Once all of the gear was packed away, he hopped into the passenger's seat, yelling at James to hurry his ass up.
"The fire's already out, dude. What's wrong? The rats mocking you?" James teased as he slid into the driver's seat, laughing when Big scowled and flipped him off. "Why are you in such a shitty mood? Things not go well with that brunette you went home with last night?"
Big's scowl grew deeper. Things had been going amazingly well until he told "Alisha" how much he wanted to fuck her and Jessica (Julie?) got all offended and kicked him out. But he didn't feel the need to share that bit of info with his buddy. "Not really…didn't feel very satisfied after."
"Huh—might be because you're hung up on Alisha."
He looked at James like he'd grown another head. "The fuck did you just say?"
James smiled affably at his best friend. "You heard me."
"You smoke something out of your upstairs hippie neighbor's stash today before you came to work?"
"I dunno, man, something about the way you like to push her buttons—"
"Look," he interrupted, "I'm not denying that she's hot. Hell, I'd hit that six ways from Sunday if I thought she'd be down for some no-strings action, but she seems way too high maintenance and into relationship crap for me to even bother. Plus, she's your girlfriend's friend, so I'll just stay out of it. Literally and figuratively," he chuckled. He was so hilarious sometimes. He laughed even harder at the confused look on James's face as he tried to put the pieces of the joke together. "Don't burn your brain out, Keller. I just meant that I'd stay out of her pants."
"Okay, one, Maggie's not my girlfriend (yet), and two, I don't believe you about Alisha."
"Your hang up, not mine. Like I said, I'd probably fuck her brains out if I didn't think shit would get weird after, but you know me. And you're my bro, so even if I think you're a total vagina for getting mixed up in a relationship, I'm not about to fuck things up for you."
"That's really deep, Big," James said drolly, his hand over his heart, shooting a grin across the rig. "But are you sure that maybe you just haven't met the right girl yet and—"
"Jesus! Better pull over there to the Duane Reade and get yourself some fucking tampons. And maybe a Playboy while you're at it…see if your dick can grow back."
James frowned, not appreciating his manhood being questioned and focused on the drive. Seeing something that piqued his interest, he slowed the rig down.
"Why are you stopping?" Big grumbled.
"Maggie and Alisha," he grinned, pointing out the window, laughing when Big quickly craned his head to get a better look. "Careful, buddy, might give yourself whiplash."
"Get Derek!" He ogled appreciatively out the window. Christ, she had a good pair of legs…and those dark jeans were practically painted on. Screw what James thought. He and Shorty had a semi-decent rapport now and he had a reputation to uphold as far as said rapport went. Rolling down the window he brought his fingers to his lips and whistled loudly. "Afternoon, ladies," he drawled.
Alisha and Maggie halted in their tracks and turned. Maggie grinned instantly, spotting James lifting a hand in the driver's seat. "Afternoon, gentlemen," she called back. Alisha was a little more hesitant, seeing the way Big smirked playfully at her from the fire truck. He was always popping up when she least expected it, leaving her completely nonplussed.
He laughed at the annoyed look on Alisha's face and hopped out of the fire truck. "Wanna sit next to your boyfriend, Blondie?" he asked Maggie.
Maggie laughed softly, unaffected by his word choice, and climbed into the truck beside James making introductions with the other crew members.
"Lookin' good, Larrington," he grinned.
Alisha sipped on her slushie, nearly choking on it as he strode towards her in his protective gear, the suspenders holding up his pants and his navy FDNY t-shirt stretched nicely across his broad shoulders. She felt particularly foolish for being so cliché about firemen, but this one was a very hot example…even if he was an ass. Damn him. "Don't you have work to do?" Her tone was bored as she tried not to salivate over the eye buffet in front of her.
"Just finished a run—heading back to the station now." He appraised her up and down, taking in the boots she wore over her jeans, gray sweater and messy ponytail. Her full lips were stained red in the middle from her drink. She was gorgeous.
"My eyes are up here," she snapped.
He smiled wickedly then and met her big doe eyes, which were once again shooting daggers in his direction. "I know where they are. Just appreciating your other—assets first."
"You've got black shit on your face," she informed him, taking another small sip of her cherry beverage. He wiped the wrong cheek with the back of his hand and she smirked, pointing to the other one.
Big smoothly missed on purpose, but she remained rooted to her spot on the sidewalk, chuckling at him. "Why don't you help me then?" he asked in a gravelly voice.
"No," she clipped.
"You're killin' me, Shorty!"
Alisha held the straw in between her teeth and smiled at his Sandlot reference. She found she didn't really mind the nickname much. He angled his head and grinned impishly down at her, and she sighed, resigned. Rolling her eyes, she stepped forward and reached up to brush away the soot off his cheekbone with the pad of her thumb. "There," she murmured, then wiped off the soot onto the shoulder of his t-shirt.
His cheek tingled where she'd touched him, and he felt like such a goddamn girl. "Was that good for you?" he asked lecherously, the shit-eating grin stretching across his face. That's
