by Pandora Pine
“Where did you grow up?” Ozzy asked, after the waitress set down our lemonades and a basket of bread.
“In Andover. I lived there my whole life until I went to Northeastern. My mom’s parents are from Gloucester, so we spent a lot of time here when I was a kid. I never imagined I’d be back here, writing for the paper and living in the city. How about you?”
Ozzy stiffened at the question. I had a feeling I’d blown it when I saw his reaction. He took a sip from his beer. “I’m from Gloucester. I spent the first five years living with my parents before my mother died.”
Oh, noooo! What the hell had I just done?
“It’s okay that you didn’t know, Deacon. That’s what first dates are for, to learn about each other.” He reached out to give my hand a squeeze. “Anyway, my father started drinking after she died. He got violent one night and did this to me.” Ozzy ran his left index finger down the scar running from his left ear down to his chin.
“Your father did that to you?” I couldn’t believe it. My father wouldn’t hurt a fly, I couldn’t imagine living in a home where something like that could happen.
“How did you think it happened?” Ozzy grinned at me.
“I assumed you were being heroic, breaking up a street fight or saving someone from danger.” I never would have guessed his father had done this to him. Another inch to the right and he would have lost his eye.
“As it turned out, I was saving someone from danger. Me. After the police showed up, I was taken to Gloucester Mercy where I met Mandy McCoy. She sat with me while the doctor stitched me up, telling me that I was safe now and I was going to be okay. I didn’t believe her at the time, but she was right.”
“I met her once at a charity bake sale. I was there covering it for the paper and after I finished interviewing her, she handed me a wrapped box filled with cookies. I couldn’t believe she had a gift like that set aside for me. It was just a little thank you, but to a rookie reporter, it meant the world.”
“I bet she also told you that you had a brilliant career ahead of you, and that you’d be more famous than Walter Cronkite someday.” Ozzy grinned at me, before taking a sip of his lemonade.
My eyes widened. “How did you know that?”
“My mom is the best at building people up. It’s her superpower.”
“If Mandy and David adopted you then that means the others, Kennedy, Dallas, and them, aren’t your biological brothers?” I should have found a way to word my question more delicately. I asked questions for a living, I wasn’t so used to doing it in a private setting.
“We’re family. Blood or not.” Ozzy didn’t seem phased by the question.
It was my turn to reach out to Ozzy. “I didn’t mean it like that. I grew up an only child. I always wished for brothers or sisters. I would like to build a family like David and Mandy did, even if I don’t find the right man to join in on the adventure.”
“You’d like to be a father?” Ozzy seemed truly interested in my answer.
It would have to wait. The waitress had just arrived at the table with our meals and more bread since Ozzy had single-handedly demolished the first basket by himself. My lobster roll was huge. It was the size of a small sub and was jam-packed with claw and tail meat. There must have been two whole lobsters crammed into the roll. The chips were homemade and still hot, and the coleslaw was perfectly creamy.
“Oh, mmmppf!” Ozzy grinned, his mouth full, as butter trickled down his chin.
I swiped a finger through the golden liquid and before I could think better of it, sucked it into my mouth. Ozzy eyes widened. Damn, if this kept up, I was going to need to excuse myself for a little one on one time with my dick.
“Good?” Ozzy asked, his voice low and impossibly deep.
“Better than the lobster.” I speared a piece of the succulent meat with my fork and stuffed it in my mouth before I could get myself into more trouble. I spoke too soon. The butter from Ozzy’s chin might have sent my dick into orbit. The lobster did the same thing to my taste buds. It was so fresh, most likely having come out of the ocean today. There was the perfect amount of clarified butter combined with the sweet meat. I was in heaven.
“Let’s move in here. We’ll spend our nights eating lobster rolls, and our days sleeping off the food comas.” Ozzy started to laugh.
“Did you happen to notice they have lemon cheesecake on the menu? Kent brought back an entire cake for the office to share. It’s to die for.”
“So are your lips.” Ozzy bent forward to plant a buttery kiss against my lips.
If the butter from the lobster roll didn’t kill me, Ozzy certainly would. His lips were magical, making me feel alive in ways I’d never known were possible. He made me believe in true love, marriage, a huge family, and back porch rocking chairs. Damn, in the space of a millisecond, I had our entire future mapped out. If only…
Clearing my throat, I took a bite of the coleslaw. “What made you decide to be a firefighter?”
“The beefcake calendars.” Ozzy waggled his eyebrows at me.
“What?” I giggled at the thought of deciding to run into burning buildings because of the hottie firemen featured in calendars.
“It’s not what you think. I didn’t join the fire department thinking I’d get all the hot firefighters. I did it because I knew I could look like one of those pin-up boys. Someday people would gawk at my picture.” Ozzy popped a chip into his mouth.
“Nope. I don’t believe you for a second. That’s not the reason you dedicated your life and limbs to your chosen profession.”
“What makes you such an expert?” There was no heat behind Ozzy’s words.
“I don’t know you very well, but you didn’t choose this profession for the oiled-up men.” Ozzy joined the fire department to save little boys like himself, who didn’t have anyone else to fight for them. I wouldn’t say those words out loud for a million dollars. I didn’t know Ozzy well enough to say that assumption out loud. Not yet anyway.
“Maybe.” Ozzy shrugged. When he looked down at his plate, it was empty. He seemed confused.
We’d been so busy talking and laughing. Ozzy hadn’t noticed he’d eaten his entire meal. I had a feeling he hadn’t been this relaxed around another man, besides his brothers, in a long time, if ever.
When the waitress stopped by with the check, Ozzy was effusive in his praise of the meal and the service. He handed over his credit card and offered a sweet smile. The smile was still on his face when he turned back to me. “I know you mentioned wanting the lemon cheesecake, but I was in the mood for another kind of dessert.”
Sweet baby cheeses. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? Did he want to go home with me? Was I the dessert he was in the mood for? “Okay,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say.
I supposed this was where the rubber would meet the road. I’d wake up just before Ozzy went to kiss me, or suck my cock, or rock my world. I just hoped I would get one last precious kiss before this dream ended.
13
Ozzy
I had lost my mind. In between the moments when I was laughing and flirting with Deacon, I’d been wracked with guilt. What the hell was I doing?
One thing had been crystal clear during dinner. Deacon was a great guy. He was sweet, funny, and interested in me. The real me, not the asshole trying to pump him for information.
The way Deacon’s blue eyes darkened when I asked if he wanted to go home for dessert nearly killed me. I knew exactly what he was thinking I meant by dessert. Under any other circumstance, I would have meant that exact thing. The real reason I wanted to go home with him was the opportunity I’d get to rifle through his things, looking for evidence proving he was the arsonist.
Deacon chatted non-stop as I drove us back to his house on Old Salem Road. The route took us past the burned-out shell where Deacon saved the family and burned his hand. How was it possible for this ball of sunshine to be the only suspect in the string of arsons?
“I mean, have you
seen anything cuter than Baby Yoda?” Deacon asked as I pulled into his driveway.
“Actually, I have.” I smiled at Deacon. “You!”
“Oh, please. “He rolled his eyes. “I’m cute, but not Baby Yoda cute.”
“I disagree.” I really did. To prove my point, I leaned over the console and kissed Deacon. He gasped, and wasting no time, I surged into his mouth. The moment his tongue rubbed against mine, I knew I was lost. Bolts of electricity skittered down my spine making me shiver.
Deacon set a hand against the ruined side of my face. For the first time in my life, I didn’t flinch when someone other than my mother touched my scar. Deacon didn’t seem affected by my deformity. In fact, he was practically climbing over the center console to sit in my lap.
Reluctantly, I pulled back. I was so taken with Deacon that I didn’t want to stop kissing him, but on the other hand, I needed to get into his house. I was an amoeba of the lowest form.
I supposed I was a true Gemini. Dual natured. One side constantly battling the other. Good Ozzy versus Bad Ozzy.
Without saying another word, I got out of the car and walked around to open the door for Deacon. Gentlemanly behavior wasn’t my usual style. I found myself opening his door not out of guilt, but because I enjoyed doing it. Deacon leaned up on tiptoe to press a kiss against my cheek as thanks.
The gentle press of his lips was like a knife to my heart. I managed a smile as Deacon pulled away and practically danced up the walk to the front door.
Deacon’s house was a cute little ranch. Painted white with red shutters, it had a small front yard dominated by a magnolia tree, which in August, was past its bloom. On either side of the front stairs were brilliant raspberry-colored azalea bushes. The mailbox looked to be hand-painted. It was decorated in a riot of colorful flowers. The house seemed to fit its owner perfectly.
Deacon was standing just inside the door when my eyes found their way back to him. He motioned me inside. Again, I was torn. The human side of me wanted to kiss him goodnight on his doorstep and go home. The professional side of me knew what I needed to do. I fucking hated this situation. If I were really being honest, I hated myself.
Pushing the self-hate down, I walked slowly up the front stairs. Deacon’s eyes widened. To him, I must have looked like a lion stalking its prey. Good. Maybe Deacon being a tiny bit afraid of me was a good thing.
“Welcome to my home.” Deacon spun around the kitchen. To the right of it was a small kitchenette table and then the living room. A small leather sectional dominated the room. It sat in front of a white-washed brick fireplace with a large flat-screen television mounted over the mantle. The room was warm and inviting. The perfect place to watch a movie. I assumed the bedrooms were to the left, along with the bathroom.
“It’s great.” For once, I was at a loss for words. My hands were shaking with nerves.
“How about a drink?” Deacon smiled at me.
“Sure!” A drink sounded like just the thing I needed to help calm me the fuck down. “Um, where’s your bathroom?”
“Down the hall, first door on the right. I’ll have your drink ready when you come back.”
“Thanks.” I practically ran to the bathroom. My heart was pounding so loud and hard, I felt like I was in an Edgar Allan Poe story. Thankfully, the fan turned on along with the light. Not that I thought Deacon had his ear pressed to the door, but the extra bit of white noise might cover up my sneakiness.
Wasting no time, I shut the door behind me and locked it. A counter with a built-in sink was to my left. Staring at myself in the mirror, the only thing I could feel at the moment was self-hatred. Looking at my ruined cheek in my dark eyes, I made a vow to myself that I would find a way to make this up to Deacon.
Unless, of course, he actually was the arsonist. People lived double lives all the time. Guys like Ted Bundy, mild-mannered and handsome by day, a butcher of women by night. The world was full of bigamists who had a family in one city, and a second family somewhere else. Double lives weren’t just soap opera fodder anymore, they were real life.
Deacon seemed too authentic, too sweet and kind, to be running around the city of Gloucester setting things on fire and killing people. What would his motive be? I remembered Kennedy telling me most murders were committed out of a sense of greed, revenge, or love gone bad. Arson fires were also set for those exact reasons, as a one-time thing. Serial arsonists usually set fires for the thrill of watching things burn.
The truth of the matter was, I didn’t really know Deacon Fairbanks well enough to say if he was concealing a secret life or not. I understood exactly why the chiefs of the fire and the police department wanted me to get closer to this man. It still sucked.
Kneeling in front of the counter, I went through the cabinets beneath the sink. All I found were the usual items you’d expect, half-filled bottles of shampoo, cleaning products for the shower and the toilet, and a couple of used scrubby pads. There was nothing suspicious here. Closing the doors quietly, I turned around and opened the door to the linen closet.
Again, there were no surprises to be had. All I saw were spare towels for the bathroom and several colorful beach towels. I lifted them all up and poked behind them, but again, there was nothing in this closet that would indicate its owner was an arsonist.
There were three drawers to the right of the sink. My stomach turned as I opened the first one. It contained a razor, shaving cream, hairbrush, and a battery-powered nose hair trimmer. The second drawer held only a hairdryer, while the third drawer was a bit more interesting. It was filled with colorful condoms and several bottles of unopened lube. It looked to me like a goodie bag from some kind of Pride party.
The shower curtain, done in tranquil shades of blue, hid nothing other than Deacon’s coconut-scented shampoo and matching body wash. Last, but not least, I lifted the toilet lid and looked inside the tank. Once I set the heavy piece of ceramic back in place, I took a seat on the toilet lid. I’d never felt worse in my entire life. What made me feel even more guilty, was that I’d only checked this one room. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep up the charade.
I took care of my personal needs and washed my hands. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror again on my way out the door, and what I saw was shocking. I looked like I’d aged five years, and there were dark circles under my eyes. Pasting my usual smile back on my face, I unlocked the door and headed back to Deacon.
I could hear the television playing some sitcom as I walked back into the kitchen. Deacon was sitting in the center of the sectional. Two bottles of beer sat on the coffee table in front of him. “Sorry I took so long.” What the hell else was I going to say?
“No worries.” He patted the cushion next to him. “Have you ever seen this show before? Growing up in the 1980s looks like a lot of fun.”
Deacon was watching an episode of The Goldbergs. “Yeah, the show is a riot, but I can’t imagine being a kid without all the technology we had, video games, cell phones, and computers.”
“I guess every generation seems more exciting than the one you grew up in.” Deacon reached forward for his bottle, taking a long sip from it. He’d left the bottle cap on mine. Of course he did, that was just the kind of man Deacon was.
I grabbed my bottle and twisted off the cap. “To you.” I tapped the necks of our bottles together, but instead of taking a sip, I leaned over and kissed him.
Deacon sighed and inched a little closer to me. His right hand rested on my shoulder. I wanted more than just a simple touch. I wanted his hands all over my skin.
Wrapping my arms around him, I pulled him onto my lap. His legs straddled mine. His erection brushed against my own and I knew I had entered the danger zone. Deacon kissed me hard, thrusting his tongue against my lips until I opened up for him. I could tell he was trying out this little bit of dominance. I was curious to see how far he would go with it.
“You’re gorgeous, Ozzy,” Deacon whispered against my neck. He dropped kisses from my ear to my c
ollarbone. “So strong. Sweet. Powerful.” His hands dug into the meat of my shoulders.
I couldn’t help jumping under his touch when he pressed a kiss against the end of my scar near my chin. No one had ever kissed me there before. Hell, when Stark and I had been together, he never even kissed the left side of my face. Now, here was this perfect man kissing every inch of that ruined skin as if the sight of it didn’t make him recoil in disgust.
“Well, what about you?” My hands came up to frame either side of his face. “You have the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen.” Adoration and lust battled in Deacon’s eyes. I’d never had a man look at me like that in my life. I didn’t deserve his adoration. Not in the slightest. Here I was with this perfect man on my lap, and instead of whispering in his ear how much I wanted to take him to bed, I was trying to figure out how I could search more of his house.
“What do you think about taking me to bed?” The hands that had been rubbing over my shoulders were now undoing my pants. One hand gently squeezed my bulge.
I froze. I didn’t know what to say. Thankfully, Deacon was occupied with my zipper. I tilted his head up to face me. “There is nothing that I’d like more than to spend the rest of the night making you feel good.”
Deacon sat back a bit. “Why do I get the feeling there’s a but coming?”
I pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “This is only our first date. Why don’t we take things a bit slower?”
Disappointment flashed briefly through Deacon’s eyes. “Does that mean we’re going to have a second date?”
“It does, if you’ll have me?”
“Name the time in the place, and I’ll be there.” Deacon looked relieved.
“I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll talk about details. In the meantime, sleep well. I’ve got to be to the office early tomorrow morning.” It was the best I could do. I needed to get out of this house before I took Deacon up on his offer. The only thing worse than having sex with him so that I would have an opportunity to explore his house, would be the chiefs finding out I was screwing their suspect.
