Make It Hot. Gwyneth Bolton
I am not trying to punish you. I have a life and a career. I’m just trying to live my life, that’s all.”
“You’re trying to punish me by staying away. Just like when you were a snotty little kid, who thought she could hurt someone by walking around not talking…Hmmph…Like I needed to hear you complain and tell me that I’d had enough to drink…What kind of child walks around the house for months, not speaking to her mother? I’ll tell you what kind! A vindictive little snot who’s trying to punish the parent instead of staying in a child’s place.”
Enough of this!
“How about a child who is trying the best way she can to get her mother to stop trying to kill herself with a liquor bottle? Or one who was afraid she would say something that would send her mother on yet another drinking binge. Take your pick, Mom, because I’ve been both!”
As soon as the words fell out of her mouth, she regretted them. The last thing she wanted to do was argue with her mother. In fact, she avoided the battleground at all costs most times. She ran her hand across her face and finished wiping the sleep out of her eyes.
“Listen, I’ve got to go get ready for work, Mom. I’ll call you this weekend—”
“Don’t bother!”
Click.
Oh, yes…Getting hung up on by one’s mother…What a glorious way to start your day!
Samantha softly laid the phone down and headed for the shower.
“All I want to know is if I work hard enough and do what I’m supposed to do in physical therapy, is there a real chance that I can go back to firefighting?” Joel tried to get a straight answer out of his doctor.
“And as I said, making your back stronger and getting the most out of physical therapy is what you need to be focusing on.” Dr. Lardner kept his eyes on his pad.
“Also, the fire department’s physician would be the one to give the final go-ahead about you going back to work. I will say that a back injury as extreme as yours will take a lot of work in order for a person to go back to such a physically demanding job.”
Joel ran his hand across his head in frustration.
“And I’m asking you, if I put in the work needed, is it a possibility? I need to know that it’s a possibility.”
He hated the pleading sound in his voice, but holding on to the hope his life could go back to normal was the only thing keeping him going, keeping him positive. His family’s quest to get him to see other options was starting to punch holes in his resolve.
“Honestly, when you came into the hospital with the injuries you had, I didn’t think you would ever walk again. Luckily the damage didn’t lead to paralysis, and you are walking on your own two feet today. So, I don’t want to say with certainty you wouldn’t be able to do what you needed to do to make your back stronger, strong enough to go back to firefighting, but I don’t want to make any promises.”
“That’s okay. Just knowing there’s a chance is good enough for me.”
For now, until I can make it a reality and end up doing the job I love again.
The feeling he got from being able to rush into a blazing building head on—tackle and tame the burning flames until they were wiped out—was unlike anything he had ever felt. He remembered the first time he ever saw an out-of-control fire. It had been awe-inspiring. When he saw those firemen carry a little girl and her grandmother from the fire, he knew without a doubt that was what he wanted to do. While most little boys growing up at that time wanted to be Superman or Batman, he already knew what kind of superhero he wanted to be. He wanted to be a fireman. He still wanted to be a fireman.
“Oh, and, Doc, uh, I was wondering about…sex…with my back…” This had to be the most awkward conversation ever.
“You will certainly be able to have sex. You’ll just have to be a little careful and not stress your back. Your physical therapist will be able to give you some advice on the best positions—”
“Aah…no.” He tried to imagine having a conversation about back-friendly sex with Little Miss Spitfire, especially when he’d had some interesting dreams about the curvy, sexy and opinionated woman last night.
“I mean, she’s a woman, and it would be awkward. Can you recommend some books or something?”
“I certainly can.”
“Good.” He hadn’t become concerned with the topic of sex until now. He had a hint it might have something to do with the spark of desire he felt for Samantha Dash.
Chapter 3
After two-and-a half months of intense therapy, Joel had come to hate his sessions.
He didn’t hate the sessions so much as what they represented: the ever-growing possibility he might never fight fires again.
Sure, they could make the pain manageable and most times nonexistent. He could even get on with a perfectly normal and boring regular life, but no matter how hard he worked, he couldn’t seem to bring things back to the way they were before the accident. His back still wasn’t strong enough to support the heavy equipment.
And then there was his physical therapist: Little Miss Spitfire. It seemed as if she lived to disagree with everything he said.
One would think two black urban professionals would have more in common, especially when he felt an intense attraction to the woman unlike anything he’d ever felt before, and his attraction led him to the irony of ironies. The woman knew all about his injuries and therefore his limitations, and no man wanted to step to a woman when she already knew he wasn’t bringing it the way he wanted to.
Forget that.
So for the past couple of months he’d been resisting. Resisting the urge to plant a kiss on those lips of fire. Resisting pulling the curvaceous body that could put Jennifer Hudson out of business into his arms. Resisting putting down his best lines and his tightest game to pull the most beautiful dark-chocolate goddess into his life.
And all the resisting kept a brother in a state of constant grumpiness.
When she finally came into the room, all bubbly and carrying those electric stimulation pads, he felt like smiling back at her, but all he could do was nod and grunt hello.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite curmudgeon.” She laughed and it sounded like music—music he wanted to bottle up and keep.
He glanced at her. She was wearing her white lab coat over a light summer outfit. Her cream slacks were topped by a pastel pink-and-cream blouse. The twists she normally wore in her hair had been loosened and gave her jet-black hair a crinkly, curly effect.
He liked how she looked way too much.
Trying not to smile or laugh or otherwise let her know how much her simple presence brightened his day, he coolly asked, “Do you make a habit of insulting all your patients?”
“Nope, only the overly pleasant ones like you,” she offered sarcastically.
He had to laugh at that.
“See, there’s that million-dollar smile. You really ought to show it more often, Mr. Surly.” She grinned and he noticed the soft gloss on her lips. It was a neutral shade with more shine than color, but with the flash of her perfect teeth she didn’t need any color to highlight her smile.
Samantha Dash had the kind of smile that could make a man clean out his bank account and give her everything he owned just to see it.
“I would if you were always so pleasant and agreeable, Little Miss Spitfire.”
She’d finally placed the electric stimulation patches on his back and started the treatments.
He grimaced as the small shocks did their job. “Sometimes I think you get too much of a kick out of this.”