Sex and the Single Fireman: A Bachelor Firemen Novel

by Jennifer Bernard

  “None of that is true,” said Roman, fighting to hold on to his calm. “I believed one of my firefighters was in danger. It was my error. The three of us have already sorted it out.”

  “That’s cozy. Any advice for the rest of us who have to deal with the media wolves?”

  “I’ll step down if it helps.” If anyone were to take the fall, it ought to be he. No one had asked him to follow Sabina and Vader into that bar. No one had asked him to rush to her defense, or carry her off like a savage beast . . .

  Neither Sabina nor Vader should have to pay because he let his dick call the shots.

  “No.” Chief Renteria gave a dry laugh. “Bet you wish it was that simple. You’re sticking around, Roman, like it or not. And you’re in for a shit storm. Reporters are camped out outside the firehouse. They already cornered Firefighter Brown at the gym.”

  “I saw that.”

  All the channels had shown the shot of Vader leaving the gym with a small entourage of beautiful girls. Channel Two wondered if that meant Sabina was home nursing a broken heart. Channel Six speculated that he might be trying too hard to quash the rumors.

  None of the stations had footage of Sabina. She was an expert at hiding from the media, after all. And from him too, apparently. After she’d left the house, white-faced and horrified, she hadn’t answered any of his calls. Hopefully he’d see her back at work. Hopefully he’d be able to keep his hands off her, and not stare at her all day like a lovesick puppy dog.

  Talk about a scandal.

  “Straighten this mess out the best you can.” Chief Renteria was wrapping it up now. “I’m starting to wonder if there isn’t something to this curse.”

  “Sir?”

  “Might as well be a soap opera over there. Never seen anything like it. Have you?”

  “Not exactly, no.”

  “All right. Carry on. Keep me posted.”

  “Will do.”

  After he hung up, Roman dialed Sabina’s number again. Not that he had much more to say about the situation, but he longed for some connection with her. If the feel of her sleek skin and the jasmine scent of her hair weren’t available, her husky voice would have to do. Even if it was nothing more that her outgoing message.

  “I’m unavailable. Please leave a message.”

  Short and to the point. And quite accurate. Sabina Jones was unavailable, at least to him, Battalion Chief Rick Roman. He’d made a huge mistake giving in to his craving for her. Things were more complicated than ever now. Fortunately, things weren’t too far gone. They’d just have to forget what happened and focus on getting life back to normal.

  If there was such a thing as “normal” in San Gabriel.

  Baseball cap, check. Sunglasses, check. Generic T-shirt and jeans, check. The life of a media refugee came back so easily. Sabina was able to tune out the madness while she went jogging at a park on the other side of town. Afterward, she stopped at a coffee shop she’d never been to before. She kept her braid tucked under her cap and didn’t say much to anyone. No one recognized her.

  The same couldn’t be said for Chief Roman. When she switched on the TV for her daily dose of reality—make that surreality—she saw a swarm of reporters mobbing him outside San Gabriel Middle School. With his face set in his most intimidating scowl, the one she remembered from that Reno intersection, he shepherded Luke through the crowd.

  She ate up every frame of the shot, noticing how he kept his hand on his son’s back, how he stood a head taller than everyone else, how his black hair and strong features made him a casting agent’s dream. She wasn’t surprised when Ella Joy followed up with a mini-feature on the hunky new San Gabriel training officer, a single father whose wife was killed on 9/11.

  “Chief Roman has a reputation for being extremely strict but fair. But his short tenure at San Gabriel Station 1 hasn’t been smooth sailing. Quite a change from New York, where he reportedly buried himself in his work after the tragic loss of his wife.”

  They showed a picture of Maureen O’Keefe Roman, a pretty redhead who looked much too young to die. At least San Gabriel’s viewers were spared yet another shot of the Twin Towers collapsing. It was the Sunny Side of the News, after all.

  “Officials are maintaining a strict ‘no comment’ policy, but the questions remain. Why were three San Gabriel firefighters duking it out in a bar? Can Chief Roman effectively do his job after this incident? When will Fire Chief Renteria finally crack down on the crew? Stay tuned for more on this story, including an exclusive interview with Annabelle Hatfield, mother of the San Gabriel Bachelorette.”

  Sabina groaned and threw a pillow at the TV set. Of course her mother would jump all over this. She must be in movie-star comeback heaven right now. They’d interviewed Annabelle next to a huge bouquet of flowers sitting on a grand piano. Why a grand piano? Why not?

  “It’s certainly no surprise that my daughter, Sabina, has two gorgeous men fighting over her. Which one has the edge? It’s anyone’s guess.” Light laughter. “If she asked for my advice, I’d say exactly what Peg McGee told Taffy when two boys got into a snowball fight over her. Go for the one with the biggest snowball.” She winked cheekily at the camera.

  Sabina clutched at her aching head. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. But it was. On every channel.

  Finally she turned off the TV and crawled into her bed, which seemed small and lonely compared to Roman’s. She kept replaying the image of Roman shielding Luke with his arm over his son’s face, and the photo of Luke’s mother.

  Maureen O’Keefe Roman. Firefighter, wife, mother, 9/11 hero. Roman hadn’t mentioned her once, not in all the hours they’d spent together. During all those magical, out-of-time moments, Roman had kept quiet about what must be one of the most important parts of his life.

  Why? It was obvious. What they’d experienced together wasn’t real life. It was a one-night fantasy.

  After all, what did she really know about him? Oh, she knew the highlights. Skilled firefighter, outstanding leadership qualities, excellent father, incredible lover, great cook. But what about the real stuff? How could she fall in love with a man who’d never so much as mentioned his tragically deceased wife?

  And yet . . . how could she not, when that man was Roman?

  Luke seemed really shaken up by their encounter with the newspeople outside his school. He didn’t say anything until they’d reached the batting cages at Los Feliz Park. Roman scanned the area carefully before allowing him out of the car. When the coast seemed clear of reporters, they picked the most secluded cage and took turns whaling away at the balls spitting from the machine.

  With the temperature in the low sixties, a pleasant breeze playing at the backs of their necks, Roman remembered why they’d moved to Southern California. For exactly this. The thwack of bats hitting balls, a warm breeze in mid-December, baseball year-round. Luke’s idea of heaven. He could put up with all the rest for Luke’s sake.

  It wasn’t until they took a soda and hot dog break that Roman realized Luke’s unusual silence wasn’t just because of the reporters. As they sat on the bench, legs stretched out, gulping Seven-Up, his son suddenly said, “It’s a lot different here than in New York.”

  “I’ll second that.”

  “Do you ever think we should move back?”

  Roman did a double take. Of all things he expected to hear from Luke, that hadn’t made the list. “I thought you loved it here.”

  Luke gave him a sidelong look from under his sandy eyelashes. Roman noticed new freckles from all the sun. “I do. Mostly. But that’s okay. We don’t have to stay here.”

  Finally it clicked. “You’re worried about me.”

  “Well . . .” He took a bite of hot dog and spoke through it. “It’s kind of weird here.”

  “You mean because cameras are following me around. And everyone’s talking about the firehouse. And one of my firefighters was a TV star. And her mother’s a movie star. And I punched a guy out in a bar.”

&nb
sp; “Don’t worry, I beat up Ralphie when he said you were gay.”

  Roman spurted out a mouthful of soda. “You know my philosophy on violence. It’s a last resort.”

  “Like in the bar?”

  “Well . . . yes, I suppose. I thought someone was attacking Sabina. It was a mistake, and look at all the trouble it’s caused.”

  “But it wouldn’t have been a mistake if Sabina was being attacked.”

  “Right.” Roman frowned. He wasn’t delivering the lesson quite the way he wanted to. “Maybe. Depends. Guys like you and me, Lukey, we’re strong, so we have to be careful. I can really hurt someone. On the other hand, when I see someone in trouble, I know I can help.”

  Luke kicked at an old popcorn bag the breeze had piled against his feet. “Not everything.”

  Ouch. “Nope. Not even close.”

  “Do you know Carly’s mom?”

  “No.” Conversations with a thirteen-year-old always seemed to go in unpredictable directions. “Why?”

  “Nothing.”

  Of course it wasn’t nothing. Luke wanted to say something, but Roman couldn’t tell what. And he didn’t know how to ask.

  “I think . . . well, I think maybe Carly . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “Forget it. It’s good she has Sabina, that’s all. And Papa?”

  Roman silently cursed. But at least Luke hadn’t said, You wouldn’t understand. “Yeah?”

  “I don’t want to leave here.”

  “Hey, we’re not going anywhere. We’re tough New Yorkers, remember? We can put up with a few cameras and nasty rumors and movie stars and so forth.”

  He used the phrase “so forth” to invite Luke to say more about Carly. But Luke switched his attention to a sparrow with a hankering for hot dog bun crumbs. How was Luke supposed to learn to talk about the important stuff when his own father couldn’t do it?

  Roman made a mental note to ask Sabina if something was going on with Carly.

  But first he owed Vader more of an apology than he’d offered so far. He tracked him down at Toned, a gym that had become popular among the off-shift firefighters ever since Ryan Blake had married the owner’s sister.

  He found Vader working his delts while glowering at the three TV sets, all showing some version of “Scandal at the Firehouse.”

  “Buy you a Red Bull when you finish up?”

  Vader didn’t look happy to see Roman, but could hardly reject an invitation from a battalion chief.

  Fifteen minutes later, Vader heaved himself onto a bar stool at the juice bar, leaving one stool empty between him and Roman. Roman slid a Red Bull his way.

  “I’m not going to beat you up again, Vader.”

  Vader bristled. “You didn’t beat me up the first time. I never got a chance to get my shots in. Good thing for you.”

  “No doubt.” Roman’s peacemaking smile didn’t come easily. This man had forced an uninvited kiss on Sabina.

  “If I’d known there was a camera around I would have gone for it, dude. Do you notice how they keep replaying that one shot where my head goes back and nearly hits the guy behind me?”

  “I saw that,” said the waitress, appearing with a menu. Roman did a double take, wondering why she was dressed like a belly dancer, but Vader didn’t seem to think it was odd. “I do shiatsu massage when I’m not working here, so if you need some work on your neck . . .”

  “My neck is fine,” gritted Vader.

  Roman figured he must still be upset if he was ignoring offers of massages from pretty girls.

  “I came here to apologize for that. I lost my head,” said Roman. “If I’d realized it was you I wouldn’t have gone nuts like that.”

  Vader guzzled down the Red Bull, crushed the can in his fist, then rested his elbows on the counter. He dropped his head to his hands. Under his T-shirt, the veins on his biceps stood out. “No, you were right, dude. I shouldn’t have done that to Sabina. If I’d seen someone mauling her I’d have knocked him out too. What a fucking mess. All I wanted was to prove I wasn’t homophobic. Now I’m on every channel in town getting beat up in a gay bar. The things you’ll do for a chick, you know?”

  “I hear that.”

  “And you know the worst thing?”

  “What’s that?”

  He lowered his voice. “I think I might be homophobic. I freaked out, man. Kissing Sabina like that, it wasn’t cool.”

  Not cool at all, if you asked Roman.

  “Cherie’s probably laughing her head off along with everyone else in town.”

  “Well, you’re in good company.” Roman tilted his blueberry–bee pollen smoothie as a toast and sipped deeply, then nearly gagged. Apparently bee pollen didn’t taste like honey. They ought to warn you about that.

  Vader was tapping his crushed can against the counter. The waitress pranced toward them, practicing some kind of dance move that made her gypsy skirt jingle, but he waved her off.

  “Chief?” Vader looked right, then left, checking for eavesdroppers.

  Oh shit. Roman braced himself for a confession from the younger guy. He’d never been that sort of captain, the kind who cared about his crew’s feelings. As long as they did their jobs, he didn’t get involved in their personal lives.

  Vader leaned over the empty stool between him and Roman. “How do you convince a chick you’re not the way you seem?”

  “Come again?”

  “I’m more than a ripped body. I got a mind in here.” He tapped his head. “Just because I don’t know any Tori Amos songs doesn’t make me stupid.”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  “I want her to see the real me. I can be sensitive. I have feelings. Dreams. All that shit. It’s all trapped inside here. Waiting to get out.” He thumped his chest. “How do I get it out?”

  You’re asking the wrong guy, Roman wanted to say. My shit’s all locked up tight.

  But he owed Vader. “Maybe you could think of it like a backdraft.”

  “I’m afraid of backdrafts.”

  “Everyone is. Backdrafts are extremely dangerous. That’s why we take the fire axe up on the roof and ventilate. You have to open up a hole and let some smoke out, right? Prevent a backdraft.”

  “Yeah.” He furrowed his forehead. “Backdraft. I like how you put that. Open a hole.”

  “There you go.” He tossed back the rest of his bee pollen. Emotional conversations really took it out of a man.

  “Thanks, Chief.”

  “No problem.” Holy Mother of God, had he managed to offer good advice to a fellow fireman? Maybe California was getting to him. “So we’re cool?”

  “Well . . .” Vader hesitated. “One more thing. That bar fight. That left hook.”

  “I said I regretted it—” What more did Vader want from him?

  “Do you think you could do that again? Except in a ring with a bunch of people watching? Maybe some cameras?”

  “What?”

  “I want another chance, Chief. I think I could take you. And I want witnesses so everyone knows I can throw a punch as good as the next guy. It’s only fair.”

  Roman put some money on the counter and gestured good-bye to the waitress, who was now gyrating and snapping her fingers in the air. “No way, Vader.”

  Vader swung around on the stool with an outraged glare. “What do you mean, no way? You gotta give me another chance.”

  “I mean, no way could you take me. I haven’t lost a fight since the age of five. And I’m not in the habit of turning my best firefighters into bloody pulp. Sorry.”

  “Dude.” But Vader looked too impressed to be pissed. And then the compliment sank in and a smile spread across his bony face. “Hey, thanks.”

  “See you at the station.”

  When Roman was halfway to the exit door, Vader came hurrying after him. “One other thing, Chief.”

  All of Vader’s goofiness had been replaced by utter seriousness.

  “What is it?”

  “About Sabina. You better not hurt
her. If you do, you’ll have the whole firehouse after you.”

  Roman stared at him. What had Vader seen that night? His mind raced back to the Jeep, Grove Street, the Christmas lights, Sabina’s beautiful eyes dancing with midnight sparkles . . .

  “I’ve seen how she looks at you. Just about every fireman on the crew wouldn’t mind that look from Two. But she’s always been strictly about the firefighting. She’s like your favorite sister combined with a gutsy firefighter who’s smart and hardworking, plus she’s hot as hell. Who wouldn’t crush on her? She keeps her private life off-limits, even with me, and I’m her best friend at the station. But I know her, and she’s not as tough as she acts. I’ve seen her looking at you, and Chief, you’d better not hurt her. Or I’ll take my chances with that left hook of yours, for real. You see where I’m coming from?”

  “Yeah. I see,” answered Roman mechanically.

  “Then I’ll see you at the station, Chief.” Vader headed for the parking garage while Roman stood like a zombie amid a swirl of girls arriving with yoga mats. Hurt Sabina? That’s the last thing he wanted to do. She seemed so confident, so independent, so self-sufficient. He knew how much she prided herself on those qualities. But of course she was a human being and could be hurt like anyone else.

  To quote Vader, what a fucking mess. They couldn’t really date each other, since department policy forbade it. He could leave the department—but he’d just promised Luke they’d stay in San Gabriel. Besides, he couldn’t leave this mess behind. Renteria had ordered him to straighten things out and that’s what he intended to do. He was stuck at Fire Station 1 until further notice.

  Worse than that, he was stuck at Station 1 with Sabina. Might as well lock an alcoholic in a wine cellar. Or lash a siren to the mast right next to Odysseus. How was he supposed to forget the taste of her, the turquoise flash of her eyes closing in bliss, the feel of her supple body coming apart under his?

  And if he did manage the superhuman feat of forgetting, he’d be hurting her, according to Vader.

  They had to back off, now, before things got any more complicated.