Smokin' (The Hot Boys Series Book 1)

by Olivia Rush

  Smokin’

  The Hot Boys Series

  Olivia Rush

  Copyright © 2018 Olivia Rush

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Extras

  Scorchin’ Sneak Peek Book 2

  Smokin’ Alternative Beginning Giveaway

  Description

  Falling for a fireman is so cliché.

  Yet, here I am. The elementary school teacher who’s all worked up over New York’s finest.

  It started out as a simple ride along.

  Now the only brass pole I want to slide down is his.

  I know, good girls don’t think those thoughts, right?

  Wrong!

  The sculpted jaw, the tight t-shirt rippling with muscles. I’m only human.

  Now, I’m the only witness to a crime. One that puts me on the run.

  Solving the case is our main focus. Well, almost.

  Staying at his place was supposed to be temporary. His love wasn’t expected.

  Can a girl have her cake and him too?

  1

  ETHAN

  The alarm at Fire Station Ladder 128 blared, its whooping whine cutting through the calm. It was time to move.

  “You hear that, boys?” called out Stone Black, a huge wall of a man with short, black hair, and my best friend in the station.

  “Hear what?” I asked.

  Stone swatted me on the shoulder as I hopped up out of my chair where, only a few seconds ago, I’d been seated calmly, eating lunch and reading the paper.

  “That smartass mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble one of these days, Ethan,” said Stone, matching my grin.

  “I don’t know,” said Rick Parker, a short guy with broad shoulders and a head of rust-red hair. “Seems to work with the girls.”

  “Yeah,” said Mike McDonnell, a reedy, slim guy with narrow eyes who’d joined the station around the same time I had a couple of years ago. “He gives ’em the sarcasm, and they give him, heh, well—you know.”

  “I swear,” I said, starting off toward the golden, gleaming pole that led down to the first floor, “you have a few one-night stands and you get a reputation that won’t go away.”

  “You guys still yakkin’ up there?” called out the stern voice of Stan Swift, the fifty-something, bearded and barrel-chested chief of the station. “I don’t wanna interrupt you all going over your dates like a couple of teenage freakin’ girls, but we’ve got a damn fire to get to.”

  “You heard the man,” I said, stopping in front of the pole and turning my attention to the ten or so men formed up behind me. “Let’s get to work!”

  The men all nodded, and that was that. I wrapped my hands around the cool metal of the pole and dropped down to the first floor, the alarm still blaring, now even worse from the echo of the garage. In front of me was the massive form of one of the cherry-red trucks. I stopped for a second to look it over, my hands on my hips and my mouth twitching up into a smile. Though I’d been a fireman for a couple of years now, the sight of these trucks never failed to bring a smile to my face. They made me feel like a big kid, in a way—but a big kid who could actually do some real good in the world.

  “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” called out Chief Swift, clapping his hands together as he marched along the length of the truck. “Get dressed, grab your gear, and get ready!”

  Just as I started off, however, I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye—something small and furry. I turned just in time to see Mitch, the station Dalmatian, rush toward me, leap up, and cover my face with happy licks.

  “Sorry, buddy,” I said, matching his licks with enthusiastic pets. “Fire time—you gotta sit this one out.”

  I gave Mitch one last good pet and then set him back down and hurried over to the lockers where the rest of the crew was already well into getting ready. Once there, I pulled on my boots and threw my heavy rubber coat on over my broad shoulders, the muscles still sore from the major workout I gave them at the gym the night before.

  “You ready yet, big man?” asked Mike, looking up at me from under his hat.

  Standing at six-five, I was already a good amount taller than every other man in the crew. Mike, however, at five and a half feet, looked almost comical in comparison standing next to me.

  “Look at you two,” said Stone as he pulled on his last boot. “He looks like a kid trying on his fireman daddy’s uniform.”

  Laughs sounded out from the men.

  “Hey, screw off,” said Mike, grabbing a nearby helmet and whipping it at Stone.

  “Enough with the screwing around!” shouted Chief Swift. “I want you boys on the trucks in no more than two minutes.”

  “What’s the situation, Chief?” I asked, getting my mind good and focused for the job ahead.

  “We’ve got a report of a fire over in Brooklyn Heights,” he said. “It’s not quite in our area but Ladder 102 is busy with another one of those business fires.”

  This caught my attention.

  “Another one?” I asked. “How many is that now?”

  “Four,” said the chief. “But I want you all focused on the damn task at hand.”

  Chief propped his foot up on one of the benches in front of the lockers and addressed the rest of the men. Chief Swift was a born leader, the type of man who was able to inspire and direct with effortless skill. And in our line of work, where running into burning buildings was part of the job description, getting men to do things they might’ve thought they weren’t capable of was essential.

  “Formed up and ready to go in one minute!” shouted the chief, the men’s eyes all on him. “Let’s kill this fire and be back in time for dinner!”

  The men sent up a cheer and then broke up and hurried off to the trucks. I started off toward my usual role as the driver, but before I could even move a foot, I felt the pressure of a hand pressed against my chest.

  “I want you hanging back for this one,” said the chief, regarding me with serious eyes.

  “Why?” I asked. “I’m the best damn driver here.”

  “Just do what I say, Stokes,” he said. “Hang back on the truck and take a bird’s-eye view of the crew. Watch what they do, notice their strengths and weaknesses. And make sure they don’t get out of line.”

  I gave Chief a quizzical look.

  “I, uh, I’m not sure what this all about, Chief,” I said. “Am I in trouble or something?”

  “Stokes, an ex-SEAL like you should know better than anyone that you don’t gotta understand orders—you just gotta follow them. I’m gonna be staying at the station taking care of some bureaucratic bullshit, so you’re gonna be my eyes and ears out there. Got it?”

  He had me there.

  “Now move out.”

  He clapped me hard on the shoulder. I spotted Mike already hanging off the side of the truck as usual. Chief’s words
still in my head, I climbed up and took position next to Mike.

  “Yo, Ethan!” Mike called out. “You’re hanging back here with the rest of us? What’s the freakin’ occasion?”

  “Chief’s orders,” I said, keeping my hands wrapped around the metal frame of the truck.

  “He’s keeping you humble,” said Stone. “Doesn’t want you getting too comfy behind the wheel.”

  “Or maybe golden-boy Ethan screwed something up and we’re just not in the loop,” said Mike.

  “If that’s it, then I don’t even know about it,” I said.

  Before any of us could say another word, the truck engine roared to life, the vibrations running through my hands and chattering my teeth. The big brown curved-top garage door opened with its usual metallic groan, the room filling with the clear, bright noon sun. The truck lurched ahead, and we were off.

  “Yeah!” shouted Stone as we pulled out onto the streets of Brooklyn. “This shit never gets old!”

  Moments later we were ripping through traffic, the wind cool on my face and the dissonant whine of the truck’s sirens blasting in my ears. Confused as hell as to why Chief had me back there, I tried to stay focused on the task at hand.

  The apartments and businesses of Brooklyn whipped by, the young professionals who lived in Williamsburg all turning their attention to the truck as we raced by. A small smile formed on my face as I thought about how Mike was right, how there really wasn’t anything like being on the back of a truck, rushing through the city on the way to do some good. I’d joined the FDNY after the SEALs, hoping for some action and a chance to make a difference in the world. And I sure as hell got what I was looking for.

  Soon we were headed down the long stretch of Wythe Avenue, the towers of Manhattan peeking out through the breaks in the buildings to our right, the sun in the cloudless sky above making the glass and steel skyscrapers of Midtown glitter and shimmer. Off in the distance, I spotted our destination, an ambulance and a pair of squad cars lined up on the street, lights flashing.

  The trucks slowed as we approached. Once my truck had stopped completely, I hopped off the side and rushed over to assess the situation.

  “What we got?” I called out, my eyes flicking from the cops to the paramedics as I took in the scene.

  But I soon realized what was going on. The storefront ahead of us was totally wrecked, a car smashed through the glass. Through the passenger-side window, I could see the still form of someone in the car.

  “Accident!” shouted one of the cops. “Total goddamn mess!”

  “Any fatalities?” I asked.

  “Nah,” said another one of the cops. “No customers in the store, and the staff was in the back doing inventory. But that poor SOB in the car’s stuck. And he looks like he’s in bad freaking shape.”

  Right at that moment, Chief’s words sounded in my head. I took a slow breath and scanned the scene, noting what everyone was doing. Mike was behind me, chomping at the bit to get into action. Stone stood with his arms crossed, waiting for orders. Rick had his truck under control, the crew all ready to move.

  There was no fire, so I sent Rick’s truck back to the station. They were a little disappointed, but they got it. This was a one-crew job, and too many cooks in the kitchen would just complicate things.

  “Jaws of life, now!” I called out, hurrying over to the car.

  I cupped my hands around my eyes to block out the light and looked inside. There I spotted a girl, no more than twenty, lying barely conscious in the driver’s seat. Blood streaked her forehead from where she hit the steering wheel, but the rise and fall of her chest made it clear she was still alive. Under the pedals, I spotted the rectangular screen of a cell phone, text message conversations visible—it wouldn’t take a detective to figure out just how this girl ended up putting her car through a storefront.

  But the metal was crumpled, and it’d be no small task to get her out of there.

  “What’s happening?” she mumbled, her voice muffled through the glass.

  “You’re gonna be OK,” I said. “You got in a little accident, and we’re gonna get you out of there.”

  Mike and Stone approached from behind with the massive tool, and we set right to work. The driver’s side door came off with ease as soon as we cut through it. Reaching in, we managed to pull away the crumpled dashboard and clear enough space for the paramedics to get in and pull the girl out. We stepped back and let the rest of the staff do their work.

  “She gonna be OK?” I asked, watching the medics load the girl onto a stretcher and wheel her off.

  “Yeah,” said another one of the medical staff. “She’ll have a couple of broken bones, but nothing too serious. She got lucky as hell.”

  I nodded and took one more look around the scene. A ring of pedestrians had formed around the site. Now that the girl was safe, there wasn’t anything left for us to do. The boys and I loaded up the gear and headed back to the station.

  I spent the drive thinking about what Chief had asked of me, how he wanted me to keep an eye on the men and make sure everything went off without a hitch. Truth be told, being in a leadership position like that made me a little ill at ease. I’d done my share of leading back in the SEALs, and, well, it didn’t work out so hot for some of the men under me.

  “Coulda used a fire to put out,” shouted Mike, “but at least we got to do some good.”

  I nodded. Not every call that we got was a fire—some were just situations like this where some extra manpower and equipment was necessary. Still, it felt good to know that girl was going to be OK thanks to our efforts.

  Then, I saw something that blasted the previous operation right from my thoughts.

  As we turned the corner back onto the street where the station is located, I caught sight of something—someone—standing in the driveway in front of the station. We drew closer, and I could see that it was a woman. She was standing in front of Rick and one of the men from the other truck, and the three of them seemed to be in the middle of a very heated discussion.

  The truck pulled up in front of the driveway, unable to go in because of the three people blocking the road. And there I got a good look at the woman causing all of the commotion.

  To say that she was beautiful would’ve been putting it very, very lightly. The woman was slim but curvy, with killer hips packed into tight denim. Up top, she wore a light T-shirt cut low enough to hint at the full breasts underneath. Her hair was the color of rich chocolate and curly, the C-shaped ends draped over her shoulders. Seeing her fair skin, pert features, and eyes so green they look like brilliant jewels, I had to wonder for a second if one of the models who lived in the area had dropped in to pay us a visit for some reason.

  I hopped off the truck and stepped toward the trio. The girl’s eyes locked onto me as I approached. Her features were even more striking up close, and it took all of the restraint I had to not ogle her on the spot.

  “You!” she said, pointing toward me. “Are you in charge?”

  “Sure,” I said, not wanting to bother Chief with whatever this woman had on her mind.

  “Great. Then you’re just the man I want to talk to.”

  2

  CHLOE

  Holy hell, was this guy hot. He was tall—tall and built like a brick wall. He slipped out of his fireman jacket as he approached, revealing a torso packed into a light blue shirt with the FDNY logo on one of his bulging pecs. His biceps were thick and looked on the verge of tearing through the sleeves of his shirt. His hair was short and blond, cropped into an efficient military style. His eyes were a luminous blue, and the rest of his face looked carved from marble.

  He was so hot, in fact, that I completely forgot about the reason I’d come to the fire station to begin with.

  “OK,” he said, his voice resonant and deep. “You’ve got the man in charge. Now, tell me why you’re here blocking the damn driveway.”

  He crossed his arms over his massive chest, and my eyes locked on to his ropy forearms. H
e tilted his head up toward the huge truck idling on the street, whose engine making me think of a big, angry dog.

  “Oh, shoot,” I said, realizing that I was, in fact, blocking the path. “Sorry.”

  With quick steps I moved out of the way, the other firemen following me over. The truck started moving and pulled into the cavernous garage behind us.

  “Now,” said the man in charge. “First things first: Is this an emergency?”

  “It’s not,” I said. “I mean, it’s important, but it’s not life-or-death.”

  The man, realizing that whatever I wanted didn’t require the attention of half the staff, gestured to his men. They nodded and headed into the station, leaving the tall fireman and me alone.

  I shot out my hand toward him.

  “I’m Miss Parker,” I said, forgetting for a moment that I wasn’t in front of my students. “I mean, I’m Chloe Parker.”

  The man regarded my hand skeptically for a moment, then took it into his. A shiver of delight ran through me as he shook it. His hand was meaty and warm and rough, and it caused a tingle of…something, to spread out from down below. My face went hot with blush.

  “‘Miss Parker’?” he asked.

  “I’m a teacher,” I said, dropping his hand and doing my best to regain my composure. “Third grade down at PS 204.”

  “I figured it was either that or a dominatrix,” he said. “Anyway, my name’s Ethan Stokes. What’s the situation?”

  I felt a little silly for giving the impression that I might’ve had some kind of emergency, but I went on anyway.