Hot for Fireman

by Jennifer Bernard

  Damn.

  As soon as Katie turned away, Ryan took a quick swallow of her vodka. This girl rattled his nerves in the strangest way. He didn’t like it.

  Closing time came three belts of vodka later. He’d lost track of Katie’s alcohol consumption somewhere around the second beer chaser. Katie didn’t seem too worried about it. In fact, she seemed a lot happier than he’d yet seen her. Not that he’d known her long, but after a crazy night of bartending together, it felt like he’d known her forever.

  As soon as everyone had left, she danced around the bar in a kind of manic joy.

  “It went great, absolutely, fantabulously, wonderfully great, don’t you think? I can’t wait to tell Dad what a marketing genie I am. I mean genius. Genius!” She skipped from table to table, picking up bottles and bar napkins. One of the bottles slipped from her grasp. Ryan dashed across the room to rescue it before it smashed to the floor. She blinked up at him. “Where did you come from?”

  He took the rest of the bottles from her hands. “This may come as a shock, but I’ve been here all night.” Despite her antipeople attitude, or maybe because of it, Katie was fun to tease.

  “I know that. You’re kinda hard to miss. You’re very . . .” She leaned in and growled. “Sexy.”

  Half of Ryan’s blood rushed right to his groin.

  “The way your T-shirt pulls against your muscles like that . . .” She touched his arm just below the sleeve of his T-shirt, then ran her finger under it, along his shoulder muscle. Her touch was light, but it packed a punch, arousal-wise.

  “And your butt is so so so, so so, very nice. I really like your butt. A lot.”

  “That’s—er, thanks, I’ll tell it you said so.” He fought to keep from bursting out laughing. Just how drunk was she?

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” In one quick motion, she stripped his shirt off her body. Her white shirt seemed to be dry, but it was still tight and clingy enough to outline her breasts.

  He dropped the bottles onto the nearest table, then took the shirt from her and pulled it on like an extra layer of armor. With a woozy look in her big brown eyes, she leaned in to him.

  Her nipples poked against his chest. Like the rest of her, they were small and fierce. He clenched his hands into fists because he really, really wanted to feel them against his palms.

  “Look, Katie,” he told her, “I’m a little drunk, and you’re a lot drunk, and you already told me I don’t—”

  She didn’t let him finish. She reached up and pulled his head down to hers, down into a kiss that surprised the hell out of him. In his experience, first kisses were more about performance art than anything else, each person trying to prove how good they were at it. Katie, on the other hand, kissed with her whole being. This kiss felt like diving into a deep, clear pond while holding hands with a wildly sensual mermaid. Almost out of curiosity, he took her head in his hands and dove deeper. Her tongue moved feverishly against his.

  He moved his hands down her back, feeling each delicate bone, each shiver of her flesh. It shocked him how much he wanted her. He wanted to feel the texture of her skin, watch how the after-hours lights picked up the amber shadows on her pale flesh. Her body was lithe and warm and pliant to his touch. They could have sex right now on the grungy floor, or a beer-ringed table, he knew without a doubt. Since he was a man, and she was hot, he’d be fine with that.

  But it would be wrong.

  She didn’t seem to know that, though. He felt her push up the back of his T-shirt to reach the bare skin of his back. Her excited, exploring hands seemed to want to feel everything. His shoulders, his spine, his hips, his . . .

  Shit, she was going for his ass. If one tip of one finger made it under the waistband of his jeans, it would be a lot harder to put a stop to this.

  He put his hands behind his back with the intent of pulling her arms away from his body. She took the opportunity to press her soft breasts with their pointy nipples even closer to him.

  “Katie,” he groaned. “You’d better stop that.”

  “Take me, now.”

  She wrapped one leg around his thigh and fixed wide, dark eyes on him. This close, he saw a ring of black around the outer edge, and deep chocolate brown closer to the iris. When she wasn’t frowning, her eyes were beautiful, especially when they were so urgent, so darkened with desire, so under the influence . . .

  “Katie, this is not a good—”

  “Right here,” she went on, rubbing her pelvis against his groin, though she had to be on tiptoe to do so. “Right on the floor. I don’t care if it has beer stains and, and, and . . . dog slobber on it. I want to have sex with you, Ryan. Right. This. Second.”

  Chapter Five

  Katie opened her eyes, somehow knowing that her pleasant dream about riding a unicorn would be the last enjoyable thought of the morning. She sat up. Pain zinged around her head like a razor-studded pinball.

  Water. She needed water, immediately. First she’d drink a tall glassful. Then she’d drown herself.

  She rolled off her bed, fighting her way past the books that always wound up tangled in her blankets, and crawled into the kitchenette portion of her tiny apartment. Man, she really needed to sweep the floor more often. She flicked a Cheerio out of her path. Her favorite pajama pants, the ones with the flaming skulls printed on them, were going to get filthy. But what did it matter, for someone intending to drown herself?

  In the kitchenette, she pulled herself to her feet and shoved aside a pile of dirty cereal bowls. Breakfast was the only meal she’d eaten at home since she’d taken over the bar. Every morning she washed exactly one bowl and ate her Cheerios. But right now she couldn’t think past a glass of water.

  After she downed one glass, her mind cleared enough for her to miss her former fuzziness. Oh crap. She’d thrown herself at Ryan like a sex-starved groupie. Worse, like a sex-starved character in a soap opera. Take me. She’d actually said, Take me. Had her bosom been heaving at the time? Had her thighs been trembling?

  God, this was a total, unmitigated disaster.

  She rolled the cold glass across her forehead. Aspirin. Aspirin needed to happen. Maybe it wasn’t her fault. She was clearly sex-starved, and no wonder. When she’d broken up with Doug, she’d taken it in careful stages. First she’d redefined their relationship, from boyfriend-girlfriend to friends with benefits. He hadn’t minded the new arrangement, and neither had she, at first, until it became clear he didn’t really get the distinction. Then she’d downgraded them from friends with benefits to friends.

  That meant no benefits.

  Doug hadn’t liked that. They’d been together so long, ever since freshman year in high school, that she couldn’t stand to hurt his feelings. Breaking up with him in phases had taken so much energy that she’d written off the possibility of another man. No sex for Katie. Even though something told her Doug wasn’t the world’s expert in bed, she’d always liked sex. She didn’t apologize for that. A normal twenty-five-year-old was supposed to like sex. But she hadn’t had any for over a year.

  And then the sexiest man she’d ever seen walked through the door.

  No wonder she’d jumped him like a tiger in heat.

  She scrambled through her purse for her aspirin, and checked the clock. Almost noon. Time to get to the bar. She’d never finished cleaning up last night. Ryan had called her a cab. He’d even given the driver an extra twenty to wait until she was safely inside. Of course he had to be a perfect gentleman on top of everything else. Unless it wasn’t about being a gentleman. Maybe he hadn’t been attracted enough to her.

  Groan.

  Although . . . she remembered a certain hard swell against her stomach, when she’d ground herself against him like a nymphomaniac. And he’d kissed her like . . . like he’d wanted her. When he’d cradled her head in his hands and sent his tongue deep into her mouth, had he been humoring her? She’d never experienced a kiss like that. During it she’d lost all sense of time and reality, until she wasn’t Katie anymor
e, head-in-a-book, people-phobic, hopeless-at-running-a-bar Katie, but simply a hot-blooded woman craving a sexually potent man.

  A smile stole onto her face. She was pretty sure he’d wanted her. And yet, the fact remained that he’d rejected her. Her smile disappeared. Humiliating.

  She took her time getting dressed, letting the aspirin do its work while she downed glass after glass of water. Slowly, her mortification faded. Blame it on the vodka. Blame it on her recent lack of a sex life. Blame it on Ryan’s killer smile. She’d made a mistake, but she’d survive. No harm done. With any luck, she’d never see the guy again.

  When she put her key into the lock of the Hair of the Dog’s front door, she found it already open. When she stepped cautiously inside, she squinted at what had to be a hallucination.

  Someone had broken into the bar and . . . and . . . cleaned up the mess from last night. The floor had been swept. All the bottles and glasses and bar napkins and dog-shaped balloons had been whisked away somewhere. The scent of lemon and fresh-brewed espresso almost masked the stale smell of spilled beer. Behind the bar, she caught the clattering of bottles being dumped into the recycle bin.

  Had some homeless man stumbled in and been inspired to tidy up? Had the Drinking Crew decided to pay off their tabs with cleaning duties?

  “Hello?” she called into the dark interior. “Who’s there?”

  Ryan’s head popped up from behind the bar. “Bartender, reporting for duty.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t you remember? You hired me last night.” He straightened up and wiped his hands on a dish towel. Katie’s head throbbed, or maybe it was some other body part, come to think of it. She wished she had another aspirin, or five. His gorgeousness was too much for a hangover like hers.

  “Oh, right.” She frowned. That memory had been overshadowed by the bigger event of her shamelessly begging him to have sex with her. But she remembered now. And it made sense. He’d done well last night. She needed a bartender, now that Kent had moved on and Doug was nursing a broken arm. “Well, you don’t have to feel obligated. It was kind of a crazy night.”

  “I don’t feel obligated. I told you, I could use a job for a few weeks. I figure your bouncer will be back by then.”

  “Probably.” If she knew Doug, he’d be back long before then, if only to keep an eye on her. “Well.” She’d never hired anyone before. Maybe she should do it in a more official way. “Can I ask you some questions?”

  He shrugged. “Sure. I fired up the espresso machine. Want a cup?”

  God, he was too perfect to bear.

  The two of them sat at the bar with cups of espresso. Since Ryan had entered her life, she’d only seen him in the dark. She’d watched from across the room while he punched people out, poured drinks, and flirted. Sure, there had been that kiss, but she hadn’t really been looking while she plastered herself against him. Now, she got her first close-up, sit-down, daylight look at his magnificence.

  His light brown hair, cut short, had bits of gold winding through it. His nose veered just a bit from pure straight. Laugh lines spread from the corners of his eyes. One eyebrow tilted up higher than the other, giving him a permanent look of playfulness. And most of all, his eyes, the pure blue of a perfect July sky, made her heart sing. Those eyes promised all kinds of summery things—a leisurely float down a slow-moving river, a barbecue on a sunny afternoon, catching fireflies on a twilit lawn, and getting tickled until you begged for mercy and fell into the deepest kiss ever, serenaded by the evening crickets.

  She gave herself a shake. Must be the hangover. She realized he’d just asked her something.

  “What?”

  “How are you feeling today?” he repeated.

  “Oh no. No, no, no. None of that.”

  “None of what?” Ryan stirred his espresso with a little spoon that looked like he could snap it in two with those strong hands of his.

  “Friendliness. We’re boss and employee now.”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “All right, boss. What do you want to know?”

  “Do you have any prior experience as a bartender?”

  “Some. I picked up a shift here and there at a place in Los Angeles. El Coyote.”

  “Los Angeles.” She pounced. “Is that where you’re from?”

  “No. I’m from outside of Fresno. Little town you’ve never heard of. But I’ve been hanging out in LA the last year or so.”

  “Doing what?” She sipped her espresso. Posing for magazine ads? Working as a gigolo? Male stripper, maybe?

  “Landscaping, mostly. Some rock work.”

  Her eyes flew to his hands, one of which cradled his espresso cup, the other of which rested on the bar. That explained the nicks and scars and calluses. It didn’t explain how he’d touched her, with so much knowledge and sensitivity.

  “About last night,” she said abruptly. “I’m sorry.”

  He looked up, startled, his eyes gone darker blue.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I said, I’m sorry. It was a mistake. My fault. My bad. And if you’re going to work for me, it can’t ever happen again. I mean, I know you didn’t make it happen, it was all me. But just so you know. It won’t.”

  He started to say something.

  “I’ve always found that it helps to be really clear about defining things.”

  “Defining things?”

  “Yeah. For instance, obviously I . . . um . . . made sexual advances on you last night because you’re very attractive and it’s been a while since I had sex.”

  There, she’d said it, in her typical truth-blurting way. It seemed to stun him.

  “But I’ve gotten that out of my system now.” God, she hoped so. “I’ll be your boss, you’ll be my employee, and that’s where it ends. I promise not to assault you again.”

  He stayed quiet for a long moment, looking first at his coffee, then back up at her, then back down. If only she were a mind reader. She’d give anything to know what he was thinking right now. Then again, if it was along the lines of Thank the Lord I won’t have to put up with that again, maybe she’d rather not know.

  Finally he said, “You’re the boss. So what shifts do you want me to take?”

  They discussed schedules and pay and other details, and when they were done, Katie went into the back office, sat at her father’s desk, and clutched her pounding head in her hands.

  In the space of twenty-four hours, Ryan had caused her more ups and downs than Doug had over the course of ten years. He’d made her heart skip more beats, made her misbehave, inspired more lust and longing than the boy she’d assumed she’d marry someday.

  And now she was going to be seeing him every single day, sexy and unattainable, like a beautiful dress locked behind a glass display window.

  Ryan set himself to studying the checklist Kent, the runaway stoner bartender, had left. Check stock. Notify manager if low on anything. Check ice machine. Unload dishwasher. Consider killing next customer who asks for a Hair of the Dog.

  He did a double take on that one. Apparently Kent had some frustration building up. Wouldn’t surprise him. Maybe he’d been attracted to Katie too.

  That darn girl confused the hell out of him. He’d figured her behavior last night was the result of some serious vodka consumption. That’s why he’d sent her home without falling into bed the way he would have under normal circumstances. He’d behaved himself, and that didn’t come easy.

  But today, when she’d broken things down so brutally—he looked good to her because she hadn’t gotten laid in a while—that hurt. As soon as she’d walked in, with her lovely, cinnamon latte hair loose around her shoulders, her skin reddened as though she’d scrubbed her face clean of last night, her dark eyes shadowed with fatigue, he’d wanted to wrap her in his arms. Maybe see if that kiss had been a fluke.

  And then she’d come out with her little speech about her “sexual advances.”

  Truth to tell, he felt a little used.

  The d
oor opened and the first customers of the day walked in. Probably one of the old guys, figured Ryan, scanning the checklist. Item number twenty-two: the “regulars” shelf. Make sure the old coots’ beer mugs are ready for them.

  The sound of a soft giggle made Ryan straighten up in surprise. The arrivals weren’t dragging oxygen tanks or walking with canes. Three pretty girls stood in the doorway, peering over their sunglasses.

  “Can I help you?” he asked in surprise. “Are you looking for the Gap? It’s three doors down.”

  “Oh, I think we’re in the right place,” said the tallest girl of the bunch, a redhead, with a wicked wink. They advanced toward the bar and fluttered onto the bar stools like a flock of birds.

  He surveyed them, a broad smile spreading across his face. They’d come for him. Maybe it was shallow, but that felt good after Katie’s rejection. “Now ladies, you know the Hair of the Dog isn’t a spa, right? We serve liquor here. Hard liquor.”

  “The harder the better,” said the redhead.

  “Bring it on,” her friend chimed in.

  Ryan grinned and settled in for some serious flirtation. Nothing soothed the soul like attention from a pretty girl—except attention from three pretty girls. Make that seven, when the next batch of customers walked in a few minutes later. Nine when twin sisters arrived.

  When they finally showed up, the old guys nearly left right away, disoriented by the sight of so many skimpy sundresses and shades of lipstick. But they adapted well enough after Ryan located their favorite beer mugs and set them up with their first cold ones of the day. Archie, the newspaper guy, chimed right in with the flirting, even though Ryan had a feeling he was gay.

  If he couldn’t be fighting fires, flirting with girls might well be the next best thing. The only shadow came when Katie dashed out from the back room and stopped dead in her tracks.

  “Who the . . . what the . . .” She wiped her hand over her eyes as if convinced she was hallucinating. “Where’d they come from?” she hissed to Ryan, pulling him aside.