Читать книгу Hot In Here - Susan Lyons - Страница 7

It had been a slow, sunny Sunday, no fires and not many accidents or medical emergencies in the West End. Scott’s fire hall was one of the smaller ones, with only two rigs: an engine and a ladder truck.

The hall was quiet, with some of the guys off at the training center. Scott and a couple of other firefighters were out in the driveway washing Engine 7, with the lieutenant providing unneeded direction.

No surprise that the guys turned “washing the engine” into “drenching the probie.” The blue pants and short-sleeved shirt of his uniform clung damply to his body as he squatted to clean the rims of the giant tires.

“Shit, would ya look at that?” Little Man Mancuso said. “That’s one hell of a sweet sight.” He let out a wolf whistle. Little Man was six-foot-four and more than two hundred fifty pounds, so the whistle was ear-shattering.

Scott rose and turned to look.

A black Jeep TJ had pulled off the quiet residential street into the fire-hall driveway. The top was down so he had a clear view of the driver—a woman with sunglasses and long, shiny black hair. Even before his mind registered that the sunglasses had pink frames, matching the Jeep’s seat covers, he knew it was Jenny Yuen.

His pulse kicked up.

She parked the Jeep in one of the slots at the side of the driveway.

When she swung down from the driver’s seat, Little Man said, “And getting sweeter.”

A pale pink T-shirt and white cotton pants showed off tanned skin and hugged her slim curves. Man, this girl could almost persuade him that small really was more beautiful than big.

She wore pink sandals again, with higher heels than she’d been wearing Friday night. High enough so that, when she walked, they made her hips sway. Definitely a turn-on.

And he’d been inside this little sexpot.

“Feel like turning the hose on her,” John-Boy Boyd said. “Bet she’d look fine in a wet–T-shirt contest.”

Scott, who’d been having the same thought, glared at him.

“Hey, Softy, that’s the fox you were hustling Friday night,” the lieutenant said. “Right?”

“She’s a journalist,” Scott said. “She needs to, uh, finish the interview.”

When he and Jenny had set this up, he’d been thinking it was a chance to see if he really wanted to spend more time with her, get to know her. Now, every cell in his body—especially those in his groin—was screaming, Yes!

Jenny’d taken off her sunglasses, pulled out her camera and was snapping shots of the guys and the engine.

“‘Finish the interview’?” the lieutenant said. “That what you young guys call it these days? Dontcha mean—”

“Finish the interview!” Scott snapped, wishing he could tell his superior officer to fuck off.

As he stepped toward Jenny, she kept the camera to her face and he could hear it clicking. When she put it down, he saw twinkling brown eyes.

“How come every time I see you you’re soaking wet?” she teased.

Soaking wet. The words made him remember the crotch of her black thong, how wet she’d been. For him.

His mom and sister always told him he had a transparent face. Couldn’t keep a secret no matter how hard he tried.

Now, he guessed Jenny’d agree. She must’ve read his thoughts because her eyes opened wider. She ducked her head, which made her hair slide down in wings on each side of her face.

Scott felt so hot, pretty soon his damp clothes would dry from the heat of his skin.

“Who’s your girlfriend, Softy?” the lieutenant asked as the guys walked over to join him and Jenny.

“Gonna introduce us?” John-Boy chimed in.

Now, there was a surefire way of dousing a hard-on. He was relieved, but also pissed at them for breaking the moment.

“Sure. Jenny, meet Little Man Mancuso, John-Boy Boyd, and you’ll remember the lieutenant, Bulldog Spievak.” He was pushing it, using their nicknames rather than given names.

John-Boy stepped forward first, hand outstretched. “Johnson Boyd, Jenny. Real pleased to meet you.” And real reluctant to let go of her hand.

“Tony Mancuso.” Damned if Little Man didn’t actually raise her hand to his lips.

“And I sure remember you,” the lieutenant said, almost drooling like his namesake. “You just call me Bulldog, honey. For my big brown eyes.”

Jenny laughed with apparent delight. “It’s so great to meet all of you. I’d love to get your thoughts about Scott’s—” She broke off, darted him a mischievous glance. “Sorry, I mean Softy’s winning Mr. February.”

“A fluke,” John-Boy said, grinning.

“Nah,” Little Man chipped in. “It says a lot for our fire hall.”

“How do you figure?” Jenny cocked her head.

Little Man winked. “We send our ugliest guy, and he creams the competition. Hell, if we’d all competed, we’d have booked up the whole calendar.”

Jenny chuckled. “Good point. I know I’d buy that calendar.”

Scott groaned. Damn, she was flirting with them. All of them except him.

Then she tilted her head and studied Little Man with a considering look. “The question is, can you all dance as well as Scott?”

“Better,” John-Boy answered promptly. “Speaking for myself, that is. You let me take you to the Roxy one Friday night and I’ll show you.”

Steaming, Scott jerked his head, caught John-Boy’s eye and shot him a look that said “mine.” Besides, wasn’t the other firefighter already dating someone?

John-Boy tossed him a cocky grin. It told Scott he’d just been fooling around. Winding Scott up, to see if he’d stake his claim.

And he had. On a girl he’d barely met.

Jenny was studying the guys, all of them more than a foot taller than her. How could a girl who looked like a tiny doll have complete control over four giant firefighters?

Her gaze settled on Scott. “How’d you get so wet?” she asked. That gaze took its time, taking in the damp cotton that hugged his chest, then traveling down to where the cloth clung to his package. A package that was growing again under her scrutiny.

“The pisser hasn’t learned how to control his hose?” she teased.

The other guys exploded in laughter.

“Nah,” Scott said. “It’s the rest of them. You know how kids love splashing everyone in sight? Well, some kids never grow up.”

That was how all these hazing rituals struck him. Childish. He’d come here to do a man’s job, and he got treated like the new kid in elementary school.

And right now he was sick of all the attention she and the guys were paying each other. After all, she’d come to see him, Mr. February, hadn’t she? “You wanted an interview?” he reminded her.

“Mmm.” She opened that same pink backpack she’d been carrying Friday night and brought out a tape recorder. “Anyone mind if I turn this on? It’s way easier—and more accurate—than scribbling thousands of notes.”

No one objected so she pushed a button and then set the machine in the top of her open bag. “Okay, tell me how Scott came to enter the calendar competition in the first place, and how the rest of you felt about it.”

Damn, why’d she have to keep including the others?

Little Man was already talking. “We made him do it.”

She glanced at Scott. “True?”

Scott nodded. “Joe Probie. What can I say? They’ll make me do anything.” Mostly, stuff that was humiliating. He knew he was supposed to suck it up and smile, so he tried to find a grin.

“Have to,” the lieutenant said. “It’s part of our job.”

“To hassle the newbie?” Jenny looked skeptical.

“Gotta know if he’s with us. Part of the team.”

“It’s about trust,” John-Boy put in.

“Uh…” Jenny’s fine black brows had drawn together. “Can you expand on that?”

Yeah, could they? Scott would love to know the answer himself. Was this just about torture, or was there some actual logic behind it?

The other guys glanced around at each other, then shrugged. “That’s pretty much it,” Little Man said. “We all go through it.”

“So,” she said, “having been treated like crap yourselves when you first started out, you’re compelled to carry on that fine old tradition when the next probationer comes along?”

Scott grinned for real this time. She sure had a way with words.

The lieutenant gave a snort of laughter. “You got it.” Then he straightened his face. “Plus all that stuff we said about being a team. Gotta test the new guy before we can trust him.”

Jenny was quiet for a few seconds and then she said, “When you go into a fire, it’s not each man for himself. The four of you are a team. Each of you has to know he can count on the other guys, no matter how tough it gets. No one’s going to break, because if someone does, it puts the other guys in danger.”

She’d nailed it.

Scott knew all this stuff; it had been drummed into his head during training, but she was tying it into the shit the guys had shoveled his way since he joined Fire Hall 11. The way she put it, the razzing almost made sense. The guys were testing to make sure he was strong enough to be part of their team.

The other three were nodding.

“Hmm,” Jenny mused. “And I guess it doesn’t get much tougher than having to carry the honor of your company up on stage in that calendar competition.”

Scott’s lips twitched.

The lieutenant made a fist and whacked him in the chest. Hard. “And then old Softy hadda go and do that girlie dance.”

“Whatever it takes to win,” Scott said evenly. “Whether you’re beating a fire or a bunch of other competitors.”

“I’m with Scott,” Jenny said. “He did you guys proud. You might think that dance was girlie, but I can tell you, every woman in the audience thought he was the sexiest guy on stage.” She shot him a sultry look. “He could’ve taken any one of them home on Friday night.”

Okay, so maybe she was exaggerating, but he’d felt it. The power. The aura of pure sex steaming back and forth between him and the audience. And then with those girls who came backstage.

He could’ve had any of them, and he’d chosen her.

Now, in the bright light of day—with her so pretty and sexy and confident, standing there in her little pink shoes, her mass of shiny midnight hair catching the sun’s light and reflecting it back—she was still the one he wanted.

“You come here to interview them or me?” he growled.

Her eyes smoldered, a barely banked fire. “I think I’ve got all I need from these gentlemen.” She glanced around. “Thanks, Bulldog, Johnson, Tony. It’s been a pleasure.”

Then those sultry brown eyes came back to him. “Is there someplace private we can talk, Scott?”

Private. What exactly was she asking?

“Yeah, we can take a hint,” Little Man said. “We’ll put the engine away and let you two talk in private.”

Jenny snapped a few more photos as John-Boy backed the engine into its place inside the bay of the fire hall.

Then she turned to Scott. “All this Softy and pisser stuff really, if you’ll pardon the expression, pisses you off, doesn’t it?”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“They’re testing you.”

“I get it. But, fuck, I’ve wanted to be a firefighter since I was six. I did all the right stuff to get hired, though it took years and years. I aced training. I’d never let these guys down.”

She’d been watching him carefully as he spoke. Now she said, “I believe you.”

His heart warmed and some of the tension went out of his shoulders. “Thanks. But so should they.”

“It takes a while to build a team,” she said neutrally.

He gave a wry chuckle. “Damn, you keep nailing it. Thing is, I feel like I’ve been part of the firefighting team for a long time. When I was a kid, growing up out in Chilliwack, I hung around the fire hall. I was, like, their mascot. They even took me along to some little fires. They let me do stuff, like wash the hose.”

She was smiling, as if she liked the picture he was painting.

“One of the guys out there, he joined up with Vancouver Fire and Rescue Services. He’s battalion chief now for this battalion.”

“That must be nice for both of you.”

He grimaced. Chief Boychuk was great, but…“Sort of. But there’s a downside.”

“What’s that?”

“Give you an example. When we finish training, they give us our assignments. Most of us want the real busy fire halls, like Main and Powell. We want to fight fire, get out there as much as we can. But me, the guy who aces training, gets this fire hall. We don’t get so much action here.”

“The chief wants to protect you?”

“Yeah. He figures he’s watching out for me, but he’s not doing me any favors.”

“Ah. The other guys here know about your connection?”

He nodded grimly. “He even told them to look out for me. So they get back at me by being even tougher than they’d be on the average probie.”

She was quiet a moment, then she said, “Yeah, but the more they test you, the stronger you get.”

“Why don’t they test me in fires? They do stuff like mess up the bathroom and make me clean it, send me out to buy cartons of toilet paper when it’s on sale, steal the box spring from my bed and prop it up on soda-pop cans.”

That last one made her raise her eyebrows. “You jumped into bed and…?”

“You can imagine.”

Obviously she could. She was chuckling.

Reluctantly he joined her. “Okay, sure, some of this stuff is funny. I don’t mind a joke. But it’s one-sided. Rank is totally respected. I can never get back at them.”

“You’ll get back by passing it to the next probie. Carrying on the grand old tradition.”

Suddenly he realized the guys had all gone in, the engine was tucked away behind a closed door and he was standing in the driveway talking to a cute, sexy lady about pranks played on the pisser.

Was he out of his fucking mind?

“You look really nice,” he said. Not the most brilliant come-on line in the world, but it was all he could think of at the moment.

It seemed to do the trick, because the sparkle in her eyes changed from laughter to awareness.

“So do you. Even wet.” She glanced down his body. “Especially wet.”

He groaned. “There’s something about the way you say wet.…”

Her head—which barely reached his armpits—tilted down so all he could see was the black silky crown and those wings of cascading hair. “The way I say wet makes you hard.”

And so did the way she said hard and the knowledge that she was watching him grow. The damp uniform pants were getting really uncomfortable.

“I want you,” he told her.

“Right here and now?”

“Yeah.” Man, he sounded like a horny teenager with no control, but it was the truth.

Her head tilted, the glossy hair slid back and she lifted her face to his. Her eyes glowed like embers all ready to spark if you blew on them. “Me, too.”

He was wondering if her pussy was all set to spark, too, when she stepped forward so their bodies touched. She reached between them and right there, within view of a whole bunch of West End apartment windows, latched onto his cock.

It jumped, and he let out another groan. “Damn, Jenny, we can’t do it here.”

A sparkle of humor crossed her face. “Maybe not right here, but there’s got to be someplace. My car? We could put the top up?”

The Jeep was small but he was game to try. Until a better idea occurred to him. “You wanna see the engine?”

“Engine? I was thinking,” she snickered, “more like your hose.”

“Fire engine,” he said softly. “You ever make out in a fire engine?”

“Jesus! Like in Backdraft?”

“Up top, on the hose. Wanna try that?” Man, what a sexy thought.

Praying everyone else was inside and would stay there, he led her to the bay where Engine 7 stood, sparkling clean, beside the Ladder 12 truck.

Thank God the bay was deserted.

He pulled Jenny against him and bent to kiss her. Damn, their height difference made this awkward. He had to hunch down and she was stretched up on tiptoe.

Impatiently he heaved open the door to the back compartment of the engine, where he always rode with one of the other firefighters. Then he picked up Jenny—couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds—and planted her on the bottom step.

They moved toward each other like magnets. Then her arms were twined around him; his were buried in that lush hair. God, it smelled of flowers and spice. And their mouths were going at it, hot and heavy.

The girl sure could kiss. Her lips were wet and wild and tasted of something pink and fruity like strawberries, and her pointy tongue was flirting like crazy with his.

Her hips ground against him as she fitted herself to his erection. Oh, yeah, the body parts were matching up just fine now.

But they’d match even better without all the clothes on.

He’d been going to take her up top, but now his need was too urgent. When he pulled away and fumbled with the button at the waist of her white pants, she didn’t object.

Doll-sized clothes on a very grown-up woman. Somehow that made the whole thing even more sexy.

Once he’d worked her zipper down he couldn’t even wait to pull down her pants, he just had to get his hand in there.

He wormed it in, under some skimpy bit of underwear, and then he was cupping her mound. Those few silky strands of hair, then slick, swollen lips. Man, he needed to get inside there, but the pants were too tight to let even his finger enter her.

She wasn’t helping either, moaning and pushing against his hand so he couldn’t get it back out of her pants.

“Jenny, let me pull your pants down.”

She did it herself, forcing the sides past her hips, and then the pants began to drop and he didn’t care what happened to them because now he could dip a finger inside her. She was so tight, her muscles sucking him in, he couldn’t believe his cock had ever fit in there.

But it had, and sure wanted to again. Very, very soon.

Those deft hands of hers were now working his own zipper, yanking down his pants, freeing him, but only for a second before her hands captured him, one above the other, gripping his length. His cock jumped, surged. He fought the urge to thrust. If he did, he’d come all over those sexy hands.

“I need you now,” she said urgently.

“God, yeah! Me, too.”

She’d somehow freed one leg from her shoe and pant leg and was hooking it around his waist, pulling him closer.

Hurriedly he got his hand out of the way, gripped her around the waist, positioned her just right.

He couldn’t wait another minute, and from the way she was moaning she was right there with him.

This was going to last all of about one second. It’d be spontaneous combustion.

She gripped his cock, he spread her lips, he drew back his hips and—

The fire alarm went off.

“Fuck!” He pulled back and his cock slid out of her hand. No, this couldn’t be happening.

When she just stared at him, looking dazed, he shook her shoulders. “Get dressed! The guys’ll be here in a second.”

The PA system cut in, with an announcement from Dispatch about the nature of the call.

“Oh, crap!” Jenny bent to yank her pants up.

“You said it.” He tried to force his zipper over an aching, full-to-bursting hard-on.

“You gotta go.” He grabbed Jenny down from the engine steps just as John-Boy flung open the door to the engine bay.

“Out of the way, ma’am.” The lieutenant, all work and no play now, rushed past.

Hurriedly, Jenny stepped aside.

Scott sprinted over to where he kept his turnout pants and boots, folded carefully together. All he had to do was put one foot here, one there, and pull the suspenders up.

Scrambling to keep up with the other guys, he lost track of Jenny until the engine, siren blaring and lights flashing, pulled out of the driveway. There she stood, beside her Jeep, staring after them.

Damn. They had unfinished business, and he hadn’t even gotten her phone number.

Her firefighter might have disappeared but Jenny’s horniness sure as hell hadn’t. She squeezed her thighs together, clenched the muscles between them. Shit, this was so unfair.

She really, really wanted that orgasm.

She deserved it, after all the buildup, playing reporter with the firefighters while all the time all she could think about was Scott’s hard body under the clinging fabric.

Couldn’t the damned fire alarm have waited another two minutes? That’s all it would have taken, for both of them.

No finesse to their sex, but, man, was it powerful.

Not fair, not fair, not fair.

Jenny took a deep breath. Like her friend Ann kept saying, no woman should be dependent on a man.

She glanced around. The fire hall looked deserted. Across the street a couple of guys strolled along with a Weimeraner. It was a peaceful street with grassy boulevards, leafy trees, landscaped yards. Residential, with apartments of various sizes and shapes. Many with windows overlooking the fire hall.

Decisively she put up the top on the Jeep, rolled up the windows and then settled into the passenger seat. She tilted it back, undid her white jeans—not even dirty, which said a lot for how clean those guys kept their truck—and slid her hand inside. Just as Scott had done.

His hand was so big compared to hers. Everything about him was big.

Oh, yeah….

When she’d pulled down his underwear and his dick had jumped free, she’d needed two hands to hold it.

She remembered how it looked, with the swollen veins, the purply red head already leaking cum. What a turn-on. Power. Sheer, raw male potency.

And speaking of oozing, she was drenched herself.

She stroked herself back and forth, between her swollen lips, imagining his fingers, and then, even better, his tongue. The man knew how to kiss, so she’d bet his lips and tongue could give pretty good action down south, too.

His tongue on her clit.

She stroked it, squeezed. Imagined her lips wrapping around his dick while his lips suckled her clit, and, oh, yeah, just there, just like that—

The orgasm surged through her and she rode it out.

Then, panting, body still throbbing, she lay back in the seat. Satisfied.

Maybe not as much as if he’d actually been inside her, but not bad, all considering. Nice to know a girl could live without a man, or a vibrator.

She zipped her pants and glanced around. Had she really done this, in the middle of a Sunday afternoon, in the driveway of Scott’s fire hall?

Would she ever have the nerve to tell him? Or the girls? She laughed, thinking of the reaction.

But…wait a minute. She sat up straight, frowning. Was she even going to see Scott again? He’d never got a chance to ask for her number.

Did she want to see him again?

She thought of that thrusting dick, and muscles deep in her vagina contracted involuntarily. Oh, yeah!

From the seat beside her, where she’d slung her backpack, she heard a click. What on earth?

Oh, shit, the tape recorder. It had been on all this time.

She buried her face in her hands and started to laugh.

After the usual Sunday night family pig-out, featuring everything from chicken feet to red-bean dessert soup, Jenny and Cat cleared the table.

In the kitchen, they fell into their usual routine. Jenny put away leftovers and scraped plates while Cat loaded the dishwasher. Keeping their voices low so the older generations couldn’t overhear, they talked about Cat’s latest crush.

At fourteen, her sister was already three inches taller than Jenny, her breasts were bigger and she was seriously interested in boys. The good news was, the current boy was Chinese. The bad news, no way would their parents let Cat date anyone for at least another couple of years.

“So, we’re all going to a movie next Friday.” Cat tossed her long hair—a move she’d learned from Jenny. “I’ll tell the parents I’m going out with a few girls, and just won’t mention the boys.”

“You’ll be in trouble if they catch you.”

“They won’t. We girls will all cover for each other.”

Jenny frowned. Yeah, her sister was learning a lot from her. Including how to deceive their family. If only their folks would loosen up and be reasonable. Sure, maybe Cat was young for one-on-one dating, but what was wrong with a group of girls and boys hanging out? “Just make sure you stay in the group,” she told her sister.

Cat flashed her a bright smile. “Sure. Groups are fun.”

And was Cat deceiving her, too?

Jenny tugged at her arm. “Don’t keep secrets from me, okay? Trust me, I know what you’re going through. Sure, some of the family’s rules are crazy, but you’re too young to figure everything out for yourself. I’ve been where you’re at—” She broke off and laughed ruefully. “Okay, I’m still there. Talk to me, I’ll help you figure out what’s best.”

“Cool.” Her sister gave her a hug that almost reassured her.

The kitchen was spotless, the dishwasher running. Jenny was about to escape to her room when her grandmother, Yan Yan Lee—her mother’s mother—called, “Girls, you come in and sit now. We talk.”

Jenny and Cat exchanged glances, rolled their eyes and obediently went back to the table. Granny, tiny as she was, was the boss of the household.

They took their places across from Granny and Auntie, who, as they aged, looked more and more like identical twins.

Dad, at the head of the rectangular mahogany table, pushed up his wire-framed glasses and sent Mom, at the foot of the table, a can I get out of this? look.

She shook her head ever so slightly.

“Cat-rin,” Auntie said, “you get all homework done?”

“Almost,” Cat said. “I still need to finish a paper that’s due tomorrow.”

“Didn’t you say you and Emily were doing homework together all day?” their mom asked, her brown eyes piercing. “You still aren’t finished?”

“We were working on math and science today. The paper’s for English.”

Math and science? Nah, she’d bet Cat and Emily had really been cruising Robson Street, on the lookout for fun shoes and cute boys. Jenny kept her mouth shut; the sisters never spilled each other’s secrets.

“Well, then, what you doing sitting here?” Granny made a shooing motion with both tiny hands. “You go finish work.”

Jenny sent her sister a lucky you sideways glance as Cat murmured, “Yes, Granny, I’ll do that right away,” and got up to leave.

“I have a story to finish,” Jenny said. “It’s due tomorrow.” Hey, it had worked for Cat. Why not give it a try?

“You always have story late,” Auntie said. “Need to organize life better and then—”

“Yes,” Granny broke in. “Get organized, then you have time to find good husband.” She leaned forward beside her sister, shaking her finger at Jenny.

Two gray-haired birds, fighting over their turns to peck at her.

“I’m too young to be thinking about that,” Jenny said, as she’d said about three thousand times before.

“Twenty-three not so young,” Granny said.

“Not in your day and age, but now it is.” Jenny turned to her mother. “Tell her, Mom. Western women often don’t get married until they’re in their thirties.”

Her mother nodded. Understated yet classy in her tailored Edward Chapman blouse and skirt, she wore her long black hair in an elegant chignon. “This is true, but I think it’s wrong. A woman needs a partner in life, and so does a man. And it’s better to have children when you’re young, healthy and strong, so—”

“You pretty girl, Jenny,” Auntie interrupted. “Look like me when I your age, and you—”

“No, more like me,” Granny broke in. Then she frowned, as if she’d let herself get distracted. “And you finish university now, have good job and prospects.”

Her mother nodded. “Jenny, I agree this is the ideal time for you to find a husband. I don’t know why you’re so resistant to meeting nice young men.”

“I’m not.” Actually, she’d love to find a Chinese guy who was handsome, intelligent, sexy and fun. Who’d respect her intelligence and her right to pursue her own career. A man she could fall head over heels for, and want to have kids with. A man like that would solve all her problems. But to date, her family’s taste had never matched up with hers, so she’d grown wary of their arranged dates. “It’s just that I’m so busy.”

“You have time see those white-girl friends every week,” Auntie pointed out. “No value spend time with white people. And more value see boys than girls.”

If her family ever lined her up with a boy who was half as much fun as her Foursome pals, then maybe she’d see more value in arranged dating.

Jenny sighed. “I suppose you have someone in mind?”

Auntie pulled a piece of paper from the long sleeve of her Chinese brocade top. “Here. Gilbert Wong. Accountant. Son of Mrs. Wong, who I know at mah-jongg parlor. He just break up with girlfriend because she too flighty. He need good steady girl.”

Me? Jenny’s eyebrows asked the question. Good and steady? Yuck!

Her aunt stared her down.

“I talk to Mrs. Chew at tea store,” Granny said. “Her son, Benny, just back in town. He study law in Ontario, now come home to work with big firm downtown. Successful boy. Just right for you.”

Great, they’d be Benny and Jenny. Obviously a match made in heaven.

Her father, who to this point had been silent, cleared his throat. “Jenny, we’re happy to have you at home with us—”

“Chinese girl must live with family,” Auntie broke in.

Yeah, like she’d never heard that before. Every time she suggested getting her own place or moving in with a girlfriend, her family went into a major panic. Good Chinese girls didn’t leave home until they got married. Until then, they remained under the family’s supervision and control.

Playing good Chinese daughter, she bowed her head and kept quiet.

Her father leaned forward. “Your mother is right, though. A woman should be married, she should begin a family. That’s how things are meant to be.”

Jenny didn’t necessarily disagree, but every time she thought about marriage she got a serious pain in her gut.

She was a modern Canadian woman. Second generation. Thoroughly Westernized. She didn’t want to do the good– Chinese–girl thing and marry a family-approved, nice, successful Chinese boy. Not unless she was attracted to him, and loved him. But, so far, she’d never been attracted in that way to a Chinese guy.

Rebellious though she might be, she wasn’t about to diss her folks. They were good people and she loved them.

But she really, really didn’t want to enter into a semi-arranged marriage with a guy she wasn’t passionately in love with.

Catch-22.

And, in the meantime, she juggled the parts of her life. On the one hand, she tried to respect and protect her parents. On the other, a girl had to be true to herself.

“If the accountant and lawyer don’t appeal to you,” her mother said, with a tiny glint of humor in her eyes, “how do you feel about an architect?”

An architect? He might have a creative bone or two in his body. Maybe even a creative boner.

Resigned to the fact that she wouldn’t be allowed to leave the table until she’d agreed to date one of the latest offerings, Jenny asked, “Who is he?”

“You may have gone to school with him,” Mom said. “Marty Fong? His mother came into the travel agency and we got talking about our children. The family had moved to Toronto for a while but now they’re back. Marty’s studying architecture at UBC and working part-time at an architect’s firm.” Her mother gave her a pointed look. “His mother says he never seems interested in dating, either.”

“Sounds perfect,” Jenny said wryly.

Sure, she remembered Marty, from elementary school. Poor boy had been even shorter than she was, which meant he got teased something fierce. Wimpy, too, which hadn’t helped. But he’d been an okay kid. Had helped her with math.

If she had to pick door one, two or three, she chose three. At least she and Marty’d have something to talk about, and maybe they could turn this to their mutual advantage. A couple of times before, she and one of the obligatory dates had pretended to keep on seeing each other. It was a good ploy, keeping both sets of parents happy while their kids could get on with their real lives.

“I remember him,” she told her mom. “He was okay.” For a dorky midget. “Yeah, if he wants to go out, I’ll do it.”

“Good. Friday night, then. I’ll call his mother.”

Tongue-in-cheek, Jenny said, “Fine. I’m sure the two of you will think of some nice place for us to go. Just let me know.”

Then, family obligations temporarily satisfied, she beat a quick retreat to the sanctuary of her room, where she could put on her headphones and replay the sound of her and Scott almost having sex.