“Really.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody from Nebraska.”
Jamie laughed. “You’d be surprised how often I hear that.”
“You guys don’t even have a hockey team, do you?”
“Not a professional one, no.”
“Nothing to stop you from being a Bruins fan, then. Some of the guys are out back, playing pool. It’s that room off to the side over there.”
Wondering if one of the guys was Scott, Jamie picked up her beer and looked in the direction Lydia pointed. “Thanks. I guess I’ll say hi, at least.”
As she walked across the bar, she took a few deep breaths. If Scott was in there, she’d be ready for that spark she felt every time she saw him and make sure she didn’t look at him any differently than she looked at the other guys.
It wasn’t easy, though. There were four guys around the pool table, none of whom she recognized. But there, at a table against the wall, was Scott. He was sitting with a guy in a cast who had to be Danny Walsh, and they both smiled when they saw her.
Her stomach did a little flip-flop at Scott’s smile, so she focused on his companion. “You must be Danny.”
“Nice to meet you in person. I’d get up, but...” He waved a hand at the cast. “You’d probably be gone by the time I managed it.”
She stepped forward and shook his hand, before backing up. Unfortunately, in trying to put a little space between her and Scott, she backed up too far and bumped into one of the guys playing pool.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, turning to apologize.
The guy’s smile turned sleazy when he looked her over and his gaze caught on her T-shirt. “Who’d you sleep with to get the shirt, honey?”
“Excuse me?”
“Does he know you took it or did you sneak out in it?”
“The shirt belongs to me.” She turned her back on him because he wasn’t worth her time.
“Aw, don’t be like that, honey. You can play with my hose if you want.”
Jamie turned to give the guy the look. It was a look that had served her well over the years and, more often than not, ended with the person on the receiving end dropping his or her gaze and muttering an apology.
But the asshole wasn’t looking at her. He was looking over her shoulder, and before she could grasp what that meant, somebody rushed by her to the right.
Jamie dropped her beer as she reached for Scott, but he was too fast. He grabbed the douche bag by the shirt, but the guy had seen him coming and managed to get his fist in Scott’s face. It didn’t slow him down, though, and Scott landed a punch of his own.
“Scotty!” Danny yelled, and through the corner of her eye, Jamie saw him trying to get his cast off the chair. “Goddammit, Kincaid!”
The two guys went to the ground and Jamie saw the douche bag’s buddies moving in. This was going to get messy, especially if Danny decided to be a hero and wade in on his crutches.
“That’s enough,” she yelled, bending to grab the back of Scott’s collar.
When the douche bag’s arm flopped out for a second, she put her foot on it, pinning it to the floor. That put her slightly off balance, though, so pulling at Scott’s collar didn’t accomplish anything.
She threaded her hands into Scott’s hair and yanked hard. “I said that’s enough.”
He let go of the douche bag to reach for her hand. “Ow. Let go.”
“Get up.” When he resisted, she pulled harder. “Get. Up.”
He struggled to his feet as his sister rounded the corner, a softball bat in her hand. She looked at Jamie and, for a second, she thought Lydia was going to smile. Then she looked at the guy on the floor before narrowing her eyes at his friends.
“Get your buddy and get out of my bar.”
“He started it.”
“Yeah, but his name’s over the door, so get out and don’t bother coming back.”
Once they were gone, Scott batted at Jamie’s hand again. “You can let go now. And you didn’t have to do that.”
She released her grip on his hair. “I wouldn’t have had to do that if you’d listened to me.”
“This isn’t the station.”
“No, it’s not,” Lydia broke in, pointing the bat at him. “It’s our bar and if you pull this stupid shit again, you can find another place to hang out. Now go put some ice on that eye for a few minutes and then clean up that beer.”
“That’s mine,” Jamie said. “Just tell me where the mop is.”
“He can do it.”
Lydia walked away, and Jamie might have smiled at the exasperated look Scott sent after his older sister, but she was too annoyed with him. And with the way Danny was watching them.
“Show me where the mop is,” she said. “I’ll clean this up while you put ice on that eye.”
“You okay for a few minutes, Danny?” he asked.
“I’m good.”
Jamie followed him, her eyes on the back of his head. Because he’d gotten sweaty in the tussle with the douche bag, she could still see the ruffled area where her fingers had been buried in his hair.
It was tempting to reach out and smooth the strands so she wouldn’t be distracted, but she curled her hands into fists instead. No more touching Scott Kincaid.
FOUR
SCOTT’S HEAD WAS POUNDING, his eye socket was throbbing, and he imagined he could still feel Jamie’s fingers wrapped in his hair. Later, when he was alone, he might reimagine that scenario without the fight and her throwing her authority around. Just him and Jamie and her hand buried in his hair.
He walked into the back room and turned to face her. “You’re not mopping the floor, dammit. I’ll clean it up. And I don’t need any ice.”
“What the hell were you thinking?”
Even though she’d just dragged him to his feet by his hair, her anger set him back a step. “What do you mean?”
“Did I ask for your help?”
“Did you hear what that asshole said to you?”
“Yeah, I did. And I didn’t give a shit. You think that’s the first time I’ve heard sleazy comments about playing with hoses?” God, she was gorgeous when she was pissed. “If a guy puts his hands on me, then I’ll take care of it. Otherwise, the shit coming out of their mouths isn’t worth my time.”
“I’m not letting some asshole talk to women like that in here.”
“It’s different, Scott. Because we work together.”
“So? That’s even more reason not to let somebody disrespect you.”
She blew out an exasperated breath, which he knew was a woman’s way of calling him an idiot without wasting words. “Everybody’s going to assume you popped off on that guy because you and I are hooking up.”
“Or maybe they’ll assume I’m not going to stand there and let a woman be disrespected in my family’s bar.”
She cocked her head sideways, arching an eyebrow. “You really believe that’s what they’re going to think?”
No, they weren’t. They were going to jump to the conclusion he was parking his boots under the hot lieutenant’s bed. “The only guy in that room whose opinion matters is Danny’s and he knows we’re not hooking up.”
“Does he?”
“Yeah, because I told him we’re not.”
She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. “And why would he ask?”
Busted. He didn’t want to tell her Danny had warned him off after catching him watching her walk into the bar. “I guess I just have a reputation for not being able to resist a single woman.”
“Sit down on that stepladder and look up at the light so I can see your eye.”
“You’re very bossy, you know that?”
“It came with the promotion. Sit.”
He sat, a
nd then he sucked in a breath when Jamie stepped close and took his chin between her fingers. She tilted his head back, scowling at his eye under the glare of the bare bulb. Her hand was warm, and he reacted immediately to her touch. Trying not to shift around on the stool to ease the discomfort of his jeans, he dropped his gaze because meeting hers wasn’t helping. But he found himself eye level with her breasts, which was even worse.
“For a guy who runs his mouth like that, he doesn’t throw much of a punch,” she said finally.
“He barely made contact. His hand glanced off, mostly.”
She didn’t let go of his chin, though. “As for your reputation, I heard you are resisting single women and have been for a while. So tell me again why your usual lieutenant would ask you if we’re hooking up.”
“He was asking as my brother-in-law. Mostly.” Since her hand was still touching his face, he didn’t feel it was too out of line to rest his hands on her hips as he raised his gaze back to hers. “Fine. He might have caught me looking at you a certain way.”
“That’s a bad idea.” She let go of his chin, but her hand didn’t fall away. Instead, her fingertips trailed over his jaw.
“It’s a really bad idea,” he agreed.
Without moving his hands, Scott stood. She didn’t take a step back, so their bodies were so close one of them only had to shift and they’d be touching. Jamie’s hand dropped from his face to his shoulder before trailing down his arm.
“I’ve never been involved with anybody at work. Ever.”
He tightened his grip on her hips, his gaze on her mouth. “We’re not at work.”
“And when we are?”
“Then we do our jobs.”
They were so close, he felt the rush of her sigh over his mouth. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It doesn’t have to be complicated.”
The tightening of her fingers on his arm and the subtle lift of her chin were all the invitation he needed. He closed his mouth over hers, forcing himself to rein in the hunger he felt for her and be gentle.
Her lips were soft and he moved his hands from her hips to her waist so he wouldn’t be tempted to pull her hard up against him as he kissed her.
When her fingers threaded through his hair again—not pulling this time, but not gentle, either—he deepened the kiss. Her lips parted as his tongue dipped between them, and he groaned as she pressed her body to his. Her breasts pressed against his chest and for one crazy second, he thought about kicking the door closed.
He felt her yank his T-shirt free of his jeans and her hands sliding up his naked back. Damn the door. Damn the bar. He wanted this woman so badly his entire body ached with it.
“Scotty, get the damn mop out here before somebody slips in that beer and sues Dad and I end up having to find a new job!”
Jamie jerked away from him, her chest rising and falling as fast as his was. She raised her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. “I forgot where we were for a minute.”
“I forgot everything but you for a minute.” It was the truth, and it made her cheeks turn pink.
“I can’t believe this.” She blew out a breath and ran her hands through her hair as if smoothing it, even though he hadn’t even gotten a chance to mess it up yet. “There’s no way we’re getting out of here without them thinking we were up to no good.”
“There’s an employee bathroom across the hall. Go hang in there for a few minutes. I’ll tell Lydia you helped me with the ice and that you’re dumping the rest of it.”
“Okay. I’m going to head out, by the way, so...good night.”
He didn’t want her to go yet. It felt as if there was still unfinished business between them. Not sexually, since that would be an incredibly stupid thing to do, but he wanted to get an idea of how she felt about the kiss. She’d obviously been as into it as he was, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be mad at herself—or both of them—or have regrets. Or maybe she’d decided it really wasn’t that complicated and the incredibly sexy kiss was okay. Maybe they could even do it again.
He’d like to know what was going on in her head.
“Dammit, Scott!” Lydia bellowed again, and he sighed.
“Gimme a minute!” He turned to Jamie, but she was already slipping across the hallway and into the staff bathroom. “Good night.”
Cursing under his breath, he grabbed the mop bucket. The mop and the cleaning spray they used were already in it, so he wheeled it down the hall and into the bar.
“Where’s Jamie?” Lydia asked as he passed by, because God forbid his sister should ever be too busy to be up his ass about every little thing.
“She’s taking care of the ice so I can wipe up the beer before we get sued and you have to find another job.” She arched an eyebrow at his tone and he wasn’t in the mood to get into a verbal tangle with her, so he moderated it. “She said she was going to dump the ice and then she’s leaving, and that’s all I know.”
Danny was still where they’d left him, sitting against the wall with his leg propped on a chair. “I was beginning to wonder if you forgot about me and went home.”
“I probably would have remembered when I got outside and didn’t have my truck because it’s parked in your driveway.”
“True. Where’s Jamie?”
“She’s heading out after she takes care of the ice pack.”
“Uh-huh.” Danny crunched his empty soda can and set it on the table. “You’re asking for trouble, Scotty.”
He bent to pick out the larger pieces of the broken mug. “What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t put any ice on that eye, your hair’s even more messed up than it was, and now your shirt’s untucked.”
“You’ve been cooped up too long with bad detective shows, dude.”
When Danny just made a noncommittal sound, Scott yanked the old metal dustpan off the hook of the mop bucket handle and dumped the glass into it. He wasn’t very good at getting anything over on his family, so maybe that kiss was going to end up being more complicated than he’d thought.
* * *
JAMIE DABBED AT her face with a paper towel, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The cold water hadn’t helped much and she still looked like a woman who’d just been kissed senseless in a supply room.
What were the chances she could walk through the bar and out the front door without Scott’s sister seeing her face?
What a stupid thing to do, she told herself. After years of proving herself and building a reputation based on nothing but being good at fighting fires, she’d made it through one damn tour with Scott before her self-control crumpled like a napkin.
Balling up the paper towel and tossing it into the trash, Jamie took a deep breath and reached for the doorknob. There was nothing for it but to walk out there and hope Lydia was busy with a customer. At most she could offer a casual wave goodbye as she walked out the door.
She should have known better. Lydia was leaning against the bar, her eyes on the television screen when Jamie walked out into the main bar area. Obviously Tuesdays weren’t their busy night.
“Hey, sorry tonight turned into a circus sideshow for you,” Lydia said when she saw her. “We don’t usually have problems in here, and very rarely are punches thrown. Leave it to Scotty.”
“The other guy had it coming, though it should have been me who got to smack him one.”
Lydia laughed. “You’ve gotta be pretty fast to beat Scotty’s temper to the draw, though he’s been a lot more mellow lately.”
“I’m just glad it wasn’t worse. I guess I’m going to head home.”
“You sure you don’t want a beer? You never got to drink yours.”
“I’m all set. I’m actually not a big beer drinker, anyway. It’s just the easiest thing to order in a bar.”
�
�I hear you.” Lydia picked up a towel and wiped at a spot on the bar. “I hate to pile on whatever impression we’re making tonight, but you need to kiss Bobby Orr.”
Jamie heard the word kiss and her stomach clenched, but then the rest of the words caught up. What the hell was Lydia talking about? “Who’s Bobby Orr and why would I need to kiss him?”
“You don’t know who... Oh, that’s right. You’re from Nebraska.” She pointed to a huge photo of a guy in a hockey uniform. It was in a frame that was literally screwed to the wall, and a signature was scrawled near the bottom.
Jamie had noticed all of the sports paraphernalia hanging around the bar when she walked in, but none of it really meant anything to her. Even if she were a big sports fan—which she wasn’t—this was Boston and other than a vague recognition of the logos because she didn’t live under a rock, she had no idea what any of it was.
“Bobby Orr is a Bruins legend,” Lydia explained. “And if you break a dish or a glass, you have to kiss the picture. If you don’t, you’re jinxed and who knows what’ll happen next.”
Jamie stared at her, wondering if this was some kind of firehouse hazing ritual, but Lydia looked more embarrassed than expectant. “You’re serious.”
“Yeah. It’s a tradition. Or a superstition. Whatever you want to call it.”
“I’ve noticed that’s a big thing in Boston.” Lydia shrugged, not denying it. “As much as I’d like to be free of jinxes, I’m not kissing that picture. This is a bar and if somebody’s lips are on that glass every time a glass breaks, mine won’t be.”
“You don’t have to put your mouth on it. Just kiss your fingertips and touch the glass. That’s close enough, and it’s what most people do. The sober ones, anyway.”
“You know, it was technically your brother who made the mug fall.”
“It fell out of your hand.” Lydia folded her arms, waiting. “But a woman who refused to do it a few years back tripped after she left here and needed stitches in her knee, but she couldn’t get to the hospital because her car had been towed.”
Laughing—though she wasn’t sure if it was at the superstition or herself—Jamie walked around the bar to the photo. After kissing her fingertips, she reached up and pressed them to the glass covering the man’s cheek.
Fully Ignited (Boston Fire #3) Page 5