Love Him Free (On the Market #1) - E.M. Lindsey Page 0,20

a couple of parked food trucks, and a fire station. There were school zone crossings that were just starting to flash when the clock hit seven-thirty, and a couple of gas stations along the way.

He tucked James into his carrier before grabbing his suitcases, knowing the poor dog needed some time to exercise after being stuck in the car. But, everything hurt, and he wanted to sleep for a year. The other half of him, though, wanted to comb the town for Simon, but he found himself wanting to make a good impression. It was bad enough he rolled into town with no notice like some kind of stalker, and he damn well knew celebrity status didn’t give him that right.

A shower would help, and actual food. He just had to pray he didn’t get some asshole who balked at using his phone app at the front desk. He had his standard reply waiting for him that he never erased—do you speak ASL. For every two-dozen people who said no, one said yes, so it was always worth it.

He didn’t have a lot of hope for a small town like this, though. He already felt like an outsider with his sports car, small dog, and designer shades and the fact that he probably looked like some reality TV star coming off a coke binge. Places like this boasted little old ladies knitting in rocking chairs. They boasted adorable, freckle-faced Jewish bakers whom he could fluster with a single text.

He breathed through a sudden burst of want, then forced himself into the lobby. He could smell breakfast somewhere off in the distance—probably a buffet of some kind. It made his mouth water, but the last thing he wanted to do was deal with a crowd of people after his drive.

He tucked James’ carrier under his arm, then approached the counter where an attractive man was staring at the computer like it was speaking an alien language. He looked at least Rocco’s age, if not older by the flecks of grey and wrinkles around his eyes, but that didn’t take away from the sensual curve of his mouth, or the way he dragged his gaze up and down Rocco’s body. He opened his mouth and said something, but Rocco’s brain was too far gone to have a hope of understanding, so he slid his phone across the desk and watched for any signs that the man was annoyed.

Instead of waving him off, or trying to speak again, the man lifted his hand spelled A, B, C. Rocco couldn’t help his smile. Conversing in the alphabet would take a hundred years, but it was something. He tapped what he needed on his phone, and when the guy asked for his name, he tossed a credit card down and hoped it would be enough.

A moment passed, then the man pulled out a map and gave him directions with the swipe of a marker, then handed an over an honest to god actual key which was cool and sharp against his palm. Rocco tipped him a nod before hugging James’s crate a little closer and dragging his suitcase behind him. He just wanted sleep, then a long shower, then a hot meal.

Then, he wanted to find Simon, and he hoped to god he was going to be welcome.

Chapter Five

Simon stared down at the flyer, then back up at the man standing at the counter, and he knew instantly he wasn’t going to be able to tell Fitz’s soft doe eyes and pouting mouth no. And he knew Fitz was turning on the charm. That’s what he did. Simon had known Fitz for as long as he’d been in Cherry Creek. For Simon’s brief stint in the Scouts as a kid, Fitz and his best friend Ronan had ruled the roost. They weren’t mean, either, just loud and a little too boisterous about trying to include Simon in their activities.

They were some of the few who hadn’t mocked Simon about his accent, or his very apparent anxiety, but they never quite made him feel welcome, either. Bubbe had let him quit, though, long before a fire almost killed Fitz on a camping trip. Simon hadn’t seen him for months after that, and when he finally got back to school, he was quieter.

To this day, Simon was amazed he’d become a fire fighter, that he’d stuck with it long enough to assume the role of chief, but it made sense. He’d never shied away from his scars,