Page 32 of Airhead

Like always, Frank had opened his mouth before his brain had checked in.

His car?

A DeLorean?

Not fucking likely on a firefighter’s paycheck.

He had no clue what had made those words come flying out of his mouth, but it was too late to take it back now—especially since this was the first time Katie Madigan had spoken to him since that night at Marinos AKA the best night of his fucking life.

If only it hadn’t been followed by total radio silence. She was a no-show at the Station Nine’s poker games hosted by her brothers. That gave everyone else an actual chance at winning, but Frank would have gladly sacrificed his light bill money to see her there. Then, there were the times he’d called her house, and heard her in the background, telling her sister to tell him that she wasn’t home.

Ouch.

He may not be the smartest guy in Waterbury, or the one with the fattest wallet, but still, women liked him. Women always liked him. Katie Madigan sure as hell had liked him a lot back in November—but not anymore.

Fine.

He could take a hint.

He could leave her alone.

He could pretend that he didn’t think about her every damn day.

A person didn’t need a genius IQ for that.

What he couldn’t do, though, was leave her to deal with Blane Alder after he saw what she’d done to his dick-compensation-mobile. The prick would probably call his dad. And the mayor. And some expensive Harbor City lawyer. They’d all come down on Katie, to the point that she’d be the lead story on the six o’clock news.

Frank couldn’t let that happen. He had to do something to save her—and quick.

Luckily, there had been a bodacious blonde behind the concessions counter when Rocky III got out, drawing Alder and his crew of preppy douchebags like arsonists to a match. That gave Frankie an extra five minutes to get Katie away from the scene of her crime before Alder walked out of the theater and saw what she’d done to his baby.

“Your car?” Katie’s green eyes went wide. “How is that possible?”

Good question.

That was the thing with her. She always had questions. About everything and it wasn’t just to make conversation. She actually wanted to know the whys, the hows, the what fors.

Fine, so he’d been watching her, fascinated, for a lot longer than the night at Marinos. Katie burrowed her way into his brain the very first time she’d walked into the firehouse to drop off a lunch for her dad. She’d asked a million questions about everything from the fire pole to the fire helmets. He’d though maybe it was just a bunker bunny thing, but he doubted it. Why? Because there was absolutely no flirting. It was more of an interrogation than an excuse to talk to a firefighter.

It was not the usual reaction he got from women.

Then he’d started playing poker with the Madigan brothers and found out the questions weren’t just a one-off thing. She’d wanted to know the reasoning behind almost everything. Yes, she could have been playing it up to knock her brothers off their games (she did win at least six out of every ten hands), but that didn’t mean her curiosity wasn’t genuine—and hot as hell.

“Earth to Frank,” Katie said, yanking him back to the FUBAR situation he’d gotten himself into. “Since when is this your car?”

“Three this morning,” he said, inspiration hitting him like a slap upside the head. He leaned against the car as if it was his instead of a car that cost three times what he’d paid two years ago for his used Firebird. “Poker game.”

One of her eyebrows went up. “Did you cheat?”

“Do I look like the kind of guy who would pull some crap like that?” He was a lot of things, but he was honest.

Usually.

If you didn’t count right now.

Fuck.

“I’ve played poker with you,” she scoffed with that crooked smile of hers, as she tucked a piece of her reddish brown hair behind her ear. “Do you really want me to answer that?”