How could Rosanne give up Mason for Harvey? I imagine my mom with her new boyfriend, with his gnarled hand resting possessively on her shapely knee. Then I wonder if they ever have sex—and physically shudder at the image. I forcibly shove that idea out of my brain and head up the stairs to change out of my jeans and t-shirt. Ugh, my clothes are sweaty and with a sigh of relief, I put on a light silk camisole and matching short shorts.
Now it’s time for dinner. With a tired sigh, I slog downstairs and stare into the fridge. Honestly, I’m tempted to just warm some chicken nuggets or taquitos in the microwave, but inspiration strikes then. We have a full gallon of 2% milk, the odds and ends of a couple types of cheese, and even some leftover bacon from weekend brunch. You know what would hit the spot just right? Fancy mac and cheese!
My mouth already beginning to water, I take out our Dutch oven, grab a box of macaroni noodles from the cupboard, and dump them into the pan. In my excitement, a few pieces of pasta jump out onto the counter, but I toss them back in with a flourish. Then, I add milk to the mix instead of water so that the mac and cheese will be extra creamy once it’s ready.
Enthusiastically, I grab the bacon and chop it up into nice-sized chunks. Mm, this is going to be so good. With quick fingers, I shred the cheese into tiny bits, and dump that into the Dutch oven as well.
It’s only then that the tell-tale odor of smoke fills my nostrils. Oh shit, what happened? Half a second later, the smoke alarm starts to shriek and wail, and I whip around to see smoke billowing up from the stove. Fuck! I quickly turn the burner off, grab some potholders, and move the Dutch oven to a different ring. It’s obvious what happened because there’s a blackened bit of pasta stuck to the wire burner. I must have missed a macaroni noodle, and it started to smolder and then catch fire.
Meanwhile, the alarm continues to shriek. In a rush, I dash to the windows and fling them open before seizing a towel and jumping up and down beneath the fire alarm. It’s so hopeless, and I probably look like a madman as I frantically wave the white fabric in a circle over my head.
At that moment, the ping of the doorbell finally reaches my ears. Shit, I can barely hear over this stupid fire alarm. A loud thumping sounds then, and I make my way to the door before flinging it open.
“I’m sorry,” I say apologetically. “I didn’t mean to burn dinner but the macaroni got away…”
It’s only then that I realize that gorgeous fireman standing on my doorstep is none other than Mason Caldwell himself.
4
Mason
Holy shit, what is she wearing? I’ve been a firefighter for a long time now, so I’ve seen everything. I’ve seen people run out of the house with their hair on fire, dressed in nothing but their underpants. I once saw a man come out in full bondage gear begging us to save his room full of BDSM equipment.
But Charity’s something else. The curvy girl flings the door open and she’s dressed in nothing but the tiniest pink tank top with strings for straps. Matching short shorts complete the outfit, but what she doesn’t realize is that one big breast has bounced right out of the low-cut top, the tip rosy and alluring. Immediately, my groin tightens.
“I’m sorry,” she pants, obviously out of breath from trying to wave smoke away from the alarm. “Oh wait, it’s you,” she says.
“It’s me,” I growl. “Need some help?”
She blushes prettily.
“Oh yes, please.”
I move into the home and shut the door before striding over to the alarm and turning it off. The ensuing silence is deafening. It’s only then that I gesture to her chest.
“Um, so you’re hanging out a bit, sweetheart.”
Charity looks down then and gasps when she realizes her breast is on full view. It’s a gorgeous tit that’s enormous, creamy, and soft with a pale pink nipple that I long to suck. But within seconds, it’s out of sight as she covers herself once more.
“OMG!” she pants. “I was jumping up and down, and I must have gotten carried away. Ugh, sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I grin, holding up both my hands. “You’re very beautiful, and there was nothing to be embarrassed about.”
But still, her cheeks have flushed a fetching fire-engine red.
“Oh my God,” she stammers again, biting her lip. “Um, well how are you Mason? How are you feeling?”
I take this as a subtle indication that she knows that her mom and I are broken up.
“I’m good,” I growl. “I’ve been better, but everything’s fine. Hey, do you mind if I take off this jacket? The emergency’s clearly been contained and this thing is sweaty and heavy.”