Between The Lines - T Gephart Page 0,2
own manhood to deal with me. And despite sometimes feeling like I was “too much,” I refused to compromise. At least for the current week. A cheeky hook-up, with a guy who didn’t know who signed my paycheck, could very well be on the agenda at some point in the future if my hormones took over.
“Miller looks like he has it handled.” Raelle lifted her brow, my partner shooting us a sly smile as he came into view. He’d acquired some company since he’d disappeared, an enthusiastic brunette on his arm as they made their way to the bar. “Let me know if you guys need anything else. Presley likes to keep our first responders happy.”
And with a nod, she headed back to the bar.
The “Presley” in question was the owner of Vault. Who, in addition to being smart and ambitious, was the sister of one fireman and engaged to another, both who served in our precinct. We’d also looked out for her when she was dealing with a crazy-ass ex, so her feelings of gratitude were a little more than just the run-of-the-mill liked to keep us happy.
My eyes glanced over to where both Raelle and Grayson had migrated, the long bar of Vault getting a lot of action from the thirsty crowd. My partner—like the rest of the people vying for drinks—seemed completely oblivious to me and my look of satisfaction, glad it hadn’t taken long for our mission to have been achieved.
Of course, all that had happened so far was two people of the opposite sex sharing a friendly conversation. But even if that was all that transpired for the night, it would be a massive step in the right direction, Miller’s smile hinting it had been the ego boost he’d needed.
Meant I could relax a little too, the need to intervene hopefully lowering by the minute. Not sure what I wanted to do with my newfound reprieve from responsibility. Dancing wasn’t really my thing, and finding a distraction of my own wasn’t on the agenda either. Which left only one other option, drinking.
While I vowed to stay sober and alert, a drink or two wasn’t going to kill anyone. And considering we were in a bar, it would probably help me look less like I was on a stakeout and more like the general population.
I was making my way over to the bar—the end opposite Miller so I didn’t cramp his style—when I noticed a couple of familiar faces sitting in a nearby booth. They had a waitress looking after them, laughing animatedly as she seemed to be taking their order.
Leighton and Tibbs were here.
While their appearance didn’t really surprise me—the two of them comprising of the previously mentioned brother and the fiancé of the owner—I had hoped I’d be spared the interaction. And not because I had an issue with firefighters in particular. In fact, Leighton was a total sweetheart, and one of the nicest guys you’d ever meet.
Yeah, he was something else.
I’d seen him perform acts of unparalleled bravery and his commitment to the FDNY and competency in the face of danger was something I admired and respected.
But once he took off that uniform, he was a complete manwhore.
A beautiful manwhore, delicious in every way that mattered, and I’ll admit I’d been unable to take my eyes off him when we first met. God, I remember that day, his smile, the way he strode into the room with such confidence, my heart beating a little faster every time he’d look in my direction.
But beautiful or not, he was nonetheless a manwhore.
He was unapologetic about it too, the smug smile on his face confirming he knew his amazing six-two athletic frame would probably be cozied up to some bar bimbo by the end of the night. They’d take one look at his gorgeous hazel eyes, incredible body and sexy smile and would willingly be his next conquest.
And what I hated more than anything was that I even cared.
What did it matter who he went to bed with or how many women he entertained? On the list of my concerns, it should’ve ranked dead last. But regardless of not wanting to have anything to do with Tibbs taking up my mental space, I couldn’t help that thoughts of him and his stupid sexy face and body featured anyway.
It was ridiculous, an irritation that chaffed me like a blister that wouldn’t quite heal. And if there was any God at all, I hoped his next hookup