Burning for This

Everywhere I looked, there were hot guys. 

Granted, it’d been five months since I’d had sex, so it was entirely plausible that my lady bits found those guys to be more attractive than they actually were. Or maybe it was knowing I couldn’t have any of them that upped the sexy factor. After all, it’s human nature to want what you can’t have. And I was good at that.

I stood in the truck house of the Long Beach Fire Department (LBFD). It was emptied of trucks and equipment and, instead, filled with tables, chairs, a bar, and a giant projector screen. The FDNY and NYPD hockey teams were duking it out at Madison Square Garden, and it is impossible to tailgate at the Garden, so we were watching the game on the screen at this private party instead. We being my friend Bailee and I. 

When she said we were going to a hockey watch party, I hadn’t realized what she had in mind. Bailee had been ‘talking’ to this guy Travis, who was a volunteer at LBFD, and he had invited her. Apparently, I had come along as her wing-woman, although she had never told me where we were going. She’d just said, “Get dressed, we’re going to a party.” That’ll teach me for not asking any questions. Blindly trusting someone was a bitch. 

Shortly after arriving, Bailee had made a beeline for Travis, and I hadn’t seen her since. I might as well have stayed home. I had grabbed a beer from the bar and found myself an empty table in the corner. From my perch, I had silently observed my surroundings, which is how I noticed the abundance of attractive men. The men outnumbered the women two-to-one, and each of those women seemed to belong to one of the guys. 

No doubt about it, I was the odd one out. As I neared the bottom of my beer, I swept the room with my eyes, trying to locate my best friend so I could tell her I was leaving. Instead of Bailee, though, my eyes locked with a man who looked so much like the actor who played Dean on that show Supernatural—which I’d been obsessed with as a teenager—that I found myself staring a little too long. This guy was more muscular, and I found myself salivating over his biceps, but I would’ve sworn they were brothers. He had the same chiseled jaw, the same intoxicating blue-gray eyes. I bet he even had the same deep, sexy voice.

Once I had come to my senses, I abruptly looked away, embarrassed I’d been caught admiring him from afar. The man practically had Fuck Me tattooed on his forehead. God, I needed to get laid. It’d been five months since my ex and I had broken up—or rather since the lying, cheating dickwad tossed my heart into a dumpster—and I had yet to allow myself to move on. I’d gone on a few dates since, but none of them had been exciting enough to keep around after dinner. My father had kept trying to set me up with guys he deemed ‘good enough’ for me (a.k.a. not firemen), but they’d all been total duds. I was attracted to muscles and men who made me feel small, which, at five-foot-seven, was no easy feat. 

All of my exes are firemen. I swear it hadn’t been on purpose. They just comprised a lot of my inner circle. My dad is a battalion chief in the New York City Fire Department (FDNY). My brother, my uncle, and my cousin are also FDNY. Pretty much every family gathering we’d ever had involved firemen. So, naturally, I ended up dating men who came from my circle. Not anymore, though. After Jon had slipped his dick into the new paramedic at his station, I had officially quit firemen. As if making the decision on my own weren’t enough, my dad had made me promise to find a more sophisticated man who made lots of money and could take care of me. His words, not mine. But I didn’t need taking care of. I did just fine on my own.

“Looks like you could use a refill.” A light lager appeared in front of me, and I stared up into the face of Supernatural-Dean, who was even more attractive up close, with his perfectly tapered, dirty blonde hair and well-placed dimple. 

“Mind if I join you?” He didn’t bother to wait for a response before plopping himself down on the chair beside me. “I’m Jesse.”

“Lana.” I reached for the bottle. “Thanks for this, but I’m more of an IPA girl.”

“A woman after my own heart.” He swiped the bottle from my hand and replaced it with his beer—an IPA. 

“I can’t take your drink.”

“Except that you can. I promise I don’t have cooties.” He winked. “Besides, I haven’t touched it yet. I didn’t know what you were drinking, so I got one of each. I like them both.”

“You like mass-produced, watered-down beer?” I scrunched my nose. Just when I’d been thinking he was perfect…

He laughed. “Like might be a stretch. I don’t mind it. Reminds me of college.”

“Ah, a little nostalgia then.” That I could deal with.

“Precisely. So, tell me, Lana, what’s a gorgeous girl like you doing here alone in the corner?”

I took a swig of my beer, buying a moment to think about how to play it. He seemed like the perfect guy to break my abstinence streak with. I pushed away the voice in my head that was ringing the warning bells. Look where you are, Lana. He’s probably a fireman. The way his gaze made my thighs clench, had me not caring about what he was. I could give myself a pass for one night. That was all it’d be. Just one night. 

“Who says I’m here alone?”

“If you were my girl, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight in a place like this. Only a matter of time before the vultures swarm.” The way his tongue rolled over the words my girl set the butterflies loose in my gut.

“So that makes you the leader of the vultures then?”

His eyes never left mine while he gulped from his bottle. “Can’t blame me for being an opportunist.”

“I’ve always admired a man who knows what he wants.” 

“I’d imagine that’s because you’re a woman who knows what she wants.”

Oh, did I ever. I knew exactly what I wanted—and he was sitting right next to me. I took a sip of my beer and teasingly licked my lips after, tasting the remnants of the hops. It worked every time, and Supernatural-Dean was no exception. His eyes became grayer as they followed the trail of my tongue, his own mouth parting. 

Okay, so I was flirting. If you saw him, you would be, too. It’d been five months, remember? I was practically growing cobwebs. And to answer my earlier question: Yes, his voice was just as deep and sexy as I imagined it would be. 

“So, which of these guys am I gonna have to fight when he returns for you? I’d like to know what I’m up against.”

My mind conjured up an image of him putting those muscles to work and I had to resist the urge to reach out and touch them. I scanned the room again for Bailee, finally spotting her with Travis at the bar. “Do you see that big guy over there with the tattoo sleeves?”

His eyes found Travis, and his mouth tensed into a hard line. “Yeah.”

“I’m with the chick standing next to him.”

He turned back to me, both surprised and intrigued. “Oh?”

I smirked. “You can forget about whatever fantasy you’re working up in your head right now. She’s my best friend. And no, we’ve never made out.” In case he had doubts, I added, “I’m very straight.”

“Not even on a drunk dare in college?”

“I met Bailee after college.”

“So, another girlfriend of yours then?”

“A lady never kisses and tells.”

No, I’d never been with a girl, but it didn’t hurt to let him think that I had. He casually tried to adjust his stiffening cock, but I’d managed to catch a glimpse first. Now it was me that was working up fantasies. 

“Looks like your friend found someone else to play with tonight.” 

Travis’ hand was casually resting on Bailee’s ass, and her smile said she didn’t mind one bit.

“Guess that means you’re right. I am alone.” I gave an exaggerated sigh.

“Um, I’m sorry—hi, I’m Jesse. Sitting right next to you. Gave you my beer. Ring any bells?”

I pursed my lips. “Vaguely,” I teased.

“Well, in that case.” He snatched the beer back from my hand and finished it off.

“You realize the bottom of a beer bottle is mostly backwash. We pretty much just made out.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief. “For a first kiss, that was largely disappointing. I expected better from you, Lana.”

“I expected better from you, Jesse. That kiss was entirely one-sided.” I grabbed his lager off the table and finished it.

“Well?”

“Rather abysmal.”

He moved in close enough so I could hear him whisper and his cheek lightly brushed mine. “I’m thinking we deserve a second chance.”

I whispered, too, “I’m thinking we owe each other that. At least.”

He leaned back and stared at me with a sexy smirk. “What do you say we get out of here?”

“I say: I thought you’d never ask.”

He stood and reached for my hand to pull me up. When his skin made contact with mine, it sent tingles up my arm, and my stomach did a flip. What had gotten into me? It was so not like me to pick up some random guy at a party. I’d done the one-night thing before, but there’d always been a date first. Flirting with Jesse though seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

“I’ll let Bailee know I’m leaving.”

“Maybe you should text her.” He lifted his hand—with mine still in it—and gestured toward Bailee, whose face was being swallowed by Travis’.

“Maybe you’re right.”

Jesse gave a small wave to a few people as we made our way to the exit. Once on the street, he led me toward the side of the station, stopping just before the parking lot. It was an unseasonably warm day for mid-March, but since the sun had set, it had become a little chilly. He released my hand, and I fought the disappointment in my chest from the loss of contact. In front of us was a motorcycle. Jesse retrieved a helmet off the back and handed it to me. 

I eyed the motorcycle. “You realize fifty degrees isn’t exactly motorcycle weather, right?”

He hopped on. “We’re only going a couple blocks. I’ll be protecting you from most of the wind anyway.” 

The thought of being that close and touching him was all the convincing I needed. I pulled the helmet over my head and put my hand on his shoulder as I swung my leg over the back. 

“Grab on,” he ordered.

I tentatively placed my hands on his sides. Having never been on a motorcycle before, I wasn’t sure what an appropriate amount of grabbing was, and I didn’t want to be that girl. He placed his hands over mine and yanked them forward, wrapping my arms around his waist. I could feel the outline of his abs through his shirt, and my mind went to naughty places as I imagined tracing those muscles with my tongue.

“When I lean, you lean,” he directed. 

I guess it was obvious that I was a motorcycle virgin. He pulled away from the curb, and I instinctively tightened my hold on him. The smell of his cologne was tantalizing—musky and one-hundred percent man. I could get used to that. He pulled over by a bar and turned off the engine. I felt the disappointment in my chest again, and I held on for a second longer before peeling my arms off him and dismounting. I handed him the helmet and attempted to finger-comb my auburn curls, hoping they weren’t too messy. 

He took hold of my hand again, and I’m not gonna lie, it felt good. Really good. At well over six feet, with muscles for miles, I felt safe next to him. Jesse was exactly my type. Yes, we had met in a firehouse, but that didn’t mean he was a fireman, right? I chose to swallow that thought and not ruin what was shaping up to be a damn good evening. 

Jesse led me over to the beer garden and we showed our IDs to the bouncer at the gate. I’d been there several times before, and I was impressed with his choice to take me there. They had a small indoor area, but they were known for their outdoor beer garden. The paved patio had a few fire pit tables in the center and there were picnic tables filing out the rest of the space. The long bar was against the building and connected to the inside bar. 

“I love this place.” 

“I figured you would. They have a hundred taps, so you won’t have to settle for mass-produced, watered-down beer here,” he mocked me. He found us a place at the bar outside by the propane heaters and pulled out the stool for me. 

“Thank you.” My heart swooned at his gentlemanly gesture. “Can I order for us this time? Since you picked the last round.”

“Go for it.”

“You like IPAs, yes?”

“Love ‘em.”

“East Coast or West Coast?”

He looked at me blankly. I loved it when I got to flex my beer knowledge around a guy. “West Coast style is typically more on the bitter side, whereas East Coast style is less bitter, more juicy.”

He smirked. “Surprise me.”

I ordered one of each style, figuring if earlier had been any indication, he wouldn’t mind swapping. The bartender returned, and I passed one over to Jesse. “Cheers.”

 “Cheers.” He clinked his glass against mine before taking a sip, and I waited anxiously for his reaction. “This is really good.”

 I released the breath I was holding, not sure why it was suddenly so important for me to impress him. “Glad you like it.”

 “Which one is this?”

 “West Coast.”

 He tilted his pint in my direction. “You know, you have to tell me how you know so much about beer.”

 And there it was. The question that pretty much guaranteed I’d hook any guy I wanted. “I’m a brewer.” I smirked.

 “Really?” He raised his brow. “As in you make your own beer?”

 “As in I make my own beer.”

 “That’s badass.” He smiled approvingly. “Where do you make it? At home?”

 I laughed, but his assumption reminded me of just how rare it was for a woman to be in my industry. I often forgot that I was an oddity. My fellow brewers never acted like I didn’t know what I was doing because of my gender, and some of my beers had won awards. I guess I was lucky in that respect, and I was proud to be the only female brewer on the island. 

“Not quite. Ever been to Hop Toddy in Island Park?”

 “The brewery?”

 I nodded. “I’m one of the brewers there.”

 “No shit.” The genuine surprise on his face made me smile with pride.

 “So I’m really glad you like your beer because it’s one of mine.”

 “You made this?” His brows arched and his mouth fell open a bit, drawing my gaze to his lips. God, I wanted to taste him.

 “I did.” I took a sip from my glass, trying to sound nonchalant.

 “But I thought you said it was from the West Coast?”

 That was a common misconception. It was interesting how many ‘beer fans’ actually knew very little about the brew. I liked educating people about it, though. “That’s just the style. It doesn’t have to be from there to be called that.”

 He stared at me for what felt like an eternity and I couldn’t quite make out the thoughts behind those sexy sterling eyes.

I brought my cuticle up to my lips. “What?” I asked, feeling a little self-conscious under his scrutinizing gaze. 

“You’re something else, Lana.”

“Hopefully, that’s a good thing.” 

He placed his hand on my thigh. “It’s a great thing.”

I brought my beer to my mouth, trying to cover my smile. His hand quickly warmed the spot on my leg, and I envisioned what it’d feel like if his hand were just a little higher up. 

Before I could put my beer back on the bar, he took it from my hand. “Did you make this one, too?” He bent toward the glass to smell it.

“I did.”

“May I? I don’t want our second kiss to be just as disappointing as our first by letting you get to the bottom of the glass before I get to try it.”

I smirked. “Sure.” 

He took a hefty sip and I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. I was jealous of my beer.

“Well?”

“Delicious.” He licked the remnants off his lips, making my thighs clench. “Is this one East Coast style?”

“It is.”

“I see what you mean by juicy. It’s totally different than the other one.” He took one more gulp before handing it back to me.

I immediately brought the glass to my lips. “Now it’s almost like a second kiss.”

“Well?” He smirked.

“Could still be better.” 

He took the glass from my hand again and placed it on the bar before spinning me around to face him. He stared intently into my eyes, unmistakably fueled with lust, and I could feel the charge in the air around us. 

He inched toward me slightly and put his hands on top of my thighs. “What are you thinking, pretty girl?”

I swallowed. “I’m thinking third time’s a charm.”

He leaned closer, and my breath hitched in my throat at the prospect of his lips on mine, but he surprised me by leaning past me far enough to put his mouth to my ear. “I’m thinking you’re right.”

He sat back and reached into his pocket, producing a twenty from his wallet, which he placed on the bar before standing and pulling me off the stool by my hands. He walked backward a few steps, refusing to release my hands and break eye contact until he absolutely had to so we could weave through the crowded tables. After dropping one of my hands, he guided me in front of him, urging me forward while he followed closely behind. I made an extra effort to highlight my hips as I walked. Once we had cleared the gate to the sidewalk, he wasted no time and spun me around, pressing my back against the building. His hands fell to the wall around my head, boxing me in.

I stared up into his steel blue eyes, and we just stood there for a moment, breathing each other’s air. Typically, I’d feel self-conscious under a hungry gaze like his, but for some reason, he made me crave more. The act of holding eye contact with that man was an intimate experience in and of itself. When he leaned down, his face inches from mine, I became very aware of my heart pounding in my chest. 

“Third times a charm,” he whispered before lowering his lips to mine.