Hot Stuff

“What?” she questions. “No. No way.”

I nod. “It’s happening, Lauren.”

She huffs out a sigh. “Okay, well, if you’re insisting on buying me the fish, I’m getting the tank.”

“Unnecessary. I’m already getting it.”

“Garrett!”

“Come on, Lauren.” I nod toward the shelves with the tanks and accessories. “Let’s pick out…what’s his name?”

“Fat Frank,” she says instantly, and my cheeks ache with the breadth of my smile. My skin has been stretched to a new point of tension.

“Let’s pick out Fat Frank’s tank and accessories. We want him to be comfortable, don’t we?”

She looks up at me. “Am I really getting a fish?”

“Sure looks like it.”

“Have I lost my mind?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

I nod. Eyes serious but lips amused. “Definitely.”

“Do you like crazy women, Garrett?”

“I like you,” I say, with expert avoidance, if I do say so myself.

Her cheeks flush in a blooming effect worthy of any 1990s PowerPoint presentation.

“Oh my God,” she murmurs, her intention almost definitely meant to speak solely to herself. “I’m getting a fish. An obese goldfish who looks at me like no man ever has.”

Suddenly aware that I’m listening—quite possibly because I make an audible snicker—she jerks her eyes up to meet mine. They’re like anime eyes, they’re so comically wide.

“Pretend you didn’t hear any of that, okay?”

“No chance of that.”

Her head drops into her hands, and she groans. “God.”

“We’re going to need stories one day when we’re old about the beginning of our relationship. Think of how fun that’ll be.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s our first date. Don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself?”

I shrug. I’m nowhere near ready to pledge an oath to her or anything, but it also doesn’t bother me to think about. Especially because it makes her eyes look that much more bottomless.

“Could be. But you have to make memories in order to look back on them. Gotta prepare, just in case it works out.”

She shakes her head quickly, making me laugh. “Nope. Nope. Not gonna go there. I’m just going to pick out a tank for my cute fish and let the chips fall where they may.”

“Good idea,” I concur. “What size tank do you think you want? Any chance you’re going to get Fat Frank any playmates one day? Or is this strictly a one-fish operation?”

“I don’t know?” she says quizzically, a little bit of panic seeping in around the edges of her eyes and making them crinkle. “Do you think he’ll get lonely while I’m at work if he’s in there by himself?”

“I’m not sure. Fish novice, remember? I mean, he does have a buddy in there with him now, so maybe?”

“Oh God. Now I don’t know what to do. I better Google it.”

“Google what exactly?”

She doesn’t answer, instead taking out her phone and typing furiously into the browser search bar. I read over her shoulder as she does.

Do fish get lonely?

I have to bite my lip pretty hard to keep from saying some shit that years of being in a firehouse have influenced in me. There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell any of the guys would let a Google search like that go unroasted, pretty woman or not.

Instead, I read over her shoulder again as she scrolls to the immediate answer that no, fish in general do not get lonely, but there are some breeds that enjoy company more than others. Then I watch as she clicks that link to get more information on whether Fat Frank is one of those breeds that prefers companionship.

As one of the most popular pets in America, goldfish comes up pretty quickly, and the relief that rolls off Lauren is palpable.

“Oh good. It says goldfish actually like to be alone. As long as you pimp their tank like they’re a celebrity on Cribs.”

“I don’t think a Rolls-Royce is going to fit into any tank we can find here.”

She smiles. “No need for a Rolls. Just some kick-ass rocks and a neon castle or something for shelter. And color. Lots of color and pizzazz.”

I nod. “Makes sense that a guy like Fat Frank needs pizzazz.”

I follow closely behind her as she picks out a ten-gallon tank with black trim, bright neon blue and green rocks, and an array of colorful faux plants. She piles the accessories in her arms while I carry the tank, but when it becomes obvious we’re not going to make it to the counter like this, I excuse myself to run and get a cart.

When I return, she has her loot on the floor and is sorting through several different castles.

“Find anything you like?” I ask, stepping forward to scoop up all the stuff from the floor and drop it into the cart.

She looks up from her crouched position, and an illicit image of her kneeling on the floor in front of me and taking my dick in her mouth startles me so bad, I choke on my saliva.