Show Stopper: A First Responder Romantic Comedy (Chicago First Responders Book 1) Page 5

“Go for casual. Might give you half a chance before she blocks your number,” Rhodes says, snickering.

  “Thanks, friend.”

  “Anytime, Marky Mark. Come around tomorrow for dinner. Jake’s cooking some fancy thing he learned on YouTube.”

  “Is that code for ‘come save me from being poisoned’ or what?”

  “It’s code for ‘come over and have your taste buds dazzled!’”

  “Tell Jake it’s a date,” I say.

  “Bye, and good luck. If a woman has you this interested after only a chance encounter or two, you’re screwed.”

  “Probably, but isn’t that half the fun?”

  Rhodes chuckles. “You’re not wrong there.”

  “You two have a good night,” I say before ending the call.

  Then I bring up Renee’s number, take a deep breath, and type out my message.

  Marco – It appears I have a sister who likes to interrogate women I’d like to date, and she didn’t even report back with any useful intel.

  Not a minute later, my phone vibrates with a reply.

  Renee – It took you long enough, Lieutenant.

  Marco – Does this mean you’ll go out with me?

  Renee – Never picked you for a quick draw, Mr. Rossi. Don’t disappoint me before we’ve even begun.

  Marco –That’s not a no . . .

  Renee – It’s not a yes yet either . . .

  5

  Renee

  Monday

  Marco – Hey. How’s your day going? Fallen into the arms of any men lately?

  Renee – Good afternoon, Lieutenant. I’ve had no showings today. I’m in the office proofing marketing materials and doing boring admin stuff. Unless I trip over my own feet and my fifty-five-year-old broker John catches me, I don’t think I’ll be needing your rescue services today.

  Marco – I wouldn’t rule it out. So, what heels are you wearing?

  Renee – Should I take that question as you admitting to a foot fetish?

  Marco – Isn’t it a little early in our relationship to be asking about sexual preferences?

  Renee – Isn’t it a little presumptuous to be using labels?

  Marco – Touché.

  Renee – Don’t think I didn’t notice you didn’t answer my question, Lieutenant.

  Wednesday

  Marco – My sister just told me you’re a closet Brewers fan. Please tell me she’s screwing with me, otherwise it might be the first thing in your con column.

  Renee – Brewers . . . they’re a football team, right?

  Marco – On my way to a call-out now, but don’t think I’m going to let this one go.

  Renee – No, definitely not a Brewers fan. Cubs for life, through and through. I fly the W proudly. Be safe, Lieutenant.

  Marco – Always, princess.

  Renee – Princess. . . I like it.

  Marco – Just say the word and I’ll bow down at your feet willingly.

  Thursday

  Renee – Lieutenant Rossi, I’ve heard you are a good guy. Do you have further testimonials to support this claim?

  Marco – You sure know how to make a long shift go faster. And no, I don’t have a collection of references to hand out to future dates.

  Renee – That is a shame. Word-of-mouth is key in my line of work.

  Marco – Surely my meddling sister’s confirmation that I’m not a douchebag is proof enough?

  Renee – LOL. Skye might just see you as a charity case that needs a woman’s touch.

  Marco – I’m trying so hard not to go near that one. I will say that I’m not afraid to put in the work to get a woman’s touch on my own.

  Renee – I’ll put that in your pro column then.

  Marco – I hope you’ve got a lot of room on that side of the list. You’re going to need it.

  Friday

  Marco – Roses are red, Violets are blue, all I want for my birthday tomorrow, is the promise of a date with you.

  Renee – LMAO are you serious?

  Marco – I may be a little buzzed, but I’m an honest drunk.

  Renee – And you thought texting me while intoxicated would convince me to accept the date you haven’t asked me out on yet?

  Marco – What would your answer be if I did?

  Renee – It’s still a maybe . . . is it really your birthday tomorrow?

  Marco – Yup. Thirty-nine and never been kissed.

  Renee – Now THAT I find hard to believe. I thought you were an honest drunk?

  Marco – I’d be honest if you were here with me now.

  Renee – And where is here?

  Marco – My house. Us guys are just having a couple of quiet drinks. What are you up to?

  Renee – Saying my prayers and reading the bible.

  Marco – What are you praying for? I’m already yours for the taking.

  Renee – You’re also a funny drunk. Is your delightful friend Scotty there?

  Marco – The Scottmeister is in fine form tonight.

  Renee – So should I warn my sister she might be getting a booty call again?

  Marco – Wait . . . AGAIN? They actually hooked up?

  Renee – Yep. I woke up the morning after the club to find a half-naked Scotty sitting in my kitchen.

  Marco – I’m so sorry. No one wants to see that first thing in the morning.

  Renee – That’s what Hayley said after he left.

  Marco – In his defense, he is a good guy. He’s just a little . . .

  Renee – Clueless when it comes to women?

  Marco – BINGO. Anyway, I’ll leave you to your conversations with God.

  Marco – Any other plans for the weekend?

  Renee – I’m doing my sister a favor and having dinner with a new soccer player who’s just been signed to the team.

  Renee – Marco? You still with me?

  Marco – Dinner? Or a blind date?

  Renee – Is it blind if I’ve seen a photo?

  Marco – Is it cheating if you’re already planning on going out on a date with a handsome and charming firefighter you met?

  Renee – Is it planning if the handsome and charming firefighter hasn’t asked me out on a date again yet?

  Marco – You forgot to say sexy firefighter . . .

  Renee – Goodnight, Marco. Happy birthday for tomorrow. Make a wish when you blow out your candles.

  Marco – There’s only one thing I want, princess.

  Renee – Then all you have to do is ask when you’re sober.

  Marco – Watch this space.

  The next night, I’m led into the restaurant by Antoine Laurent. I chant to myself. It’s just a friendly dinner. It’s just a friendly dinner. If Hayley hadn’t begged me to go through with it, promising to make it up to me and telling me it’ll help her cred at work, I wouldn’t still be here.

  That’s because my soccer-playing dinner companion has been trying to touch me every chance he’s gotten since he picked me up from home in his Italian sports car, one hour late.

  I’ve never been a fan of showy guys, or men who feel the need to overcompensate for what women can tell are their obvious shortcomings. In Antoine’s case, it’s a personality, the ability to talk about anything or anyone other than himself, and, judging by the overwhelming volume of cologne he’s wearing, his half-undone shirt, the ostentatious gold watch on his wrist and the slimy smile he sent the hostess when we arrived, there’s a reason he has to be set up for ‘dinners’ like this one. To put it bluntly, he has absolutely no chance without a little help.

  I already knew I wasn’t a fan of men in uniform—I can thank my philandering ex and his addiction to fire bunnies for that—but so far, my time with Antoine has me scratching sportsmen off the list too.

  We sit in awkward silence, me looking around the semi-full restaurant and admiring the very zen decor, while Antoine leans back in his chair, man-spreading his legs under the table so far I can barely escape, yet he seems far more engrossed with the phone in his hand than initiat
ing friendly conversation. I take the chance to quickly send Hayley a text.

  Renee – You owe me BIG TIME for this.

  Hayley – Aww. Is he really that bad?

  Renee – You should be here instead of me.

  Hayley – Well first, there’s a fraternization policy and second, you don’t put up with bullshit. And Antoine can be a little . . .difficult

  Renee – NOW you tell me. I’m not sure even I can suffer this fool.

  I slip my phone back into my purse and decide to at least make an effort at making conversation. I didn’t get my hair done, shave my legs, buy new shoes, and get dressed up just to talk to myself all night—okay, maybe the shoes are for me.

  “So, how are you finding Chicago so far?” I ask.

  He looks up, his half-lidded gaze roaming down to my chest then slowly back to my eyes. I have to fight my body’s instinctive shudder.

  “I’m enjoying the sights, that’s for sure,” he croons. Um, eww!

  Thankfully, the waitress appears to take our order.

  “Hi. I’m Holly and I’m your waitress for this evening. Unfortunately, because it’s getting late, our chef’s specials have sold out, but everything else on our menu is available.”

  “Thank you. Can I please have—”

  “We’ll have a bottle of your most expensive red wine, and we’ll have two of the best of everything,” Antoine says, speaking over me and looking at the waitress like she’s no better than the dirt on the bottom of his Salvatore Ferragamo loafers. Holly’s mouth drops open slightly but she catches it and plasters a professional expression on her face.

  She turns my way, and I shoot her a sympathetic ‘I feel you’ smile. “And would you like to—”

  “I’ve ordered for her. That will be all,” my date says, making it clear he’s dismissing her.

  “Yes, Mr. Laurent,” she says. I mouth a quick, “I’m sorry,” which earns me a sympathetic nod before she moves away.

  If he keeps this up, allegiance to my sister or not, he’ll be eating alone and I’ll gladly Uber home and order in. Life’s too short for egotistical assholes who think they’re God’s gift to the women of Chicago. I don’t care how many zeros there are in his bank account. An asshole is an asshole, no matter what.

  “That was rude, Antoine,” I say.

  “What was rude?” he replies flippantly, placing his phone face down on the table between us.

  I quirk a brow. “Do you want a list?”

  He dares to grin at me. “Okay, Renee. What’s on the list?”

  “You ordered for me without asking. You—”

  “Chicks love that shit.”

  I jerk back, my eyes jumping out as if they’re making a run for it. ”I can confirm that chicks do not love that ‘shit,’ as you so eloquently put it.”

  He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing as if to study me. “Ah, you’re one of those feminist types.”

  One of those—

  “You know, the women who like to stand their ground and exert their independence when really, they still get wet when a man pays for them, showers them with expensive gifts and . . .” He waves his hand in the air and looks around the room. “. . . takes them to expensive restaurants.”

  With every word out of his slimy, douche-faced lips, my mouth drops wider open. Did he just . . . did I hear him correctly?

  Holly returns with the bottle of red wine that I am determined to drink in its entirety—purely to survive this damn date.

  “Thank you,” I murmur, shooting her a grateful smile. I lift the glass to my lips and take a slow, measured sip when he makes his move, his palm sliding over my knee, his fingers resting on the inside of my leg.

  I quickly jerk it away, not missing the amused twitch of his lips. He’s testing the waters and weirdly, it’s almost as if he gets off on pushing the limits. No surprise there. He’s probably not used to women with a backbone.

  My purse vibrates next to my foot. Since this is more like a blind favor my sister is going to owe me for—for a long, long time—I don’t think twice before muttering, “Excuse me,” and leaning down to grab my phone from my bag.

  When I straighten and side-glance at my date, I catch his eyes firmly glued to my ass. When I arch my brow at him, he has the balls to smirk. I think Antoine needs a new name—Douche Canoe seems to be a good fit.

  As far as I’m concerned, the sooner we can finish our meal and get out of here, the better. You can bet I’m going to eat the food he ordered for me. I mean, I shaved for this. I deserve to at least get fed for my pain and suffering.

  Before I can read the first message, another one comes through. I can’t help my lips curving up at seeing Marco’s name on the screen.

  Marco – Of all the restaurants in Chicago.

  My entire body goes as frozen as the lake in winter. My head snaps up and I look around the room, but I can’t see him anywhere.

  Then I read the next message.

  Marco – And I can tell you’d much rather be on a date with me. Your body language is so frigid right now, I might start calling you Alaska.

  I don’t even think about Antoine before typing out my reply. All I want to know is where Marco Rossi is, and how he can see me when I can’t see him.

  Renee – Ah, it’s the birthday boy. BTW, I’m starting to wonder if you ARE stalking me. Where are you?

  Marco – Is it stalking if the stalkee is willing?

  Renee – Surely it can’t be a coincidence when you keep crossing paths with the same person over and over again?

  Marco – I call it fortunate serendipity.

  Renee – Or stalking . . . where are you?

  Marco – Look to the right of the front door at the entry to the teppanyaki bar.

  I lift my chin and slowly follow his directions, then lock eyes with his warm melted chocolate ones. My gaze dips to his perfectly curved mouth tipping up on one side. God, a mouth like that should be outlawed.

  Marco – Uh-oh. Don’t look now. Seems your date has realized he’s not the sun in your solar system and he doesn’t look happy about it.

  I snort, not giving two hoots whether he’s happy or not. I’m waiting for the ostentatious food he ordered for me, eating it, then I’m out.

  Renee – Honestly, there’s no room in his galaxy for anything but his ego.

  Marco – Need an escape plan? You know I have a thing about saving damsels in distress.

  That one makes my lips tip up in a smile.

  Renee – I haven’t even gotten anything good out of this dinner. The appetizers HE ordered for me are due any minute.

  Marco – What if I promise to feed you?

  I glance up to find his attention squarely focused on me. It’s as if the other patrons mulling around us fade away, leaving just the two of us.

  My mouth waters and I’m not sure whether it’s from the promise of food or the man who’s staring across a crowded restaurant at me.

  Renee – I should probably see this through.

  Marco – Well, the offer is there if you need it.

  I grin as a warm feeling fills me up.

  Renee – Thank you, Lieutenant. You truly do live to serve.

  Marco – Oh you have no idea, princess.

  It’s probably best to put my phone down and at least try to return my attention back to my dinner companion.

  Except the look he’s giving me tells me Marco was right in his deduction that my date is far from impressed with my lack of attention.

  He nods at my phone. “You’re smiling more at your phone than you have the entire time you’ve been with me.”

  I bite my tongue to stop the retort begging to pass my lips. “Sorry.” I slip the offending electronic device back into my purse. I lift a brow. “You were saying?”

  He moves his knee and his hand at the same time in a sneak attack. Man, the balls on this guy! I reach down, grab hold of his thumb, and jerk it back in a little move I learned from self-defense classes at college. He squeals like a pig and snat
ches his arm back at the same time as the waitress appears at our table with our appetizers. Not a second later, Marco looms over me, his angry eyes stabbing into my asshole date.

  “You touched her,” he growls and for a woman who doesn’t pander to peacocking alpha-males, the gravelly tone of Marco’s voice touches me in a way I haven’t experienced in a long, long time.

  I catch the waitress’s telling smirk as she slides the plates onto the table and quickly steps away. I dart to my feet and put my palm on Marco’s chest. Now that he’s here, maybe we should have a little fun with this. It’s not like I want to make a good impression for my date. That was a lost cause from the moment Antoine picked me up.

  “Baby, it doesn’t mean anything, I swear.” Then I make a snap decision to go big or go home. I press my body into Marco’s side, reaching up and cupping his jaw, earning his fiery gaze. “I thought I’d spice things up a bit. I thought you’d like this game . . .” I purr, loud enough for Antoine to hear.

  “What the fuck?” Antoine mutters but I don’t miss the flash of heat in Marco’s eyes. Now he’s getting with the program.

  “Princess,” he rumbles. “You gotta let me know when you want to spice things up a notch.” He wraps an arm around my waist, his large hand claiming my ass. We may be pretending but there’s nothing fake about the shudder that travels throughout my body. The flash of heat I catch in his eyes tells me he didn’t miss it, and better still—he likes it.

  “Oh I’m so not into this shit,” Antoine says, getting to his feet. “Tell Hayley thanks for nothing.”

  Marco and I both watch him pull out his wallet, slam some bills down on the table, and stalk across the restaurant and out the front door.

  “Oh my lord, that was awesome,” the waitress exclaims, giving us a small clap. Suddenly, I feel all the eyes in the room firmly fixed on us and the scene we just made. Marco looks down at me, lips twitching. “You’re one of a kind, princess.”

  I tilt my head. “And right now, you’re my favorite knight in shining armor.”

  My body stills when I realize I’m still pressed tightly against him, and he’s still holding me close, and neither one of us seems to be in a rush to change that situation. But unfortunately, we can’t stand like this forever so I gently shift back and mourn the loss of his body heat against mine as I put some distance between us.