Hot for Fireman

by Jennifer Bernard

  He’d better clear this up as soon as possible.

  With a deep breath, he pushed through the swinging door. A woman hurtled from the top of the bar and flung herself into his arms. He caught her and held her warm softness tight against him. Her legs wrapped around his waist. She licked his neck and ground her sex against his pelvis.

  Right away, he got hard. An armful of nice-smelling womanly flesh tended to do that to a guy.

  “Hey, I gotta find someone,” he choked, as the woman lifted herself up to rub her breasts in his face. She shook out her long, curly hair, forming a peach liqueur–scented shield around the two of them.

  “You just did.” The woman purred in his ear. “Someone hot and willing. My name’s Logan and I’ve been watching you all night long.”

  He put his hands under her ass and pulled her tighter against his arousal. Maybe a feminine distraction was the answer to his panicked confusion over Katie. A night with a sexy woman would keep him from overthinking things or getting too involved. Later, he’d explain everything to Katie. With a sense of relief, he nuzzled her neck.

  “Nice to meet you, Logan.”

  “Sorry, Gidget.”

  “Don’t call me that.” Katie whirled away from the sight of Ryan mauling Logan Marquez. She couldn’t bear the way his hands massaged her rear, the way he tilted his head back so she could kiss him. At least Katie assumed it was a kiss. With all that hair in the way, who knew?

  “Okay, I take it back. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  Katie looked Bridget straight in the eyes, ready to commit a felony if she saw any mockery there.

  She saw something even worse. Pity.

  “I already told you, I don’t care what Ryan does.”

  “Of course you don’t.”

  “We’re coworkers, that’s all.”

  “Sure.” Bridget’s eyes shone with maddening sympathy. “I’m glad you can see that.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t want my little sister getting her feelings hurt. After all, it was beyond nice of him to get his friends in here to help you out. I want to make sure you don’t think it means anything.”

  “What do you mean, anything?” Katie heard her voice falter, and hated it.

  “Anything beyond friendship.” Bridget touched her on the shoulder. “But Katie, you do look hot tonight. That kid they call Stud was checking you out. He might be more your speed.”

  Katie shoved her hand away. “I’m not looking for a hookup. Mind your own sex life.”

  “I think I will. Think I can lure that big guy away from Sophie?” Bridget adjusted the fit of her silver dress over her slim hips. Before she got lost in the throng, she turned back to Katie. “You did good tonight, Katie. I’ll make sure Daddy knows what an outstanding job you’re doing with the bar.”

  Katie battled an insane urge to go on a pink candle–throwing, pink balloon–popping rampage. She wanted to rip the speakers out of the wall, throw Bridget’s iPod at her head, and make a bonfire out of every hot-pink pair of boxers she could lay her hands on.

  Oooh, bonfire. That would clear this place out quick enough. Of course, with all those firemen on the scene, it would be out in two seconds flat.

  The sound of the swinging door caught her attention. She got a glimpse of long curly hair and Ryan’s hands under the girl’s dress before the two of them disappeared into the kitchen.

  She caught the knowing glance of the big black guy known as Joe the Toe. He had the same look in his eyes she’d seen in Bridget’s. Why did everyone think she needed their pity?

  She raised her chin and spun on her heel. Screw them all. She had a lot of work to do before the night was over. First on the agenda, make sure no orgies broke out at the Hair of the Dog.

  She found the light switch and flicked the overheads on and off several times. No girl wanted to get caught under fluorescent lights, no matter how drunk she was. She yanked the cable from Bridget’s iPod. The sound of speaker static took the place of Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face.”

  “The bachelorette party is officially over,” she shouted over the girls’ protests. “Big thanks to San Gabriel’s finest for their special performance. And best wishes to Meredith and John!”

  The girls cheered.

  “If you want to keep partying, there’s a T.G.I. Friday’s right down the street. And I’m sure Bridget knows all the other good clubs in town.”

  “But Katie, we booked the place for the whole night.” Bridget bustled toward her.

  “I don’t care. We’re out of bartenders. I still have to clean up. And it’s after midnight.”

  “Really?”

  Katie had to admit, the night had gone fast.

  “Fine, we’ll go tear up the town. We need some fresh meat anyway. Follow me, party people!” Bridget waved a pair of boxers over her head like a hot pink flag.

  It didn’t take long for the parade of girls to dance out the front door of the Hair of the Dog in a conga line. The last few firemen went with them. Katie plastered a smile on her face as they passed by, then slammed the door shut behind them.

  Peace and quiet, at last.

  Peace, quiet, and torture. As soon as she was alone, the image of Ryan’s hands on Logan’s butt flashed before her eyes. She stomped across the room, kicking aside balled-up napkins and a stray dollar bill or two. What about the way she’d rubbed her boobs in his face? If Katie had done that, he would have felt mostly bone.

  She picked up a used toothpick and jabbed viciously at a balloon.

  The pop didn’t distract her from the memory of how he’d leaned his head back for the girl’s kiss. Just how deep was his tongue in her throat? It was disgusting, how Logan had thrown herself at him. Not that Ryan had minded. The opposite, actually. Ryan had been all over her, like pink on a balloon.

  Katie felt a stab in her chest, a physical pain that made her gasp. Oh crap. Knees suddenly weak, she felt for a chair and slumped into it. How stupid. How utterly futile. She’d fallen for Ryan. Hard. So hard, she was in new territory.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Meredith’s bachelorette party brought in enough cash to pay the beer distributor, but not enough to make a dent in the insurance bill. The deadline loomed over Katie’s head as she poured wine for the Drinking Crew on Tuesday. The bar closed on Sundays and Mondays, and she’d spent the days off mooning around her apartment, rereading her papers from college and wondering where her life had gone wrong.

  “A tip-top Tuesday to you, Katie girl,” said Archie, hoisting his glass.

  Katie grumbled a response.

  “Rumors are flying,” Sid rasped. He sipped the wine, rolling it around in his mouth. He claimed it improved the effects of his emphysema. “Seems there was a strip show here this weekend.”

  “Yes, I’m thinking of turning this place into a strip club. But I might have to change the name. I don’t think Hair of the Dog will cut it.”

  The men exchanged looks of alarm. “Katie, are things really that desperate? You should have told us.”

  “I did tell you, over and over again.” She wiped a trail of wine droplets off the counter.

  “But your father never said anything.”

  “And don’t tell him!” She realized her mistake and shook a finger at the men. “He’s coming in today, but you can’t say a word. Promise me. He doesn’t need the stress. Everything’s going to be fine. I’ve already gotten two more calls for private parties.”

  “But we don’t like the private parties,” complained Sid. “We had to spend our Saturday night on a bench outside the San Gabriel Retirement Home. We’ve been discussing it, and we have a proposal for you. We think you should consider a grandfather clause.”

  Katie snorted. “What kind of grandfather clause?”

  “If the only way you can stay solvent is to hold private parties here, ita sit. So be it. We can live with that,” said Mr. Jamieson.

  “Well, as long as we can live at all,” added Sid.

&n
bsp; “Groups are welcome to their parties, as long as the Drinking Crew remains undisturbed. There’s no reason we can’t share space with a hen party. Live and let live, I always say.” Archie raised his wineglass in a toast.

  Dr. Burwell nodded sagely. “In the wise words of Rodney King, can’t we all just get along?”

  “A quelque chose malheur est bon,” added Mr. Jamieson. That meant something about silver linings, Katie was pretty sure.

  She hated to throw cold water on the men when they looked so delighted with themselves. But if the Drinking Crew had been present for Saturday night’s debauchery, there might have been serious medical consequences. “I’ll consider it,” she said. “But you might want to find a backup bar. In case someone isn’t willing to accept the grandfather clause,” she added hastily when she saw their hurt looks.

  She escaped to the other end of the bar to cut up lemons and limes. After the bachelorette party, the idea of burning down the bar had returned, full force. Sure, the party had been successful, but the bar still owed so much money. It would take fifty bachelorette parties to pay the insurance.

  Besides, Ryan was the one who’d talked her out of the fire plan. And why should she listen to him, when she hadn’t even seen him since he’d left with Logan? He was probably still in bed with her now.

  That annoying stab of pain jabbed her in the stomach again. Katie always tried to be honest with herself. She’d spent every hour since the party facing the facts about Ryan. Fact number one: He was the most physically attractive man she’d ever seen. She’d already known that. Now she had more facts. Fact number two: He was a fireman. A really, really good fireman who would very soon get his job back and be gone from her life forever. Fact number three: Ryan was a good guy. He wanted to help her out, so much so that he’d danced nearly naked on a bar. And recruited his friends to do the same.

  She’d wanted him with every fiber of her being that night, not for his total, absolute hotness, but for his willingness to come to her rescue.

  Fact number four: Ryan could have any woman he crooked his finger at. Why would he ever want her? She kept returning to the image of Logan wrapped around his body. Maybe if she kept that picture in her head, she could make herself fall out of love with Ryan Blake.

  “Top of the morning to ye fine fellows. And lovely lady.”

  At the sound of Ryan’s deep, playful voice, Katie’s knife slipped on the lime and nearly chopped her finger off. Who was she kidding? Every second in Ryan’s company, until he quit the Hair of the Dog, would be torture.

  The Drinking Crew hailed Ryan with toasts and a rendition of “Hail the Conquering Hero.”

  Katie stole a look at him as he breezed past her. His blue eyes looked clear as sea glass. He looked fresh and rested and disgustingly good. He dropped a kiss on her hair as he grabbed a bar apron.

  “Sorry I missed the cleanup. I owe you, darlin’.”

  Katie could barely choke out her answer. “Forget it. You did enough. More than enough.”

  “You liked it, huh? It was a little rough. We only practiced twice.”

  “You’d never know.”

  “Vader stole the show, I gotta say. Maybe there’s something to those energy drinks of his. I heard they partied until five the next morning. I’m getting too old for that. I was asleep by two.”

  Wild hope filled her heart. Asleep by two? He’d left around midnight. Of course, that left two hours for . . .

  She shoved the thought aside. Math was not her friend at the moment. “Bridget told me to tell you thanks, and she has your bonus.”

  “Your bonus.” Ryan checked the supply of maraschino cherries, then opened a new jar. “Hope it helps.”

  “Ryan, you can’t . . . I can’t . . . that’s not right. You guys earned that money.”

  “And it was a real ordeal, let me tell you. I’ve got guys calling me from every firehouse in Southern California volunteering for the next gig. No, Katie, it’s for you.” He gave her a serious look that nearly brought her to her knees. “But don’t spend it on . . .”

  He gave a significant look toward the back door.

  Lighter fluid. Of course. That’s why he’d done the bachelorette party. Not so much to help her out, as to stop her from setting any more fires. Still a noble act, but more of a generalized good deed, not specific to her.

  She turned back to her limes. The tears pricking her eyes turned them into blurry green lumps.

  “Katie. Katie!”

  She jumped, nicking her index finger. Doug leaned on the bar, elbows splayed out as if holding up his body took too much energy. “Geez, Doug. You scared me.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. Lime juice spurted in my eye.”

  “Oh.” He moved on. For such a sensitive guy, he’d never had much interest in Katie’s feelings. “I came up with something. Can we talk?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Not here.” He cast a wary glance at the Drinking Crew, followed by a hostile one at Ryan. “Maybe after work? Your dad told me he’s coming into the bar later on to give you a break.”

  How did Doug always know what her family was up to? She sighed. “He is, but I need to . . . um . . .”

  God, she hated lying. But she didn’t have the energy to deal with Doug. She wanted to cry on someone’s shoulder about her doomed crush. Doug would be the last person she’d choose for that.

  “Need to what?”

  “Well, I promised Bridget I’d . . . um . . .” She didn’t even have the energy to think up a good lie. With a sigh, she resigned herself and opened her mouth to say yes.

  “Katie, I can’t believe you forgot.” Ryan stepped next to her, wiping his hands on his apron with an offended look. “You’re coming to my house for dinner.”

  “I’m what?” Katie dropped her knife with a clatter.

  “You’re telling me you forgot? I knew I should have cut you off after three Brazilian Orgasms.”

  Katie nearly choked at the sight of Doug’s bulging eyes.

  “Vodka, Malibu coconut rum, and peach schnapps, mostly,” Ryan told him. “Chick drink.”

  “I wasn’t . . .” She looked from one man to the other, from Doug’s sullen face to Ryan’s slow smile. “It was a crazy night. It must have slipped my mind.”

  “Isn’t that just like a woman?” Ryan winked at Doug. “You offer to make them dinner with your own two hands, and they forget all about it. You’re not getting off that easy, boss. Six o’clock sharp. Or whenever your dad shows up.”

  She managed a smile. “I’ll be there.” Ryan moved away, although his body language made it clear he’d be available for further rescuing if necessary.

  “But I really need to talk to you,” Doug hissed.

  “Tomorrow,” Katie promised. “I’ll give you a call before work.”

  “Don’t forget. You always say you’re going to call and then forget.”

  Katie gritted her teeth. “How about you call me before work.”

  “But you never answer when I call.”

  So he’d figured that out. “I promise I’ll answer.”

  “You should. You’re definitely going to want to know about this. You’re going to thank me. For once.” Doug got to his feet and loped to the door with something suspiciously like a strut.

  Tuesdays were always slow at the Dog, so Ryan had no trouble skipping out a bit early to start cooking. He left directions for Katie and quickly drove home. His specialty, Thai chicken curry, didn’t take long to make, but he had to pick up a few ingredients first.

  The dinner invite had been an on-the-spot inspiration. He still wanted to clarify things with Katie. Had to. Because Saturday night the worst had happened. He didn’t understand how or why, but he’d turned down a blatant invitation for sex from a hot girl. He’d assumed that a night in the sack with Logan would chase away all his mixed-up thoughts about Katie. But things had gotten hot and heavy with Logan, and then . . . nothing. He couldn’t go through with it. He’d taken her
home. And been relieved to see the last of her.

  But afterward, he’d freaked out. He’d roamed his apartment, skimmed through the manual, put on some Smashing Pumpkins, but nothing helped. Finally he tried some meditation techniques he’d learned at the monastery. When the image of Katie kept popping up, he’d figured out the problem. Until he cleared things up with Katie and made sure he wasn’t hurting her somehow, he couldn’t sleep with anyone else.

  Then something else started bothering him.

  What if he’d ruined Katie’s opinion of him by doing the striptease, as Melissa had warned? What if she’d lost every speck of respect for him? What if he never got a chance to show his “other side”?

  And why the hell did he care?

  When he’d seen Doug pulling his poor-me act on Katie at the bar, he’d nearly socked him for the pure adrenaline of it. That’s when he’d had his stroke of genius. What better way to prove to Katie he had another side than bring her to his house and cook for her? They could converse in a mature, settle-everything manner at the same time.

  Not everyone knew that most firefighters could cook. They rotated kitchen duties at the firehouse, and Ryan always looked forward to his turn. He liked pushing the envelope with exotic dishes like lamb biryani and moo shu pork. Some guys brought McDonald’s on Ryan’s day to cook, but that was their loss.

  Everyone liked his Thai chicken curry. He bet it would win major points with Katie. He parked in front of the Asian store where he liked to buy his lemongrass and coconut milk.

  Inside, as he scanned the different brands of green curry paste, he wondered why he cared if his curry impressed Katie. He shrugged off the question. Why overanalyze it? He liked Katie. He had fun with her. He liked her way of getting right to the heart of things. Plus, she’d looked incredible in that little dress with the sparkly stockings.

  Maybe she’d wear it to dinner, and he’d get to peel the dress off her ever so slowly. And then roll the stockings off her slim, pale legs, then—