Five Alarm Forever: A Reverse Harem Holiday Romance

by Dizzy Hooper

"Which you do."

  Sal rolls his eyes, turning back to me. He points out a bunch of aunts and uncles and cousins—then the abuela I apparently have to thank for our post-sex snack.

  I look at her picture a little more closely. She's older, of course, but her hair's still more pepper than salt, her eyes shining and clear. Surrounded by a horde of children and grandchildren, she's smiling, unwrapping a present of some sort.

  "She looks really happy."

  Sal gazes at the photo, the corners of his mouth curling up softly. "She is. Who wouldn't be, right?"

  With that, he heads back to the stove and neatly flips the quesadilla still cooking in the pan. It sizzles; just like the others, it's a perfect, golden brown.

  Chewing on my lip, I stand there watching him work for a minute.

  And this is just sex. It has to be. Sure, maybe the connection runs a little deeper, what with us working together and me having disobeyed a direct order to stay and haul Jaquan out of a burning building yesterday and me actually honestly liking them and all.

  But that's as deep as any of this runs. I really shouldn't be probing any further.

  So why can't I help myself?

  The question blurts out of me. "What are you doing on C shift, then?"

  Sal's back is to me, so I can't see his expression. By his side, Jaquan is an open book, though. He laughs, shaking his head. "I ask this asshole that every day."

  "And I keep telling him." Sal lightly shoves Jaquan, but he does it carefully, not knocking him off his stool or anything. Not jostling his booted ankle. "His dumb ass is the reason."

  Jaquan rolls his eyes. "He thinks he has to protect me."

  "Am I wrong?"

  "I'm fine—see? Chapman had my back yesterday. Any of the guys would have."

  "I'm not doubting any of them."

  And this has that familiar, worn-in feeling of an argument they've had a thousand times, but for my sake, apparently they're willing to hash it out again.

  "That's cool," I say. "You guys sticking together."

  "See?" Sal points his spatula in my direction. "Chapman thinks it's cool."

  "You've been friends for a long time?" I ask.

  Jaquan shrugs. "Since we were kids."

  "Longer that that. Pretty sure my mom has a picture of us in diapers."

  I smile, and I try to ignore the hint of a pang inside my chest. I never had that kind of friendship growing up.

  There were a lot of things I didn't have.

  But that's not what this is about.

  Glancing at the pictures of Sal's family again, I think for a second, then ask, "So what about, like, Christmas and stuff? Your family doesn't mind you working all the time?"

  "They give me shit about it, but they're used to it by now."

  "His abuela cooks enough to feed the whole city," Jaquan says. "If Christmas is quiet, we take the truck and go help ourselves. If not, her house is the first place we head as soon as we get off shift. She always saves us some tamales"

  There's something hiding just beneath his easy confidence, his certainty of his welcome with Sal's big, loving family.

  And the question is out before I can call it back. "What about you? Your folks?"

  Fuck. Yeah, this is getting way too personal.

  But we've started down this track now.

  Jaquan doesn't seem to mind. He shrugs. "My mama's gone. Heart attack ten days after I graduated."

  How does he sound so casual? A tender place behind my ribs squeezes the inside of my chest. "I'm so sorry."

  "Yeah. Sucked."

  "She was the best," Sal says. "Her pecan pie?"

  "Yeah." A rueful smile colors Jaquan's full lips, his gaze going distant for a moment. But he shakes it off. "My pop's still around, but we're not close. Moved upstate after Mama passed. Don't really see him much." His smile is more brittle when he looks to me again. "So C shift is just fine by me."

  "Your turn," Sal says, sliding the last quesadilla onto the plate. He turns to me. "What's your sob story?"

  I freeze, my tongue suddenly cramping up and my throat flashing dry.

  Shit. How the hell did I not see that coming? It only makes sense. I probed them about their lives. Of course they would turn it around on me. That's how conversation works.

  That's why I usually avoid it with everything I have.

  But I'm in it now. And when it comes down to it, it's…not even that hard.

  I mean, these guys just told me about their families. Half an hour ago, we were all naked and sweaty together. My cunt is still wet with their come, and I'm wearing their clothes.

  Can things really get any more intimate than that?

  I try to play off my deer in the headlights moment, lifting one shoulder before setting it back down. I cross my arms over my chest and dig my nails into my upper arms. Looking away, toward their living room and away from their piercing eyes, I confess. "They're gone."

  "Yeah?" Jaquan's treading carefully, leading me, inviting me to give them more, but not pressing.

  And maybe that's what makes my mouth finally come unglued.

  "Yeah. When I was ten." I force myself to look at them. It's been so fucking long since I talked about this. I mean, I had to, right after. To the cops, to the fucking shrinks at the group home I got shuffled off to. I never had to tell my old crew; they already knew, thanks to Duke.

  But these guys don't know a damn thing about me.

  Well, they're about to.

  The secret claws at my throat. Now that I'm about to release it into the air, it's scrabbling to get out. It prickles and tears.

  So I open my mouth. "They blew up their meth lab they had in our basement. Took half the house with them. I'm lucky it didn't take me."

  Sal's eyes go wide.

  Jaquan blinks. "Holy fuck."

  "Yeah, pretty much." I sag, suddenly exhausted.

  "Did you have brothers or sisters?" Sal asks.

  "No—thank God." If there had been any more loss, any innocents hurt through my parents' irresponsible, stupid bullshit…

  "What happened after?"

  "The usual. I didn't have any relatives, and I was an angry kid right about to pop boobs, so no strangers wanted me."

  "You end up at a group home?" Jaquan asks.

  And his mom might not have passed until he was older, but the shadows in his eyes tell me he knows what he's asking here.

  He understands exactly how shitty those places are.

  I nod. Sharp pain on my biceps pulls me back, out of the memories of burying my parents, of knowing it was all their own stupid fault.

  Of a house with twenty pre-teen girls fighting for their share of every goddam thing. Second-hand clothes and no privacy and no space.

  I force my hands to unclench. Bright red crescents on my upper arms show where my nails dug in. I drop my arms, but that leaves me feeling more naked than I was in Sal's bed, getting fucked within an inch of my life.

  Averting my gaze, I step forward and grab another slice of quesadilla and take a huge bite. The hot cheese burns my tongue, but it's a good distraction from the stinging in my eyes.

  I finish the slice and then another before I have myself together again.

  "So, yeah," I say, too brightly, lifting my head and smiling. "That's my sob story. Also, my reason for getting into firefighting."

  Even if that's all fucked up now, too—the image of a hero rescuer pulling me out of the wreckage of my childhood bedroom overlaid with something more sinister. More insidious.

  My smile feels ready to crack. My chest is splintering, too. I turn, taking a step toward the sink to wash the grease off of my hands, desperate for something, anything, to end this conversation.

  But Sal is there. His huge bulk in my way, his hands on my arms, right where I gouged myself with my nails as I fought to keep my cool and not show them what a mess I am inside. He squeezes, too gently, and it just makes the prickling in my eyes more intense.

  "I'm sorry," he says.

 
"Yeah, me, too."

  "That's seriously fucked up." Jaquan slides off the stool and comes to stand behind me.

  "Tell me about it."

  And for once, their closeness doesn't make me feel safer or more turned on. It hedges me in. I can't get a full breath.

  Fight or flight has my muscles twitching. No way I'm going to take a swing at either of these guys, though. My self-sabotaging, traitor tongue itches to lob a verbal bomb, but even I can tell that that's a terrible idea.

  So I can't fight—but I could fly.

  I could turn and head right out their front door.

  But just the idea of it leaves me cold.

  So I force myself to stay still and quiet. My skin tingles, adrenaline bitter at the back of my throat.

  Until finally, after a few seconds, it passes. Sal's heat at my front and Jaquan's at my back soaks into me, soothing me. My muscles relax.

  It must be pretty obvious, too.

  As my body softens, Jaquan shifts to stand even closer. He puts his hands on my waist, his chest grazing my spine. Sal tucks a finger under my chin and tilts my face up.

  I suck in a deep breath.

  Fine. Fight and flight might both be right out.

  Fucking is definitely still on the table, though.

  So I lean forward. I close the gap and touch my lips to Sal's, and he takes my cue. I fall into his kiss, letting it block out everything else, all the mixed up tangled emotions that I've been repressing for years. Jaquan puts his mouth to the side of my neck, and a sudden, aching wave of arousal blooms low in my belly, spreading out to my pussy and my chest.

  I throw myself into it.

  And bless them—bless them.

  They let me.

  They help me to forget.

  At least for now.

  22

  Two weeks later, I'm finishing up a quick EMT call.

  "Thank you again," Mrs. Myrtle says, reaching for my hand as I help get her loaded onto the stretcher.

  I squeeze her palm, signaling to the ambulance driver that we're good to go. "It's no problem."

  "You saved my life," she calls as they start carrying her away.

  And what the hell do you say to that? "You're going to be just fine."

  She is, too. Honestly, her life was never in danger. She's an old woman who lives alone. She slipped, fell, literally couldn't get up and called 911. Corey, Street and I were the closest to the scene, doing inspections at a local business. We picked her up, dusted her off, decided she needed X-rays and called for backup transport to haul her off to an urgent care.

  But it wasn't a real emergency. Anyone could have handled it.

  Try telling her that.

  As the ambulance carts her off, I finally get to relax the fake smile I've been wearing for the past half hour. Mrs. Myrtle was a talker; at this point, I'm pretty sure I know more about her extended family than I ever knew about my own.

  Corey's clearly feeling it, too.

  "Well, she was a lot," he says, falling into step beside me as we head back to the rig.

  "You can say that again." I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. "But please. Don't."

  He laughs and signals the all-clear to Street, who's sitting behind the wheel. Street gives us a thumbs up, and Corey and I climb in. I steel myself for Street's unique brand of driving, gripping on tightly as he puts the engine into gear.

  Sure enough, we weave and bob like crazy, cutting through traffic on our way back to the station.

  It's an easy, comfortable silence, riding back with Corey. His overeager puppy schtick threw me at first, but over the past couple of weeks, I've gotten used to it. Maybe even grown a little of fond of it.

  He's backed off a bit, too, which has helped. He still likes to talk and has a touch too much hero worship going on, but he's figured out my rhythms. If I don't give him anything to work with, conversationally speaking, he leaves me to my own thoughts.

  Which is good. Because I have a lot of them, of late.

  The two biggest of which remain Sal and Jaquan.

  Ever since our insane sex marathon, I've been on edge with them, but to my surprise, they've been incredibly cool. I still get some pretty heated looks from them—and fine, sure, I may have let them fuck me a couple more times after call-outs, but can you blame me?

  It's been easy. Casual. No one's found out, or if they have, they've been quiet about it. Jaquan's even back on duty after his medical leave, and thank God.

  The place felt so empty without him.

  We all felt the specter of his absence hanging over us.

  The risk we all face, every time we suit up.

  We arrive back at the station in short order. Street kills the engine and hops out.

  "Gonna go check in," he says, gruff, not meeting either of our gazes. It's a little brusque, even for him, but I shrug it off.

  Corey and I linger, updating the log and performing the checks of the equipment and supplies required after every call. As I'm finishing up my share, Corey sidles over and comes to stand beside me.

  I raise a brow at him but keep working.

  "So how are things going?" he asks. He shuffles his feet a little, and it's…adorable? Or at least it would be if he didn't seem to be trying to make freaking small talk.

  So much for me thinking he'd gotten used to how I roll.

  "Fine." I make a final note in the log book, then cap my pen and tuck it in my pocket.

  "Got anything special planned this weekend?"

  "Nope." I never do.

  "Do you want to?"

  I stop cold, jerking my head around to look at him, and good Lord. His cheeks are all pink, his ears practically red. I blink at him a few times.

  And then it hits me. He's nervous. Maybe a little embarrassed.

  I can't muffle the shrill tone that creeps into my voice. "Are you asking me out?"

  His flush actually manages to deepen. "Is that so weird?"

  "Uh, yeah." What the hell is he thinking?

  He shrugs, but it doesn't look casual at all. "Why? I like you. I thought you at least tolerated me."

  "And that seems like a solid foundation for dating to you?"

  "Sure. I mean, no offense, but from you, tolerating seems pretty good."

  Okay, he's not wrong. But that doesn't make this any better.

  Suddenly, all the warm looks he's given me over the past few weeks take on a whole new context. I assumed I was just imagining things, but apparently not.

  This still doesn't make sense.

  I'm stand-off-ish as hell. I'm the weirdo who almost never joins the rest of the crew for meals or group functions. I clearly have baggage.

  Not to mention, I'm fucking two of his co-workers.

  I'm not going to tell him that, of course, but I should probably at least broach the subject.

  "I'm already…" Shit, how to phrase this? "…Involved."

  That doesn't seem to phase him. "Is it exclusive?"

  What? Who asks that? "No."

  Not that Jaquan and Sal and I have really discussed it, but we didn't have to. An occasional threesome is not a relationship. There's been no talk of plans or a future or even confirmation that we're going to fuck at some point again. It's all just…happened.

  Even that first time I went over to their place, when we were done, I told them I had to go, they thanked me for a nice time, and I left. Nice. Easy. Uncomplicated.

  This thing Corey is suggesting, though? It has COMPLICATIONS written in big red letters all over it.

  But he's acting like it's the simplest thing in the world.

  He crosses his arms over his leanly muscled chest. "So, then what's the problem?"

  "The problem is—" But then I stop. The words just dry up in my mouth.

  There are a thousand reasons why going out with this guy would be a bad idea. We're co-workers in one of the most up-close-and-personal fields in the world. Fraternizing is frowned upon to say the least. My reputation will be destroyed if it gets out. />
  Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

  And none of that matters, because I already threw reason out the window the minute I let Sal and Jaquan fuck me raw in a shower stall.

  The ridiculousness of the entire situation hits me like a ton of bricks.

  Fucking Christ. What kind of mess have I gotten myself into? And is it really even possible for me to make it worse?

  Dropping all pretenses, I straighten up and face Corey fully. I look him up and down.

  He's young, all right, but he's definitely legal. I wouldn't normally go for his earnest, innocent forthrightness, but it works on him somehow. Maybe it's just the way he fits into the overall dynamics of the firehouse. Maybe it's something inside of me that's changed.

  He's certainly not hard on the eyes.

  I've been ignoring my low, quiet attraction to him since the first day I got here, writing him off as not being a real possible lay. But I allow myself to take it seriously for once.

  He's…cute. Pale skin and a lean build. Dark brown hair, fairly short, but long enough to curl a little at the ends. Big brown eyes that a girl could fall into and pink, kissable lips.

  Okay, who am I kidding? He's cute, yeah, but he's also hot. If I met him at a bar or something, I'd do him.

  I lift my chin and meet his gaze. "Name one reason I should say yes."

  A sly smile steals over his lips. "Because you want to."

  And it's the confidence that kills me.

  Fuck it.

  I roll my eyes. "You know what? Fine." I reach back for the log notebook and rip a blank page out of the back. "Write down your address."

  He doesn't ask any questions, just does it, and him following my order probably shouldn't be making me a little bit excited, but damn it all, it is. I clench down inside and take the paper when he's done. I glance at the address. It's an apartment over near the university, because of course it is. Nodding, I fold the paper up and shove it in my pocket.

  "I'll pick you up. Tomorrow night—eight o'clock?"

  He blinks as if he can't believe that worked, and another thrill hums through me. It's fun to have a little power with a guy. For him to seem to like it.

  "Awesome." He pauses. "What are we doing?"

  "You'll see."

  Without another word, I turn and stride past him toward the door to the main part of the firehouse. I feel his gaze on my ass the whole time I'm walking, and I put a little extra sway into my hips.