The only greenery in sight was a rather plain iceberg lettuce salad topped with crunchy chow-mein noodles and little orange wedges of canned mandarin oranges. It was there mainly as a decoration so the firefighters could say they ate their veggies.
“Wow, thanks,” Larry said after the song was over.
“Speech, speech, how do you feel facing the ball and chain?” an older firefighter said. He’d been married well over thirty years and was one of the station’s wise men.
Larry shrugged, not sure what to say. Unlike Jenna and the rest of the Harts, he grew up alone with his foster mother and had no idea how a marriage worked. He also hated giving speeches. His skin itched at the thought of talking and having all those eyeballs staring at his half-deformed face.
Fortunately, the faces gathered around him were friends—fellow firefighters who made up his extended family. He shrugged in a self-deprecating manner and said, “I guess you all know me and Harley. If our stomachs are happy, we’re happy.”
“Too bad Jenna can’t cook,” Connor said.
“She’ll learn,” Larry crowed. “I also aim to have a house full of kids and dogs to keep her busy.”
The entire brigade burst out in hearty laughter.
He doubted Jenna would ever be interested in cooking over sewing and designing. He was okay with it, but around his buddies, he didn’t mind poking a little fun at his soon-to-be wife who’d rather be behind the sewing machine or at her design table.
“She’d better take lessons from Brian,” Connor said, as Brian, who was married to Jenna’s sister Cait, hoisted a slab of ribs onto the burgeoning table.
Brian was second-in-command at the station and drove the ladder truck. He used to be the man most likely to be found at the station, hanging out with them even during his off-duty hours, but after renewing his vows with his wife right before the New Year, he was rarely seen on his days off.
“Congratulations, bro,” Brian said, giving Larry a slap and a hug. “Good luck getting Jenna Hart to go domestic.”
“Does she know you’re planning lots of children?” Connor asked. He put his arm around his pregnant wife, Nadine. “I always thought Jenna didn’t want kids.”
“She didn’t want dogs either, and now she dotes on our Harley.” Larry let the adorable fat hound slobber all over him before setting him down in front of a dish filled with spaghetti.
That dog was the messiest eater ever, and everyone backed away at least five feet from Harley as he wolfed down the spaghetti, dribbling sauce down his saggy jowls and splattering noodles with his floppy ears.
When he finished, he begged for a rib bone, and dragged it, sauce and all, to gnaw at it with his belly flopped over Larry’s feet.
Larry was enjoying the food and company, joshing and joking with his buddies and swigging down energy drinks until Harley’s satisfied murmurs turned into a low growl.
Conversation stopped like someone turned off a switch, and all eyes turned to the double doors of the day room where a camera crew followed a pretty Asian woman wearing a hot pink mini skirt suit.
“Hello everyone, I’m Amy Suzuki,” she said. “We’re here live on location at the firehouse where Ms. Jenna Hart’s groom, Larry Davison, presides over his rather tame bachelor’s party. What’s this? No one finished their salad?”
The TV cameras panned over the mostly scarfed down food while boom mics hung over the firefighters. Harley, who usually didn’t growl, huffed and made a low whine as he defended both his rib bone and the honor of the firehouse food.
The hot pink vision teeter-tottered toward Larry, wearing stilts so high, her feet were almost vertical.
“I’m your hostess for the award winning reality show She Wouldn’t Dare. We’re four weeks from fashion icon Jenna Hart’s Valentine’s Day wedding to a real life hero, Larry Davison.
“Several years ago, Larry rescued five children from a house fire and suffered burns over fifty percent of his body …”
Larry cringed as one of the cameras turned his direction. He angled his head so his scarred side was away from the lens. Below his feet, Harley was stiff and trembling, trying to control himself. He wasn’t an aggressive dog, and usually, he was loving and friendly. Low murmuring huffs and pants were mixed with a deep growl that sounded more like an old man snoring than anything frightening.
The reality show host stuck her microphone under Larry’s nose. “All of America is proud to have heroes like you. Tell me, is it easier for you to run into a burning building than to the marriage altar?”
That was an incredibly rude question, and no one laughed or made a sound.
Harley’s growls turned grumpier, now sounding like an old buzz saw.
Amy bent down and peered under the table. “Oh, and here’s the firehouse mascot, a basset hound. You know what they say about San Francisco. It’s all about diversity. Whoever said firehouse dogs have to be Dalmatians?”
Harley charged from under the table and snapped at Amy. She squeaked and stepped back, landing one of her stiletto heels in Harley’s spaghetti dish.
Her arms windmilling, she dropped the mic and landed on Harley’s water bowl.
Harley threw his heavy body on top of her and shook his jowls, splattering her with barbecue sauce and slobber. Now that he was on top of her, he decided to lick the barbecue sauce from her blouse.
“Yuck, his breath stinks. Ow, yuck, get this monster away from me,” Amy cried as Harley let out a slow, squealing fart.
Instead of helping her, the cameraman kept the tape rolling and everyone in the station laughed as Larry pulled Harley from Amy’s breast.
“What’s this show called? She Wouldn’t Dare?” Larry guffawed. “Bet you wouldn’t dare insult Harley again.”
One of the firefighters helped Amy up. Rather than backing off, she motioned to continue filming, despite her being a hot pink mess of marinara.
“Today’s challenge is for both groom Larry Davison and bride Jenna Hart. Drumroll please.”
There was no drum rolling, so Larry presumed the studio would add the drum roll during editing.
Instead, a giant frosted concoction was pushed into the dining room. It was a huge wedding cake without the tiers.
“Everyone knows what big appetites firefighters have,” Amy said. “And this cake is big enough for the entire team.”
Harley wandered to the cake and stuck his nose into the frosting, smashing a rose to reveal the cardboard underneath.
“The next dare is for a shopping trip in Paris for Jenna Hart and four of her best friends.” Amy teetered precariously around Harley and tried to nudge him out of the way, but he stood his ground as only a stubborn basset hound could and rumbled and wheezed like a snoring, crotchety geezer.
Of course, the reality show had to go on, so with Harley between her short legs and high heels, Amy reached the mic to the top of the cake. “Jenna Hart, you are four weeks from your wedding, and your groom’s having a bachelor’s party. I’m sure the boys are waiting to bring strippers in right after this firehouse feast. For your part in the dare, Jenna, I dare you to crash Larry’s bachelor party and do a strip dance for his buddies.”
The reality show hostess turned to the camera and said, “She wouldn’t dare, would she? Ten, nine, eight …”
There was no countdown clock in sight, but Larry had no doubt when the show went into production, the editors would superimpose the countdown clock with people counting down along with it.
“Ta dum!” The top of the cake popped open and frosting flew every direction. A big glob landed in Amy’s silky black hair, looking in every way like a seagull had bombed her.
Jenna waved her arms and wiggled her shoulders, a big gleeful smile on her face.
Larry couldn’t help but grin. The sight of his beautiful and peppy fiancée never failed to brighten his day, even if she was jumping out of a fake cake.
“Waaarooahh.” Harley sat back on his haunches and howled for attention. He wagged his tail and pounced on the fro
sted side of the box, splattering gobs of sugar cream flowers, while Jenna opened a hinged side at the back and stepped from the cake.
She was wearing a skimpy, beaded, lavender-colored tutu with a pink puffy skirt and a white fluffy bunny tail. Long gloves crawled up to her elbows and black fishnet stockings hugged her shapely legs.
Larry gulped and darted a nervous glance at his buddies, who seemed entranced at the alluring vision in front of them.
One of the soundmen turned on the stereo to play burlesque striptease music. Unbelievable. Was she actually going to strip, or was she teasing everyone?
Either way, all the food in Larry’s belly congealed into a brick, and anger roiled in his gut. Jenna had always been the showoff in her family.
Jiggling her shoulders and arms, she wiggled her hips and turned her back on them, bouncing her flouncy puffy tail up and down.
The men let out hoots and hollers as the tutu skirt lifted and fell with each suggestive bounce.
Turning toward Larry, she strutted around, wiggling her hips, and stripped her long, satin gloves, throwing them at him as she passed by.
Harley trudged along after Jenna, like a fat, stubby shadow, and when Jenna stopped abruptly and threw off her fluffy tail of a skirt, he slammed into her, and shreds of the feathery skirt fell on his head, covering his eyes.
Jenna then pranced around, tugging seductively at the straps of her skimpy top. Larry blinked, not believing the entire firehouse was ogling his fiancée in a bikini bottom while she was about to remove her top.
An assistant for the show placed a step stool at the end of the table, and Jenna danced her way onto the table top. Her mile long legs, encased in stockings and a garter, along with her sweet behind were displayed for all to feast on.
“Hold it.” Larry put out his hand in a stop position. “You’re not stripping all the way, are you?”
“That’s for you to decide,” Amy said, quick with her mic. She inserted her tiny body between him and Jenna’s legs. “Part two of this dare, for season tickets to the hometown baseball games for you and three friends is on you, Larry. I dare you to allow your fiancée to go ahead and strip for your bachelor’s party.”
“You can’t possibly be taping this,” Larry said, staring at the cameras. “It would definitely not be family friendly.”
“Don’t worry about us. We have editors,” Amy said. “The dare’s on you. Let her strip all the way and both you and your bride get gifts to share with your best buddies.”
Jenna still bounced and swayed to the stripper’s music while twirling a long feathered boa. Behind her, two assistants held two large feathered fans to cover Jenna’s potential nakedness from the cameras.
The men and one woman in the station, his family of firefighters, would all spy on his future wife’s body, which was wrong on so many levels.
Why would Jenna go through with something so degrading? Did she crave publicity so much or had she gone greedy for material things and media attention?
Larry couldn’t bear to look Jenna in the eye, as Amy counted down. “Ten, nine, eight, seven …”
No one said a word, not even the wise crackers of the station. Connor stared ahead, as if not seeing his sister’s shame, and Nadine twisted her hair. As for Jenna, she still wore that phony smile and swayed to the beat of the music, which had to be repeated, since Larry was taking so long.
“Come on, Larry, you can do it,” Amy goaded him. “Don’t pass up a Parisian shopping trip for Jenna and baseball season tickets for you.”
“No.” Larry’s voice boomed. “I won’t take the dare. My wife’s honor is more important than a reality show. Take your cameras, your sound booms, your phony cake, and your show and take a hike.”
Jenna stopped her seductive dancing and stepped off the table, down the step stool, being helped by Brian. Still twirling the feathered boa, she looped it around Harley’s neck and said, “Come on, boy. Looks like Larry’s in the doghouse tonight. I was looking forward to that last minute shopping trip to get the material for my bridal gown.”
Chapter Three
“I can’t believe you lost me that shopping trip,” Jenna said to Larry when they were back at her apartment. She threw the long feathered boa on her bed.
“I can’t believe you wanted to expose yourself in front of my buddies.” Larry was just as outraged as his fiancée.
“You didn’t trust me.” She turned around, hands on her hips, still wearing the burlesque corset with the laced up back. Her legs were still encased in fishnet stockings, and she hadn’t kicked off her high heels yet. “Did you really think I would show anything indecent on TV?”
“No, but I don’t like the idea of anyone getting turned on watching you.” Larry all but growled, and behind him, his little basset hound followed suit, imitating him.
Jenna shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Do you want to see the rest of my act? The one that could have won me a Parisian shopping trip and you season tickets?”
Larry swallowed hard and shook his head. Of course he wanted to see what she had on underneath her stripper’s top, but last year, when he fell in love with Jenna, he’d made a vow to not have sexual intercourse with her until after they were safely married.
Watching her prance around in an enticing, burlesque outfit, rubbing a feathered boa between her legs, was too much temptation. Not to mention when she got around to peeling off the stockings and unlacing the ties that kept her cleavage from busting out.
Besides, how would he face all the guys in the firehouse day after day if they’d all seen his woman in the buff?
Jenna marched to her stereo system and turned on the music. “I’m going to show you what everyone missed, so you can see what you lost us.”
The same jazzy, seductive, squealing music jangled from the sound system. She’d obviously been practicing her act in the privacy of her own apartment, which meant she’d been serious about the She Wouldn’t Dare reality show.
Now that he thought about it, she was totally in collusion with the hostess, Amy Suzuki, and they had put him on the spot to see if he’d dare have his fiancée flaunt her stuff.
Larry watched aghast as said fiancée wiggled and strutted to the music. She had her silky gloves back on and wrapped her feathered boa around her neck while writhing and rolling her shoulders in a come-hither manner.
“You don’t have to show me.” Larry cleared his throat, unable to look away. “I should be going now. I have work tomorrow.”
“Stay. It won’t take long.” Jenna grabbed Larry by the shirt and drew one finger down the front of his chest between his pectoral muscles. “What are you afraid of? Getting aroused by your future wife?”
“Jenna, I made a vow, and you’re tempting me.” Larry felt his throat thickening while his lower belly heated up.
“Then you should have let me finish at the fire station with all of those chaperones around.” She flicked herself away from him and slowly pulled every inch of the long feathered boa between her legs and around her breasts.
The music continued to bump, grind, and squeal as Larry forced himself to count backward and otherwise distract his body which was way too eager to react to Jenna’s obvious come-on.
“Stop screwing your face at me like a prune,” Jenna said, caressing herself skillfully while peeling off an elbow-length glove.
She strutted behind him and garroted him with the glove, loosely, and let him feel every inch of it as she drew it across the sensitive pulse point of his neck.
Larry bit his tongue to cause pain. He was so close to the wedding night, he could taste it, but he wanted to prove to Jenna that he was different from the other guys she’d dated, the ones who traded favors with her to advance each other’s careers.
Jenna continued to sway her hips in front of him, running her hands up and down her sides to show him her hourglass shape. Sometimes, Larry worried she was too strong-willed for him. Once she got a notion, she oftentimes beat it to death.
This was def
initely one of those times, but little did she know how stubborn he could be.
“It’s okay, you can touch,” she said suggestively in a sing-song voice.
“You know we both made vows.” His voice croaked. He was already on the verge of losing both his balls due to how blue and painful they were—a familiar and constant state whenever Jenna was around.
“It’s not like either of us are virgins,” Jenna said, turning her back at him and wagging her fluffy bunny tail. “What are you really afraid of?”
“Nothing.” Larry swallowed hard and averted his gaze. The last time he’d had sex was the night before he was burned over fifty percent of his body. His then fiancée, Shelly, had tied him to the bed and wielded a can of whipped cream over his, at that time, perfectly sculpted body.
Now? Half of it was a web of burn scars, and he wasn’t even sure it wouldn’t be painful, what with all of the bending and stretching his skin would have to endure if and when he ever got a woman’s legs wrapped around him.
Despite what Jenna said about his scars being badges of courage, whenever he looked in the mirror, all he saw was hurt and pain. The scarred tissue was brittle and dry, easily damaged, and void of sweat glands—a lunar landscape of pits and ridges.
Jenna seemed to sense his discomfort, because she turned off the music.
“You’re looking at me as if I’m disgusting,” she said. “Can you really not stand the thought of me being intimate with you?”
Oh sure, she had a flawless complexion and her lustrous skin worked just fine. Meanwhile, he was a patchwork of areas with decreased sensation and tight, dry areas which were uncomfortable when touched.
“Jenna, let’s not argue about this tonight.” He bent down and picked up his dog. “You’re upset, I’m tired, and this celibacy thing was something we both agreed to.”
Valentine Wedding Hound Page 2