Page 8 of Her Filthy Grump

“Don’t worry about the fucking cat. He’s an asshole anyway.” Nelson ambles over to the bench beside the driveway and falls into the wooden seat.

“No.” Mabel shakes her head, and tears fill her eyes. “He’s the sweetest cat. At least, he loves me.”

“He pisses in my slippers.”

“You’re mean to him.” By this point, tears are streaming down Mabel’s cheeks, and the pulse in my temples is banging so loudly, I’m positive the rest of the neighbors can hear it.

“Where does Chester hide?”

“Under the kitchen table.” Mabel’s gray-blue eyes stare in adoration, and she grabs my fingers. “Will you go in and look for him? He likes you.”

“Sure.” I nod and climb the front steps. As I approach the door, I glance inside for signs of flames and smoke.Nothing.

“Oh, God,” Mabel cries out, causing me to jump.

“What?”

“Please, get Chester. Quick.”

The image of Chester frantically crying under the table while flames charbroil him flies through my mind. I shudder forcefully and yank the door open. The sound of sirens fills the air.

The living room is clear of smoke. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” I mutter to no one in particular. The Gibson’s wouldn’t hear me anyway.

I creep through the room. The yellow paint and metal wall decorations are straight out of the 1970s. “Chester?” I pause. “Here. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty.”

The light popping sound of wood makes my skin crawl, but it sounds farther away than the kitchen area. I’ve only been inside the Gibson’s home a couple of times, but I remember the downstairs layout. The kitchen is on the other side of this wall.

“What in the hell are you doing?”

I scream and jump, hitting my arm on the vintage amber table lamp. As it wobbles, I reach out to grab it, but miss. The lamp tumbles to the floor with a crack as the glass bursts.

“Don’t scare me like that.” I slap my hands on my hips and swallow. This is not one of the regular firemen that works for my dad. It’s none other than Mr. Grumpalicious, wearing a full firemen’s suit and looking hot as sin.Damn it.

“Scare you?” He rolls his eyes with his helmet perched on top of his head. “You’re the dumbass traipsing through a house fire. What’re you doing? Searching for valuables.”

“Don’t be an asshole. I’m searching for a cat.” The smell of smoke is growing, but the room is still clear.

“I agree pussy is pretty valuable, but not worth dying for.” He steps forward, lifts me by the waist, and tosses me over his shoulder.

“What. Are. You. Doing?” I stiffen to keep from bouncing against his body. If I don’t, I might start hitting him and never stop. Or groping. Groping from this angle seems nice.God, I’ve got smoke inhalation.

“Rescuing you.”

“I don’t need to be rescued. The fire is–” I sneeze and blink as grit fills my vision.

“Getting bigger.” His hand clasps my ass, and I swallow.

My eyes widen.Did my nipples just tighten? Holy cow.Get a grip. You’re in the middle of a fire with a man acting like a total caveman bossing you around. This is not the time to get all swoony.

“Don’t you know anything about fires? You’re not supposed to rush into them.”

“I’m not stupid.” I clench my hand into a fist and punch his back. “Put me down. I can walk.”

“And risk youwalkingback into the fire. No, thank you. Your cousin would kick my ass. And then when I got back to the station, your father would take another pound of flesh off me.”

“Where’s Gavin?” Maybe he can get the big brute’s hands off me. Or remind me that I’m not supposed to enjoy it.

Mr. Grumpalicious slams his hand into the wooden door. As he lugs me into the daylight, fresh air fills my lungs. I inhale to clear the gunk out of my nose. There in the corner of the porch is a black puff of fur licking his paw.