Finding Chris Evans: The 9-1-1 Edition (4 page)

But she respected and trusted Chris. Those were things she didn’t feel for guys very often. Or ever. So it was probably understandable that Chris got to her when no one else ever had.

But she was pretty sure that respecting and trusting him meant she shouldn’t sleep with him.

She knew that sounded messed up and probably opposite of what she was supposed to think. Trust and respect should go hand and hand with physical intimacy. And maybe in a perfect world, they did. But in the real world, when you respected and trusted someone, they could hurt you.

“I don’t need you to look at my hand,” she said. “I already know what’s wrong. I’ll go in and see someone tomorrow.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “It’s something that needs looked at?”

She nodded.

“What is it?”

“It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry, I won’t miss any work.”

His scowl was right back in place. “I’m not worried about you missing work.”

“Then what are you worried about?” She’d really love to know. He rode her ass—and not in a good way—all the time. Far more than he did anyone else. The trust and respect thing did
not
go both ways here. But why he constantly felt the need to check on her, she had no idea. She was a great EMT. He needed to back the fuck off.

“I just want to be sure—”

“I’m
fine
.” She started to push past him, done with the conversation. And done with standing there staring into his gorgeous blue eyes and wanting to kiss him and knowing that he was exactly the last man on earth she should kiss.

“Britt—” Chris reached for her and grabbed her left wrist.

Tears immediately rushed to her eyes as the fiery pain slashed up her arm and she gasped.

“Fuck,” he muttered. He gentled his grip but he didn’t let her go. Instead, he lifted her hand to look at it.

The thumb was swollen and turning a lovely purplish shade.

“Jesus, Britt.” He looked up at her. “This is fine?”

“It’s dislocated,” she said.

“Or broken.”

She nodded. It could be broken. Like it mattered.

“You need it looked at tonight,” he said. “Not tomorrow. Quit messing around.”

Britt glared at him. It had been at least two years since she’d messed around. She’d been working her ass off, juggling two jobs and her family, ever since her mom had heard the word “cancer”.

“I can’t have it looked at tonight,” she said, willing her hand to stop throbbing and wishing for a few ibuprofen. Like twenty. “I’ll do it…soon.”

“Soon? Dammit. You
can—
”

“It’s my mother’s birthday tomorrow,” she broke in to his rant. “I have to decorate the cake tonight, cut up like a million strawberries and then spend the day tomorrow with my family. I’ll go in after that.”

“Surely your mother would understand,” Chris argued. “She’d want you to get it looked at.”

“Yes, and then she’d want me to quit my job!” Britt exclaimed.

Chris frowned. “What?”

“My mother hates that I’m an EMT. If she found out about this injury and how I got it, she’d beg me to quit.”

Chris seemed unsure how to respond to that. Finally, he’d shut up.

But she still added, “And her birthday is a really big deal. I would never give her bad news on her birthday.” It was true and maybe it would
keep
Chris’ mouth shut.

“I understand that her birthday is important,” Chris said. “I just think that moms typically put their kids first.”

She scowled at him. “She would. Of course. But we don’t let her.”

“I don’t get it. I think—”

“She had cancer.” Damn, Chris always thought he knew best, knew more than everyone else.

But it seemed that she had officially found the way to stop Chris from arguing with her. Cancer. That fucking word. Six letters that could drive a knife right through your heart.

Britt pressed her lips together and looked up at Chris. He wasn’t saying anything, but the look in his eyes made her throat tighten. “Don’t,” she said hoarsely.

“Britt—”

She cleared her throat. “Seriously,” she said firmly. “Don’t.” She didn’t want to cry in front of him. She didn’t want him to feel sorry for her. She didn’t want him to see her as anything but tough. She needed him to look at her and know that she could handle anything he, the job—hell,
life
—threw at her. But if he kept looking at her like he wanted to take care of her, she was going to break down. And cry. Or throw herself into his arms and beg him to take her mind off of things.

He grasped her upper arms and pulled her in.

“No.” But her voice wasn’t nearly as firm as she wanted it to be. “Don’t.”

He brought her up against his chest and tucked her head under his chin.

“Stop.” But she did nothing to fight him.

He ran a hand up and down her back. “I’m really sorry.”

She shrugged slightly. “It’s cancer. She’s okay now. Physically anyway.”

“I was actually saying I’m sorry for acting like an ass.”

“Oh.” Then she took a deep breath, realized how great he smelled, and found her arms around his waist. Because why not? He’d started it.

“What do you mean, physically anyway?” he asked after a moment.

Darn, they were going to talk. She was pretty fine with just being against him and smelling him.

“She is living it up, making the most of every day.”

“That’s great, right?”

His deep voice rumbling in his chest was really nice, so Britt pressed her ear against it a little harder. “It does sound great. But it’s kind of a pain in the ass, actually.”

He chuckled softly and that rumble was even better than his voice. “How so?”

“Everything is a big party. All the time. Which, I know, doesn’t sound like a problem, but we have a family dinner every Thursday night which is like a normal person’s birthday party—decorations, amazing food, tons of people. One Sunday a month we have brunch that’s like how most people celebrate major holidays—more decorations, more food, more people. And then there are the birthdays…” She sighed. “Birthdays are nuts. They’re like…New Year’s Eve and…Mardi Gras. They’re like freaking Mardi Gras. Especially hers.”

Chris gave her a smile. A real, honest-to-goodness smile. And Britt felt something low in her stomach clench.

“I think that sounds nice,” he said. “Maybe we should all be doing that.”

Britt raised a brow. “Seriously?”

“I’m just saying, we all tend to take things for granted, we get busy and don’t spend time with people we care about, we always think we’ll do the important things tomorrow. Your mom’s not doing that.”

The making-a-huge-deal-out-of-even-meatloaf thing that had been going on with her mom for the past two years had gotten exhausting. It was like preparing Christmas dinner for forty people once a week. But hearing Chris say that it was nice made her want to take him home for meatloaf. And spaghetti. And chicken casserole. Because it was nice. And she wouldn’t mind having someone remind her of that.

Or maybe it was still the smelling-really-good thing.

“It is nice,” she agreed. She loved her family, she was, of course, thrilled that her mother was healthy, and it was always a good idea to appreciate what you had. But it had gotten to be…a lot of work.

Stupid that living life to the fullest, loving your family and celebrating life could be a lot of work. In fact, that made her feel pretty horrible.

“I mean it,” Chris said. “The more I think about it, the better I like it. I mean, what the hell are we doing every day but saving people’s lives and giving them a second chance? I would love to know that the people we rescue all go home and start living it up like your mom.”

His eyes brightened as he talked, and Britt felt her pulse pick up. He looked good like this—excited, enthusiastic, energized.

“Yeah?” she asked. “You kind of dig the idea of chocolate cake for breakfast?”

“Your mom eats cake for breakfast?”

“Sometimes lunch. Sometimes at midnight. But she eats chocolate cake every day.”

Chris’ grin was large. “Really?”

“Her favorite thing. She’d lost about thirty pounds a year before her cancer diagnosis. When she got the news, she said one of the things she was most pissed about was that she’d given up cake and might die anyway. She vowed to eat cake every day after that. Then she got sick from the chemo and she couldn’t eat it, and she got pissed all over again.”

“And now, cake every day.”

“Every single day.”

Chris shook his head, as if in wonder. “I really like that.”

Britt laughed softly. “She’s something.”

“No, really. I like that. And…I’m a bacon-and-eggs guy.”

Britt wasn’t one bit surprised by that. “And do you ever eat bacon and eggs when it’s
not
breakfast time? Or pancakes or French toast or—”

“No,” he broke in with a slight frown.

“Yeah, I figured.” That was Chris. Routine-oriented, by-the-book Chris. Bacon and eggs were traditionally breakfast foods, so he ate them for breakfast.

“So how can I help?” he asked a moment later.

“You can’t. I’ll get it looked at on Monday.”

He shook his head again. “Not your thumb. How can I help you with your mom’s party?”

She looked at him with surprise. “You want to
help
?”

“I want your mom to have her party,” he told her. “And I want you to be able to do your part. But your thumb is going to be a problem.”

Britt’s pulse began drumming hard. She couldn’t explain it. But it probably had something to do with Chris wanting to do this because he liked her mom’s attitude. Or it might have to do with the idea that Chris was offering to help her. With whatever she needed.

Okay, she’d put those words to it. He hadn’t said whatever she needed. But she liked that idea.

“So what are you offering to help me with exactly?” she asked.

“Whatever you need.”

There it was. Britt gave him a huge grin. This guy had been driving her crazy ever since they’d met. He was serious and unbending and even grumpy. At least with her. But he loved the idea that her mother lived loud and large. So this could be interesting.

“I could use some help decorating my mom’s cake,” she said. Which was true. Her thumb was going to make that job impossible. And she couldn’t ask any of her siblings or her mom’s friends. She had to act normal.

“Okay. I have no idea how to do that, but if you can talk me through it, I’m willing.”

She liked the idea of having him willing too. “And maybe you could go to my mom’s party with me.”

Chris seemed surprised for a second. “Well, yeah. If you think that would help.”

She wanted him to meet her mom. That surprised her. She didn’t bring guys home. She didn’t introduce guys to her family. Mostly because her family was a lot, and she hadn’t ever been serious enough about a guy to risk bringing him into the fun house. Literally. Her family made her a little nuts, but she didn’t like the idea of someone else thinking they were nuts. But with Chris…it wasn’t about what he’d think of them. That surprised her a little and yet, she knew it was true. He wouldn’t think they were weird. She wasn’t sure how she knew that. But for all his crabbiness and OCD tendencies, and the fact he didn’t let her get too far out of his circle of control, he wasn’t judgmental. It never mattered to him if their patients were junkies or jerks, rich or righteous, he treated them all with respect and with all of his skill.

So taking him home would be fine. In fact, taking him home would be good for him. Chris Evans needed to have some fun.

She maybe should warn him about the party. And her family. And the Fun Zone. And…all of it. But she couldn’t deny that surprising him sounded like fun too. She did have an idea though.

“I’ll need some help with some things. But I also can’t let them know that you’re there to help.”

“So, what’s the plan?”

She tipped her head and looked up at him. “How would you feel about being my boyfriend for the weekend?”

Chapter Three

Britt smelled like caramel corn. She’d just taken a shower and she still smelled like caramel corn. It had to be her hair. She hadn’t shampooed, so he could only assume the scent was caught in the long dark waves.

But why did her hair smell like caramel corn?

Well, now it looked like he had a chance to find out all kinds of things about Britt.

“You think we could be convincing as boyfriend and girlfriend?” he asked. The idea didn’t sound as crazy as it should have. They had some chemistry, that was for sure. And it was a birthday party for her mom. It would be for a short period. He was certainly willing to act like he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

I didn’t realize you didn’t know that you’re in love with her.

Ellie’s words came back to him. But what the hell did she know? He wanted Britt. That much he could admit. But there was no way he was in
love
with her. How could he be in love with her? He didn’t know her…

But he did. He knew the important things anyway—she was brave and tough and smart and sweet. In the work they did, there wasn’t a lot of room or time for faking things or putting on a façade. Blood and fire and guns and broken bones—and broken people—had a way of bringing out what was real in those taking care of them. Britt had always been gutsy, but she’d also been caring and confident while being one of the best EMTs he’d ever worked with. She did her work with her heart. That was easy to see. And since the same was true for him, it was easy to lo—like her a lot.

She gave him a smile that made his entire body harden. God, she’d felt good in his arms. Perfect. He couldn’t wait to get her back up against him.

“Yeah, I think we could pull it off.”

“So how can I help?”

“Hold my hand a lot,” she said. “
Gently
. And be really sweet and doting and caring so that no one thinks it’s strange when you unscrew jars for me and cut and squeeze and pinch things for me.”

He lifted a brow. “We’re going to be cutting and squeezing and pinching things?”

She laughed and lust shot through him. “Decorating a cake, remember?”

“But that’s before the party.”