cleared his throat, her gaze snapped upward to lock on a pair of surf green eyes flecked with blue. “Is my question too difficult for you to answer…” he glanced at her nametag, “Molly?”

Oh, this guy has a good tongue lashing coming. Molly sucked in a breath, pulled together a string of insults to hurl at him and then changed her mind. Better to smile while she enjoyed her private opinions of this man-whore, especially since she needed this job badly. She’d put a big dent in her credit card balance to substitute the laptop her dad had misplaced, along with his wallet and her carryon of her clothes. Not to mention the money she needed for groceries and her father’s medication.

Finally the product’s location slipped into place. “You’ll find them in aisle six, on the right.”

The knuckles of his fisted hand rapped once on the counter before he sauntered off.

Big-headed, demanding jerk.

Frazzled nerves got the best of her and her gaze settled on the box of chocolate bars calling her name, taunting her. Why did everything she ate have to settle on her ass? Two women strolled in the store wearing shorts that showcased slender, toned thighs and itty-bitty butts. Her thighs were toned, but thick by society’s standards. Unfortunately, the only things slender on her body were her earlobes and toes. Life just wasn’t fair.

Molly was shoving packs of cigarettes into racks behind the register when someone thunked items onto the check-out counter. She pasted on a smile, did a quick pivot and sighed as the grin slid off. Douche-man was back with twelve double packs of Massengill disposables.

“You only had two boxes of the mixable kind.” He read the printing on the box he held, never once sparing her a glance. He tapped the second carton resting on the counter with his cut finger. “Would you mind checking your inventory in the back? I’ll need more.”

“I’m not allowed to leave the register, but I’ll be happy to page our stock boy.”

Douche-man grunted and flipped the package around. “It’s gonna take at least two boxes for Lola. She’s big. Got wide hips. Skinny legs, though. Kinda like a twenty-gallon tank on toothpicks.”

What an ass, talking about his girlfriend like that! Molly sneered and depressed the button on the store’s intercom. “Cruz, could you check our supply of mixable douche powder? I have a man who needs three or four boxes.”

“Make it five or six. And they have to be Massengill, don’t forget. God, I don’t know which girl smells the worst.”

Well, quit putting your nose in their hootchies. Molly cleared her throat and rolled her eyes before depressing the button on the intercom. “Could you make that six boxes of douche powder? Massengill, please, Cruz.” A few snickers floated over from aisle two.

“I can see I’m gonna have a rough night ahead. Maggie Mae hates when I give her a good scrubbing, especially if I get soap in her beady eyes or get too rough with her.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger and sighed like a man greatly imposed upon. “God, I hate a whiny bitch.”

Oh, I am so going to belt you.

“Caroline handles her bath pretty well. She likes it rough, especially when I hold her head under the faucet.” He had the audacity to chuckle. “She tries to drink the water, but then she’ll drink most anything.”

She’d have to be drunk to put up with you, buster. You need some serious help.

Cruz hurried to the register, his arms full of boxes. “Here you go, Molly.” He shot the customer a curious glance.

“Thanks. Would you do me one more favor, please?”

The pimply-faced teen’s head bobbed. “Sure.”

“Our customer needs a bottle of peroxide and Neosporin for the cut on his finger. It’s showing signs of infection.” Cruz nodded and hurried back to aisle four.

Douche-man glimpsed at his hand. “Thanks. I do have a first aid kit, but I’ve been too preoccupied with work to take care of it. Ain’t nothing but an infected splinter. Can’t seem to dig deep enough to get to it.”

Oh, just give me a machete. I’ll show you how deep a good woman can cut.

He slid his fingertips into the front pocket of his jeans, pulling them a little lower on his hips, until he finally tugged out folded bills secured with a silver fire truck money clip. “What’s the damage?”

To your wallet or the self-esteem of those poor women?

After totaling his purchases, Molly handed him his change and six plastic bags. “Hope you get them cleaned up.”

He grunted again. “Sure as hell hope so. Don’t know if I can sleep without the girls laying all over me.”

Oh, puh-lease.

He headed for the exit, high-top sneakers clunking the tile floor.

Molly glared at his retreating form. What a piece of macho jerk.

He snapped his fingers and returned. “Where’s the dog toys? They’ll be expecting a treat after I scrub the skunk smell off.”

“Dogs? Dogs!” Had he been talking about dogs all this time?

Douche-man nodded, his blond five o’clock shadow more an eight o’clock sexy scruff. “Yeah. An overweight Black Lab, a beady-eyed Chihuahua and a Collie mix. I’m kinda partial to my girls, but not when they chase skunks and get a good spraying.”

“Skunks? Spraying?” God, I sound like an echo.

“Used to wash them down with tomato juice after being sprayed, but Caroline would lap at the juice and get terrible gas.” He shook his head once. “Couldn’t stand to be around her for days.” He grinned and dimples slashed his cheeks. “So, I researched online and found out about bathing animals in Massengill after encounters with skunks.”

Boy, talk about a miscommunication.

He studied the bags in his hands for a beat and then raised his gaze. “I’m sorry for storming in here earlier and ranting about my dogs, calling them bitches, but they had me so damn mad.” He winced. “Sorry. After a long day of tearing out decrepit kitchen cabinets and replacing them with new ones, moving walls and installing appliances, the last thing I want to do tonight is to scrub down three dogs.”

His gaze flicked over her hand before his green-eyed perusal once more settled on her face. Had he just checked for a ring? “Could I interest you in a cup of coffee after work?” He peeked at his watch. “Store closes in fifteen minutes.”

Not expecting his boldness, she stepped back. “Sorry, I don’t meet strange men for coffee.”

A wide smile spread, exposing straight white teeth with a chip broken off the corner of his left front one. Those deep dimples and chipped tooth added a boyish charm to his male persona, a charismatic contrast to the arrogant sternness he’d exhibited earlier. He set his bags in front of her on the checkout counter before tilting a hip against it and crossing his arms, obviously settling in for a chat neither she nor her boss wanted. She was on the clock, after all.

The door swished open and she jumped. God, she had to get beyond thinking she’d seen Wade’s vehicle twice. Sure, he’d been royally pissed when she threw the engagement ring in his face, but no woman wanted to marry a man who cheated on her…and then became violent when she called him on it. But he wouldn’t come all this way to find her. Would he?

The strange man’s eyebrows were furrowed as if he’d been studying her and he cleared his throat. “You know, I really do owe you an apology for my ranting when I came in the store.” He managed to make his grin almost unsure, as if he’d suddenly lost his confidence. How many times had he practiced this technique—and how often had a woman fallen for it? “A coffee and a piece of pie couldn’t hurt, could it?”