Read Online Total Rush by Deirdre Martin - Free Book Online

firefighter.”
    â€œWhat’s that got to do with anything?”
    â€œThey’re tribal.”
    â€œExcuse me? You come from an Italian family where two brothers married two sisters and you’re worrying about tribal?”
    â€œThat’s different,” Gemma insisted. “Look, I know they’re heroes, okay? I know what they do is dangerous. I respect that.” She ran a thumb along her napkin. “But remember the neighborhood firehouse in Brooklyn? Remember how those guys used to sit outside and call out rude things to us when we’d walk by on the way home from school?”
    Frankie cringed. “Remember that time they rated us like they were Olympic judges and held up number cards?”
    â€œYeah, and gave us both zeroes.” The memory still stung. “Remember how drunk they’d all get on St. Patrick’s Day, spilling out onto the streets singing ‘Danny Boy’ and ‘A Nation Once Again’?” Gemma shuddered. “That’s not a tribe I want to be part of.”
    â€œJust because he’s a fireman doesn’t mean he acts that way.”
    â€œYou’re right. Though he was pounding down the Guinness at the christening party.”
    Frankie frowned. “Pounding down or had a couple? Which is it?”
    â€œHad a couple,” Gemma mumbled.
    â€œOohh, what a sin, a man having a few beers at a party. Better drag his ass to AA right now.”
    Gemma smiled at her friend affectionately. “You’re a bitch, you know that?”
    â€œI’m your favorite bitch and don’t you forget it. Give this guy a chance. Please. I think he’s got real potential.”
    â€œWe’ll see, okay? We’ll see.” Gemma was eager to get off the topic of Sean. “How’s your flesh-eating disease?”
    â€œThe mental fuzziness and blister seem to have disappeared on their own,” Frankie admitted sheepishly. “But now I have this.” She lifted the pale blond bangs off her forehead to reveal . . . nothing.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI’m going bald, Gemma.” Frankie’s voice was laced with despair. “Look at my hairline! It’s receding.”
    â€œThe only thing receding is your grip on reality. I swear to God, you have got to talk to someone about your hypochondria. It’s not healthy.”
    â€œI’ll talk to someone about my ‘hypochondria’ when you talk to someone about why you’re hesitating over a gorgeous guy who’s obviously been put in your path. Sound fair?”
    Gemma squirmed. “Stavros! More coffee!”
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    â€œ Croppy ’ s having a shit fit.”
    Tony the doorman’s usual greeting was, “Hey, Short-stuff, what’s up?” The words “Croppy” and “shit fit” were not words Gemma wanted to hear at the end of a long day.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” she asked as she put down her grocery bags.
    â€œShe’s complained to the super twice about the junk outside your door. Says it’s blocking the hall. It’s a fire hazard.”
    â€œI don’t have any junk in the hall.”
    â€œCroppy says you do.” His tone was exasperated. “Do me a favor, will you? Whatever it is, whether it’s yours or not, could you get rid of it? She’s a pain in the ass. That’s the only way she’ll ever shut up.”
    â€œNot a problem,” Gemma assured him. According to Mrs. Croppy, Gemma was responsible when the hot water didn’t work, when the kids in the apartment upstairs blasted the TV, and when the elevator was out of order. She probably thinks I’m responsible for global warming, too.
    â€œThanks, Gemma. Have a good night.”
    â€œYou too.”
    Since the grocery bags were unwieldy, Gemma asked another woman boarding the elevator to please press the button for the fifth floor. The woman complied, pressing the buttons for both five and