He’d been called up two months ago—at twenty-five, the youngest guy to ever make the grade, and yeah, they were still calling him rookie—and though his three years as a regular firefighter meant he had no shortage of attention, it seemed he exuded something different now that he was Squad. More confidence. More swagger. More pheromones.
Christ, he needed to get laid. He needed to act on any number of offers he’d received since joining CFD. He needed to…shit, he just needed. Maybe at the bar tomorrow night with his wing-girl by his side. If anyone could help him figure out how to attract a woman, it was his best friend Evie, who had a knack of her own for attracting the opposite sex.
His heart jumped in his chest. After eighteen months, he’d get to see Evie again. He’d missed her last visit, though they kept in regular touch on Skype and WhatsApp. Thinking about the text she’d sent him while he was out on that last call made him smile.
CityGirl: Just landed, Farm Boy. Get ready to be drunk under the table!
Damn, he’d missed her. That gorgeous smile, her irreverent attitude, her sparkling eyes. The way they lit up her face made his pulse race. If he was being honest, he’d always had a crush on her, but he’d never made a move—both of them had been in relationships when they met in freshman year, and the friend zone was a much better place to exist when it came to Evie. The way she plowed through men…not that he’d begrudge her some fun, but he wasn’t sure he could handle Evie’s fickleness.
Except now she was engaged to that Italian professor. Older, experienced, probably a smooth Casanova type. Bet he had no problem.
Tyler’s gaze dipped down his body, tracking the water as it sluiced over his chest and abs before it met the resistance of his straining cock. Hell, you horny fucker, here?
Yes, here. Here, there, every-fucking-where.
He’d like to say it was a by-product of the additional adrenaline pumping through his body since his promotion. That every run fired him up, every save got him hard. But it was her. Just thinking about Evie did it for him, which was all wrong.
And now he was fully erect, because his dick had a life of its own. Damn thing didn’t care that the firehouse shower after a run was the most inappropriate place to get busy. Or that his coworkers were in the locker room joking around and talking about their conquests last night. Or that it was attached to an idiot who fantasized about plunging deep into the hot, snug, wet pussy of his best—
“Ciao, Tyler.”
Shit, that was—he turned in shock and found himself face to face with Evie Ventimiglia.
“Ev—Evie! What the hell are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d surprise you.” Her eyes drifted over his body, his very naked and very hard body, and settled on his very naked and very hard dick. “And boy, I’m glad I did.”
Chapter Two
She should grab a towel for him, shouldn’t she? But this was too glorious to pass up. Her intention had been to call out, let him know she’d arrived.
He’d always been terrible at hiding his embarrassment, and now his pale skin glowed with it. So cute.
A mountain of muscle and sinew, every ridge blocked and defined, the perfect form for her camera, she’d never seen him quite like this. Everything was amplified by her memory of that erotic dream. Her eyes drifted lower, unable to resist the call. Nice girth, lean to the left, and surprisingly springy. This cock had personality!
“Evie!”
What she wouldn’t mind doing to that lovely, thick—
“Towel!”
“Oh! Right.” She fumbled for the towel on the hook and threw it at him. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.”
“Just a bit,” he muttered, wrapping the towel around his hips. His dick poked at the fabric, with no heed to the situation. Cock don’t care. Cock got cockitude.
Hauling herself out of the dick trance, she dropped her purse and threw her arms around him. It took him a second, but he hugged her back.
“It’s so good to see you, Ty. So good.” Tears sprang into her eyes, and she clasped tighter, needing the time to compose herself.
He held her away from his body, though she could feel the comfort of it anyway. He smelled amazing, clean and safe and not like sausage at all. Stupid dream.
“What’s happened? Why are you upset?”
“No reason. Just glad to be home.”
“Evie…”
Eighteen months since she’d seen him, and those months had morphed him into an even finer specimen. Eyes bluer than a summer sky, hair a deeper russet, her own Prince Harry. But nothing else had changed. He could still see right through her.
“I broke up with Paulo.”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry to hear that.” He gathered her close, and she let herself rest a cheek on his hard, delicious pec. She could’ve stayed that way forever.
“What happened? Do you want to talk about it?”
“Maybe later. I know you’re on shift until the morning, but tomorrow night? Drinks at Dempsey’s? Unless you have plans.” What if he was seeing someone? He hadn’t said, but he never talked about who he was dating. Tyler might be shy, but women would be crawling all over him like they did all the firefighters.
“I do have plans.” He chucked her chin. “With you.”
Relief flooded her chest. “Oh, good. Tonight, I’ll hang with Dad. Let him cook for me.”
“Meatballs?”
“And lasagna.”
“He’s thrilled to have you home. Hasn’t stopped talking about it all week.”
“That’s my dad.”
“Yes, that’s your dad,” a gruff voice cut in. “But apparently you’ve forgotten he’s the first person you should come see.”
“Dad!” She rushed into his arms and hugged him hard. A different, no less comforting, scent enveloped her. Since her mom died of ovarian cancer when Evie was eleven, it had been just the two of them. “I stopped at your office first, but Cath said you were in the locker room.” A little white lie.
Her father was grayer than the last time she’d seen him, not last Christmas but the one before. Too long. Too much time wasted with a man who didn’t deserve her love. She should have been here with her father. With—
She threw a quick glance over her shoulder at Tyler, who had folded his arms and was watching the family reunion with a smile curving his lips. Did he always have such thick biceps, such studly forearms, such big hands that would do wonderful things to the parts of her body in sore need of wonderful things being done to them?
That’s your sex dream talking, Evie. This is Tyler, your friend, your bestie from college. You’re feeling lonely and vulnerable and cold, because Chicago is freezing your tits off.
“Dad, I hope you’re making dinner tonight.”
“Of course I am, piccola. Meatballs and lasagna. Now come into my office and let me get a good look at you.” He shot a stern glare at Tyler. “Stop standing around, Brooks. There’s equipment that needs cleaning.”
“Sure, Chief.”
Once her dad’s back was turned, Tyler winked at her and mimicked the universal finger and thumb signal of “call me.” So she’d walked in on him naked—gorgeously, deliciously naked—and he was extremely hot, but that didn’t matter. This was Ty, her best guy, and soon everything would be right with the world.
…
Cath, Engine 6’s receptionist and den mom, put her head around the door of the firehouse common room where the entire shift was gathered watching local news accounts of the imminent blizzard. “Tyler, the chief wants to see you in his office.”
“Ooh, you’re in trouble now, rookie!”
“Whatcha do, Brooks? Steal his copy of People magazine?”
The insightful commentary of his firehouse brothers followed him out, losing steam as he turned the corner past the Wall of the Fallen and stood before Chief Ventimiglia’s office door. When Tyler had started hanging with Evie in college, he’d heard all about her hard-ass, overprotective dad. And when he decided to look into becoming a Ch
icago firefighter after graduation, the chief had shown him around, put in a good word, and finally approved his request to transfer to the house to take up a spot on Rescue Squad. Tyler admired the chief big-time.
Had the old man seen his obvious stiffie in his daughter’s presence earlier? Not that she was the reason for it—well, not entirely. But damn, she’d looked good. All that dark hair, those come-to-me hazel eyes, the skin like silk.
And that was exactly the kind of thinking that would result in Tyler getting his balls sliced and diced, followed by a transfer out to another firehouse. Resigned to his fate, he knocked on the door and waited to be summoned. A stern “come” sounded through the door.
“You wanted to see me, Chief?”
Venti looked up from his copy of People magazine—the man was a total celebrity gossip ho—and narrowed his eyes to slits on seeing Tyler.
“Brooks.” Just his name. No offer to take a seat either.
“Chief.”
“I hear you’re meeting up with my daughter tomorrow evening.”
Tyler’s shoulders stiffened, and his entire body adopted a defensive stance.
“Yes, Chief. Just for a drink and to catch up.”
Venti continued to stare, so Tyler filled the silence.
“Well, we go way back, and I think the world of her. I’d—” How should he put this? “I’d never hurt her, sir.”
“Men say that all the time. I bet that dipshit fiancé of hers said that while he was boning that Roman chick.”
Please don’t talk about boning, Chief.
“I’m not that guy,” Tyler said with a lot more vehemence than he’d intended.
Neither agreeing nor disagreeing, Venti remained silent and gave him the once-over. After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke. “Since her mother died, she’s all I have. Now I know she can handle herself—Christ, have you heard the mouth on her?—but that doesn’t mean people won’t try to use her. Hurt her. She’s got a very open heart, and it gets her into trouble. Anyone who tries to take advantage of that heart will have me to answer to.”
“Me, as well.” Better the chief understood that Tyler would protect Evie with his dying breath. “I’ll make sure she gets home safely, Chief.”
“And no one at that damn bar better lay a finger on her.” Implicitly included in that “no one” was Tyler himself.
“I’m on it.”
The siren went off. Saved by someone else’s misery. “Engine 6, Squad 3, Ambulance 16…” followed by the incident details and location.
“Get your ass in gear, son.”
“Yes, Chief.”
…
Dempsey’s in Wicker Park was hopping, everyone anxious to belly up to the bar, warm their insides with liquor, and stave off the Arctic temps outside. Tyler took a seat on the short end of the L-shaped bar, with a straight shot view of the door, so he could watch for Evie’s arrival.
No way was he going to let her get the jump on him again. She had walked in on him naked! Not only naked but pointedly so—with his dick arrowed in her direction like it recognized its owner. Which was ridiculous because…well, he was going to say that he didn’t see Evie that way. But that’d make him into one fine liar. Of course he saw her that way. He’d always seen her that way, but she’d never seen him. At all.
They’d been friends since the night she knocked on his dorm room door the first week of freshman year at U of I in Urbana-Champaign and asked to borrow some Splenda. He’d mumbled at her, shoved some Sweet n’ Low in her hands, and tried to suppress his inevitable blush as he shoved her out the door. For the next month, she kept popping over to borrow more stuff. A mug. Diet Coke. An extra pillow. And she’d talk. Incessantly. About her classes and her friends and the guys she was dating.
There was always a guy, because Evie was gorgeous. An absolute stunner.
Tyler had been dating someone as well, his high school sweetheart, Misty Jensen, who was at Illinois State in Normal, just an hour’s drive away. They’d decided to wait to have sex because Misty’s parents were strict, and he knew it was meant to be. Frustrating as hell, but she was the woman he’d marry once he graduated. He’d survived a year of blue balls in high school, so he could survive four more years surrounded by hot college girls, none of whom were his girlfriend.
Well, that worked out a treat, didn’t it? Here he was, four years after graduation, with no girl, no prospects on the horizon, and one swollen erection of a problem.
Possessed of the social skills of a raccoon, he couldn’t make that leap to the inevitable. His tongue turned to rubber. Uncomfortable heat flushed his body whenever he tried to flirt or even talk to a girl. Women would lean in, touch his arm, squeeze his thigh, and he’d shrink inward, too shy to give them what they wanted: the model of a hot Chicago firefighter.
Except he wasn’t hot. Just average. And awkward. And a virgin.
Yep, one of those. A total loser who couldn’t lose the one thing that should have been so easy.
Just thinking of his problem should have been enough to de-erect his cock, but lately nothing could keep that prick down. Beating off three times a day just left him with rug burn and a hollow feeling in his chest.
“Brooks, a word.” This was spoken by Wyatt Fox, bartender/owner of Dempsey’s bar, who also happened to be Tyler’s lieutenant on Squad.
Shit. Tyler didn’t like the sound of that. He wracked his brain, scrolling through his memory banks, trying to think of what he’d done to deserve a dressing down from the LT.
“Lieutenant.”
From behind the bar, Wyatt squinted cold blue eyes at him. A former Marine sniper, he was the kind of man you’d want in a fire or a foxhole—and definitely a guy you wouldn’t want to piss off. After a lengthy pause while Tyler questioned his life choices, the LT dug into his jeans pocket and withdrew a crumpled napkin.
“Tell your Trixies I’m not your messenger service.”
“What?” Tyler looked at the napkin and unfolded it to find scrawled digits and a name. Fererra. At least, he thought that’s what it said.
He raised his gaze to Wyatt. “Um…”
“Hyperactive blonde. Cute smile. Nice rack.” He sniffed. “Not that I noticed or anything.”
Of course not. The LT was a very happily married man with a kid on the way.
Awareness dawned. “The night before last.”
A couple of nights ago, Tyler had been here, playing darts, hanging with the single guys on squad who were hitting on anything that moved. Not Tyler, though. But this one girl had stood around with a couple of her friends, cheering every dart that found its target. Looked like he’d scored more than a bullseye on the board.
“She came back into the bar? And left her number?”
Rolling his eyes would have been considered a waste of energy. Wyatt never wasted energy; the eye roll was implied.
“Okay. Uh, thanks.” He kind of wanted to crumple it up, maybe even trash it on the spot. But the LT had delivered it in person, and there was some sort of expectation associated with that.
Gage Simpson, one of their fellow firefighters and Wyatt’s foster brother, weighed in. “You gonna call her?”
Hell, no. “Maybe.”
Gage took the napkin and examined it. “Sounds like a done deal. Nice work, Red!”
Tyler snatched it back. “It’s just a number.”
Wyatt squinted at him, Wild-West-style. “You don’t date.” Said as fact, not a question.
“I—well—it’s—”
“None of my business,” Wyatt said, evidently conscious that he’d already “connected” more than was necessary.
Tyler looked at the napkin again. Maybe he could just get it over with? But that’d be pretty classless, using this poor girl who might be interested in him, purely so he could check that box and move on to the real deal.
And what did he mean by the real deal? His heart knew as soon as she walked into his firehouse shower room yesterday.
Evie.
Ev
ie, who was single again, but probably not for long.
Evie, who was beautiful and, frankly, the kind of girl who liked being in a relationship.
Maybe this was his window—except a quality woman like that, who knew what she wanted, who had plenty of lovers in her rear view, wouldn’t be interested in a guy like him who hadn’t even dipped his wick.
“Hey, farm boy! You brooding about boning sheep on the homestead?”
Damn, she’d gotten the jump on him again. He’d be useless at Special Ops, that’s for sure.
She looked like a dream with her chocolate hair streaming from a pale pink beanie, that gorgeous freckle at the corner of her mouth, this perfect wave of woman. She popped her foot—a high-heeled ankle boot that was not Chicago-winter ready—onto the bar of the stool and wobbled as she tried to seat herself. He was on his feet in a flash, his arm around her waist to steady her.
He shoved the napkin with Ferrara’s number in his pocket.
“Oh!” She giggled. “God, I’m such a klutz.”
“Nah, just too short for that stool.” He leaned in and pretended—okay, no pretense—to sniff. “You already lit, city girl?”
“No, I’m not!” Indignation colored her tone. “Well, a glass of wine with Alex and her hot-as-Hades husband. I had to see the baby.”
Alex Dempsey was one of his coworkers at Engine 6. He’d slid into her spot on Squad when she went on maternity leave, and damn those were big boots to fill, because the woman was a total badass. He wouldn’t be surprised if she returned in a couple of months with the baby strapped to her back, Terminator-style.
“Kid looks good, I s’pose.”
“Such enthusiasm. He’s adorable, as cute as his dad.”
“Yeah, yeah, Eli Cooper, hottest ex-mayor-now-lawyer ever.” He rolled his eyes. Alex and Eli were just one of the many couples who’d sprouted from Engine 6, labeled as “Chicago’s most romantic firehouse” because everyone was so loved up. “What’ll you have?”
“I’ll stick to wine. Hey, barkeep,” she called out. “Gage! I was hoping I’d see you here.”
For the next hour, Evie caught up with the crew behind and in front of the bar, and Tyler contented himself with watching her. How her mouth moved. How her eyes crinkled when she laughed—and she laughed a lot. I’m an easy audience, she used to say, because she made everyone feel good about themselves. Sometimes she was too willing to please, which was likely the reason she stayed too long in relationships that were no good for her. She wanted to make things work.
Men In Uniform Anthology Page 38