"Manischewitz!" Alisha called excitedly.
He nodded and read the next clue. "Ugh, annoying chick with the dreads that was in Ghost."
"Whoopi Goldberg."
"Yup. Bruce Springsteen song. Show a little faith there's magic in the night. You ain't a beauty but hey, you're alright," he sang.
"Thunder Road," Alisha said, something warm twisting in her belly from hearing that baritone voice come out of his mouth.
They'd managed to get four more words and only needed one more to win the game. Well, Beau and Cristina still had to go, but they needed something close to a thousand to win, so Big wasn't at all worried. He looked at the word and up at Alisha, wondering if she'd be able to guess this one. "Football—best QB in the NFL. He—"
"Peyton Manning!" Alisha shouted and looked at Big expectantly.
"Time!" Russell called.
Big grinned and turned the word around for Russell to read. Printed neatly on the slip of paper was Peyton Manning.
When Russell's face fell, Alisha squealed delightedly and jumped up and down, doing a little victory dance that Big found cute as hell. She ran over laughing and high fived him again before rushing off to flaunt their win in Russell's face.
He didn't get a chance to talk to her again until later because she and the other girls (and Russell) had a powwow in the dining room while the guys bowled on the Wii and drank beer. After Cristina and Beau left, he escaped the living room because the goo-goo eyes James and Maggie were making at each other were turning his stomach. He found Alisha in the kitchen sitting on the counter laughing with Russell and Adam.
Russell looked over and exchanged a quick look with his boyfriend once he spotted Big. It made no difference to him that he'd just gotten Alisha to forgive him. He'd noticed a definite something during game night and he would at the very least help his friend take that fireman for a spin. She'd thank him eventually. "Time for us to jet, Delicious," he said, a wily smile twisting his lips.
Alisha leaned down and kissed his cheek and got a hug from Adam. "See you later, favorite men of mine," she said affectionately and waved. She looked up and saw Big watching her from the doorway, one hand tucked into the pocket of his faded jeans. Her cheeks were hot again, and she didn't think it had anything to do with the wine she'd been drinking. "Hey," she greeted casually, taking a gulp from her glass to quiet whatever was sparking to life inside as his eyes held hers.
"Hey," he flashed a lopsided grin.
"Brownie?" she asked, picking up the plate next to her on the counter.
He walked over, grabbed one of the chocolate-y treats and bit off half. "So," he began after he polished off the brownie, "Peyton Manning?"
She licked the chocolate from her thumb and nodded. "I like football—mostly the Colts."
He cocked an eyebrow in surprise. "Never would have pegged you as a sports fan."
"You don't know me," she reminded him.
"You're really competitive," he said with a half-smile.
She smiled easily at him then. "That's true."
"It's kinda hot," he said, his voice gruff.
"You know what," she began, hopping down off the counter, "don't ruin my winning high by opening your mouth and saying something disgusting. Sound good?"
He laughed and grabbed his remaining beer from the refrigerator. "Fair enough, Shorty."
"Stop calling me that," she told him, though her tone didn't quite match the statement.
Big just shrugged, looking amused. "You gonna come check out Fire Extinguishers with Maggie next week?"
Alisha pressed her lips together and considered. She had to admit that she was completely intrigued to hear him sing after hearing those measly two bars during the game. "I don't know. Is there any Springsteen in your set list?" she inquired coyly, taking another drink from her wine.
He'd given her a tiny taste of Biggerone's vocal styling and she wanted more. With a shit-eating grin on his face he replied "Maybe." Totally.
"Well, maybe I'll see you play sometime." She grinned, her eyes dancing. It was the wine. It had to be the wine. It absolutely was not that sexy dimple just above his chin.
"Night, Larrington."
"Goodnight, Big."
Chapter 6
If Big had to pick one thing in the world he hated above everything else, it would be rats. It wasn't that he was afraid of rats. No, he was way too macho and badass for that. He hated them because they were disgusting, disease carrying rodents and their beady eyes and ringed tails made his skin crawl. And their creepy squeaking? Forget it. Re-fucking-volting!
So you can imagine the mood Big was in as he and James ran up the stairs of the abandoned burning building when hundreds of rats ran down opposite him, shrieking in stereo. "Fucking rat bastards! You're fucking gross," he spat as they ascended the stairs. Don't even bother calling him a pussy. He'd kick your ass into the middle of next week for even trying. Besides, Indiana Jones hated snakes and that dude pulled in a shitload of tail. No one ever called him a pussy. (And he carried a whip and wore a cool ass hat.) A rat ran under his boot and he stumbled, cursing their very existence while James chuckled at him. "Man, go fuck yourself," Big yelled, to James and the rat alike.
The duo reached the top floor of the building and the haze of smoke surrounding them was black and dense. Big turned on the hose, dousing the flames that licked the walls. He approached a door, saw smoke coming out from under it. Checking for hot spots and finding it okay, he kicked in the door and blasted the room with water before setting foot inside with James towing the hose behind him.
They quickly found the source of the fire in some faulty wiring and had it handled shortly thereafter. As fires went, Big considered it a two on
