Red Hot and BOOM! A Sizzling Hot Collection of Stories from the Red Hot Authors

by Randi Alexander

  I shook my head negatively. “I can’t take you two anywhere.”

  “Barry!” My mother’s voice broke through our circle, over the crowd of locals carrying on conversations around us.

  Peering back over my shoulder, I caught sight of her. She was coming down the back steps with a tray full of appetizers.

  Punchin’ my friends’ upper arms, I ordered, “Don’t just stand there, let’s go help her.”

  They groaned, but followed me towards her. I took the tray from her. “Weasel and Gator’ll help you with the rest.”

  She huffed, her features turning down in disapproval. “Honestly, boys. Those nicknames are atrocious.”

  My mother had never called me Bear. She never called me Barrath either. She wanted the name Barry, after Barry Manilow, but my father, being the smart ass he was and still is, put Barrath on my birth certificate. She gave him the cold shoulder for the first month of my life. Offerin’ to change it got him microwave dinners for a week. “It shouldn’t have needed to be changed,” she claimed.

  “After you, Mrs. Jacobs.” Gator gestured for my mother to enter the house ahead of them.

  She sighed, shaking her head in dismay, but complied.

  The moment her back was turned, the guys gave me the finger. They chugged their beers before dumping the bottles in the large trashcan on the deck and followin’ my mother inside.

  Nothin’ ever changed in Bear Valley, much to my disappointment. My mother was still spouting the same lines, Gator and Weasel were still actin’ like idiots half the time, even though they had a set of brains, and, because none of them had bothered to break the cycle and venture outside the town lines, none of them understood me, the military, or my time away. They all wanted somethin’, but it wasn’t the truth. The truth didn’t fit in their perfect unprogressive boxes.

  The hard truth was, I didn’t know if I fit in their boxes anymore. I wasn’t the same man that left this town six years ago. I wanted a hell of a lot more than boring repetition. I wanted different. I wanted more than I thought this town would ever offer. And that meant I had some difficult choices to make soon.

  Unless fate decided to intervene.

  Chapter Three

  Shae

  Mary Ann tugged on the front of the dress I’d leant her as she stepped out of her truck. The blue and white 1950’s style frock complimented her curves; the A-line slimmed, rather than bulked, her hips. Her blonde hair now fell in large curls, with a few strands pinned back on each side. I didn’t have her shade of foundation, so I was forced to layer translucent mineral powder with a sprinkle of bronzer to even out her skin tone. A touch of blush revived her color while mascara instantly opened her eyes. Her now-bright-red lips drew the eye up, perfect for any journalist conducting interviews. Unfortunately, Mary Ann wasn’t competent in heels of any height. We settled on a pair of camel-colored cowboy boots that’d been buried at the bottom of one of my boxes. Not a stitch of her previous outfit remained, and she was a better woman for it.

  She adjusted the simple stud earrings she’d borrowed, before fussing with the dress again. “Are you sure I look alright?”

  I felt my brows furrow as I frowned across the vehicle at her. “Do I need to show you the before and after photos again?”

  Her cheeks rouged faintly. “No. You did a great job. I haven’t felt this good in a long time, but that makes me nervous. You have no idea how cruel country boys can be when they’ve known you all your life.”

  I knew my frown deepened. “You’re not here to earn the compliments of country boys; you’re here to conduct a series of interviews for a potential cover story. Nothing more and nothing less.”

  She pursed her lips. “I guess you city folks are more civilized than us.”

  I rolled my eyes. Leaning back into her truck, I grabbed my phone. It was my best tool. I’d used it to record all of my interviews, to ensure the quotes printed were exact.

  Straightening, I readjusted my red dress. It was styled the same as Mary Ann’s vintage number, but created in this century. A one-inch wide, navy blue belt further accentuated my waist. The same pearls from earlier were around my neck and dotting my ear lobes. Nude cork wedges gave me some stability, as I knew I’d be navigating grass of varying dampness. Large curls showed off the honey highlights I’d had added before I left Atlanta, and, being the daring woman I often was, my make-up mimicked Mary Ann’s. We were a set of timeless ladies on a mission.

  “Alright.” Mary Ann rounded her truck towards me. “Follow me around back.” She started towards the right side of the house.

  Clutching my phone, I took a deep breath. Being a journalist took a certain mindset. I mentally prepared before going into any interview, regardless of the subject. Facing forward, towards the one-level, Southern plantation style home, I stalked behind the suddenly zealous blonde.

  Mary Ann was blazing a fresh trail at a swift pace. “Make sure you ask their name, their relationship to Bear, and their job title, before you ask any article questions. We mainly want to stick with his family and the business owners in the town, but Weston, known to everyone as Weasel, and, Paul, who we call Gator, are his best friends, so it’s alright to get their say.”

  I nodded, though she couldn’t see me. “Is there anyone I should avoid?”

  She halted abruptly. Her features scrunched as she concentrated. “Not really avoid, but, Seth, Bear’s dad, is a bit of a handful, and, he and his best friend, Calhoun, will probably try to rile you up.” The lines on her face extended the longer she spoke. “Actually, maybe you should leave them up to me to interview. I know how to handle them.”

  A single hand hung around my hip as I met her gaze. “Sweetie, I’ve interviewed drunken celebrities on their way to rehab; I’ve interviewed sobbing, fresh widows, homeless men who haven’t showered in months, victims of tragedy still on a hospital bed, and I’ve dealt with teen socialite snobs who enjoy pranking the press with bogus stories because they have nothing better to do. I guarantee Atlanta had everything Bear Valley does and more, which means, I can handle it all.”

  She considered me for a long minute. “Well, okay, just, um, well...use your best judgment.” She gave me a small smile. It was clear she had very little faith in me.

  That was how the world was though. Trust had been lost in the mess of calamities. There were too many bad, too many bad that looked good, and too many who had experienced the pain of betrayal, heartbreak, and loss at the hands of those they once trusted.

  Trust would never be a black and white issue. There were areas of grey between each letter. While you could trust most people on the most basic of levels, a.k.a. not to kill you, hurt or harm you or your children, beyond that was as hazy as a foggy fall night. The repercussions of this were felt in every part of society today, from our boss’ assumptions to speculation about the neighbors we’d lived next door to for years. We’d evolved with each passing decade, but not always for the better.

  Mary Ann nodded once before sauntering around the final corner to the backyard.

  I knew my eyes widened at the sheer quantity of residents in attendance. There was a healthy sum of vehicles out front, but not nearly enough to convey this level of turnout. There were more people in this one backyard than any high-society event I’d covered in Atlanta. The open, green grass seemed to go on forever, as did the number of attendees.

  The heavenly scent of food on the grill permeated the air, offering us a silent, warm welcome. Conversations buzzed, slurring into a single hum that got lost in the light, scattered breezes.

  To our left was an oversized wooden deck, perfect for sitting on at the end of a long day with an ice-cold beverage. A trellis erected overhead was bound with green vines that blocked out a good sixty-percent of the sun’s beating rays. This semi-shaded space was currently the epicenter of commotion.

  A plump woman with short red hair, no make-up, and a dirty apron, but a pristine outfit of jeans and a purple t-shirt beneath it, came bounding down the steps fr
om the house to the wooden planks. “Barry, get over here and take this,” she called.

  I scanned the horizon, searching for the male who would respond.

  “Comin’!” A tall, tanned male with biceps for days bound through the crowd. He was the epitome of a muscle head, yet moved with such grace. He was fast, obscuring his details with speed, yet light on his feet, as though he could dodge anything that came at him.

  I stood still, watching him as he took the overflowing tray of finger sandwiches from the woman. It wasn’t until he spun back around with them that I got my first good look at the beefcake.

  I had to force my lips to remain together, but my jaw slackened nonetheless. My heart did a leap I was certain it hadn’t done before as I took in the golden god. Now I knew why Mary Ann had spoken with such certainty. It ought to be a sin for one man to look this good. His brown eyes seemed to invite you in, his soft pink lips appeared kissable, even at rest, and my resolve melted at the cleft in his chin.

  Sweet cherry pie, I was in trouble.

  Mary Ann gave me a broad, smug smile. “Told you.” Her voice taunted me.

  I cut my eyes at her, wishing I could slap the haughty smirk right off her made up face. “Just because he looks good doesn’t mean I’m going to jump into bed with the man.”

  She laughed, but it was a haunting chuckle full of superiority, as though she knew something I didn’t. She leaned in close, meeting my glare; her eyes sparkled with delight. “That’s what they all say,” she whispered.

  I crossed my arms petulantly. “Well I’m not all of them; I’m not a number or a notch on a bedpost. In the city, we don’t allow anything to interfere with the story, not even sex appeal.”

  Her laugh morphed into a hearty belly jiggling bellow. She was enjoying this far too much. “So, you admit it. Oh, honey. You are in for a world of-”

  “If you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do.” I headed straight for the crowd, not caring who I talked to first. I was less than four hours into my new position, and a complete stranger was already testing my dedication.

  I knew I would face challenges coming in, but I was a no-nonsense optimist. I was confident I could handle my own...until I caught sight of a certain sexy golden god.

  There was only one thing I could do: revert back to middle school immaturity and ignore him. Mary Ann could interview the guest of honor. In exchange I would take on the troublesome duo of Seth and Calhoun. That seemed like a fair trade.

  If only I hadn’t underestimated the star of our front-page article.

  Chapter Four

  Barrath

  Nothing ever changed. I’d left for six years, but came back to be the party gopher again. I didn’t know how my brothers avoided it. She never called on them to carry tray after tray into the crowd, gettin’ frisked and bumped along the way each time. Lucky bastards.

  It’s not that I minded, but each similarity to my life in Bear Valley six years ago ate away at me. It fueled my growin’ list of reasons to leave my hometown behind. In their eyes, I would always be the untamable grizzly in need of constant re-direction, no matter what my accomplishments were.

  Shit. I sounded like a bitter freshman on his first tour of duty, complainin’ about all the shit he didn’t have instead of being thankful for the little he did. It was frustratin’ as hell, though, to have a higher rapport with the head honchos runnin’ the US military than with your own family, friends and neighbors. I needed to just suck it up and stop bein’ a petty bitch about it all. I couldn’t change anyone; I couldn’t force their opinion of me to change. I either had to have the patience to prove myself, or the drive to live amongst strangers with a clean slate.

  I didn’t know if I had either at the moment.

  “This is the last of ‘em for a little bit,” my mother announced as she passed me the silver platter piled with more appetizers.

  My gut instinct was to mutter a ‘Thank God,’ but I knew better. “Alright.” Clutching the metal tightly, I turned back to the packed grass. Takin’ a deep breath, I braced myself for the journey ahead. It was nearly impossible to weave through a sardine can with an oversized plate of food in your hands.

  I quickly brushed past the less dense group of people gathered on the deck, makin’ a beeline for the stairs that led down to the yard. If this were a war zone, the deck would be the vantage point I chose, before I slowly worked my team towards the lone, hundred year old oak tree that shaded the long row of tables, piled with food that disappeared as swiftly as it was set down.

  No sooner had my feet touched the grass than I nearly ran into a sexy kitten in heels.

  Instinct had me transferring the tray to one arm and reachin’ out to steady her, but, thankfully, I caught myself. I wasn’t in the field anymore, she wasn’t a comrade going down, and I didn’t think she would take kindly to a buff arm circlin’ her chest region, particularly based on the way she was dressed.

  Creamy brown curves were clad in red and blue, the same colors most of the town currently wore thanks to it gettin’ close to Independence Day, but they looked a hell of a lot better on her; enough to rev my engine and send my dirty mind whirlin’. She showed just enough cleavage and just enough leg to make my mouth water. Damn. I was sure she’d taste as decadent as she appeared to be.

  My gaze traveled from her fancy pedicure up over her more than generous curves to her red lips. Lord, have mercy. I licked my lips, prayin’ no one noticed my hard on. It was a challenge not to adjust my jeans, therefore callin’ unwanted attention to my tight groin.

  She exhaled softly, a hand going to rest on her chest. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you coming. Are you alright?” Her perfectly groomed brows puckered just enough to be cute.

  What the fuck? Cute eyebrows? I was slippin’.

  I shook myself mentally, callin’ on my field training. Focus on the physical, not the mental, or the emotional.

  I flashed her my trademark grin, the one every woman responded too. “Of course I am, darlin’. The important question is, are you? I’ve got guns of steel, and I’m afraid I don’t know my own strength sometimes.” I shifted the tray to one hand and flexed my free arm, showing what I’d built over the last six years in the military.

  She frowned, her nose scrunching with the move as she shook her head negatively. “That might impress the women around here, but where I come from, you’re a dime a dozen.”

  I was only taken aback for a second. “Oh yeah. Well, where is it you come from, darlin’?”

  She considered me for a long ten seconds. Her wheels were turnin’; she had an uppity air to her that somehow only added to her appeal. “Does it matter?” A single brow rose and her lips plumped ever-so-slightly as she challenged me.

  She was feisty. There was a fire blazing in her depths that I wanted to throw kerosene on. I just knew that same ferocity would make for a hell of a fuck.

  Maintaining my cool, I decided to reason with her. “I think it’s only fair I know the caliber of men I’m up against.”

  Spottin’ Weasel, I motioned him over, passin’ him the tray the moment he was within reach. He didn’t speak a word, which meant he was more than buzzed, but not quite drunk. I just hoped he had enough wherewithal left to get the food to the table safely.

  The woman didn’t miss a thing. She watched the entire exchange closely. She was hyperaware now. She studied me, her gaze roaming me openly, takin’ in every detail.

  I chuckled softly, knowing my smirk showed my dimples. Accordin’ to most women, they made me irresistible. Let’s hope they worked with this cup of cold cocoa. “Either you were lyin’ or you haven’t been home in a while, or, maybe, you just can’t resist me.” I winked at her, crossin’ my arms to further showcase my guns of attraction.

  I didn’t know the woman in front of me; hell, I didn’t even know her name, but I knew I wanted her. She challenged me in a way no other woman had in the last ten years. She was the different I never thought Bear Valley could offer.

  Perhaps I’d
underestimated my town.

  Chapter Five

  Shae

  I rolled my eyes. Mary Ann was right. I’d spoken barely a few lines to the man when he went all charming, flashing a smile with dimples that I was certain had most women swooning, but I wasn’t most women. So it was a little hotter outside than it was two minutes ago, and, so what if I found him attractive; it didn’t mean we needed to strip and blow off some steam together.

  My dampening panties seemed to shout at me, calling me what the assertive Bear was insinuating: that I was lying, or attracted to him, or both.

  I expelled a harsh breath, narrowing my focus on his eyes, eyes that couldn’t decide whether they wanted to be hazel or brown, and not that damn cleft or those muscles, big, bulging muscles, that gave me a sliver of hope that he could heft my curves against the wall as he took me.

  Sweet cherry pie, what is wrong with me? I am an accomplished journalist; I am a professional, not an easy side story.

  Copying his body language, I folded my arms over my chest, thankful for once that I wasn’t larger than a C-cup, lest I further inflate his already over-inflated ego. War hero or not, no man, with the exception of Lance Gross, was God’s gift to women. “I’m from Atlanta, a city with its own charm, its own reputation, and its own assortment of sexy that could run laps with you any day.”

  His grin widened, and his eyes glittered with mischief. “Well, darlin’, clearly Atlanta and all its charm, reputation and sexy bachelors exiled you if you’re out here in the boondocks with the country folk.” He exaggerated his drawl, drawing out certain words to push my buttons, I was sure.

  He didn’t! The nerve of him.

  I inhaled swiftly. I swore I could feel my blood pressure rising, pumping straight to my nether regions, much to my disappointment. The man was infuriating, and tall, tanned and handsome, and, darn it, he was right. None of my “friends” had offered me so much as a sofa or even floor space. Men and women I’d known for years could only gossip about my strife rather than lend a helping hand, allowing me to stay in the only place I’d known.