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  I think ol’ George is onto me, or at least has a suspicion. The last thing I need is for him to do any more investigating and discover I set the fire myself. That would ruin everything, including any chance I have at reconnecting with Mom.

  I feel my chest tighten. I sigh, closing my eyes for a brief moment in an attempt to calm myself as I think about what my mother said in her letter and how much trouble she’s been having. There’s something to be said about finding out your mother is terminally ill and needs help she can’t possibly afford. It guts you in a way few things can—rearranges your entire mindset.

  I should have grabbed the letter when I got out of the house. I did ask that firefighter who carried me out to get the letter for me. Actually, I begged him, but that’s beside the point. Something tells me he didn’t get it. I can’t really blame him, to be honest. Who wants to run into a burning house to get a piece of paper? Still, it would be nice if he had. Not that I’ve got any way to find him. Maybe I should ask around, ’cause if that letter made it through the fire and was found by anyone else, it could provide evidence or motive for me setting the fire to collect the money. That would be bad with a capital B.

  My heart starts to thud in my chest, dread washing over me as I realize I could actually be facing serious issues with the police here, even jail. I let my head fall into my hands on the table.

  No, I can’t think like this. I have to stay positive. Otherwise I’m going to spiral out of control and this whole thing will turn into a huge mess. If only I had some way of getting in touch with that firefighter without alerting the police.

  I raise my head up off of the table and, as fate would have it, I see just the person I need to talk to.

  There he is, right in front of me, strutting out of the hospital like he’s on a mission.

  He happens to glance over my way and I flag him down, waving over to him and smiling.

  He sees me and flashes me a grin, turns my way and walks over to the table.

  I look up to the sky and smile. Praise Be.

  My heart skips a beat when he arrives. My nerves are shot thinking about how I’m going to get through this. At least the guy I need to talk to is easy on the eyes, right?

  “Hey you,” he says with a smirk as he sits down at the table across from me. “You’re certainly looking better than the last time I saw you.”

  I smile back at him and nod with a sigh, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “Well, given that I was unconscious and being carried out of a burning house, it wouldn’t take a whole lot.”

  He laughs and tilts his head, eyes squinting playfully as he quips back crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Fair enough, you’ve got me there. Still,” he says, eyes not-so-subtly looking me up and down, “you’re looking good, especially given the circumstances.”

  Wow, this guy wastes no time, huh?

  “Thanks. Look, I never got a chance to say thank you before. I was so out of it, and well, you know, it was crazy. So, thanks.”

  Very articulate, Beth.

  I take a breath and smile nervously, leaning forward on the table to try and restart my apology, but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand.

  “I’m glad you waved me down, actually,” he says with a grin as he reaches into his pocket. “I have something of yours.”

  No.

  My eyes go wide and I can’t help the giant smile spreading across my face as he pulls out a charred piece of paper from his pocket, the corners frayed and blackened.

  The letter. He got the damn letter.

  “Oh my God, you actually got it?”

  He laughs and slides it across the table, crossing his arms over his chest as he cocks his brow at me.

  “I did. It wasn’t easy, but I got it. I nearly burnt through my gloves, but yeah, I got it. For you,” he adds.

  He stares at me from across the table and I smile back, tucking the letter into my pocket.

  I put it on thicker than I intend to. “Thank you, so much. I don’t know what I can ever to do repay you for this. I can’t thank you enough.”

  He smirks again, his eyes dancing with something I can’t quite place as he leans forward and slides his hand over to mine, fingertips grazing mine ever so slightly.

  “Actually,” he purrs, “there is something you can do for me.”

  I look back at him nervously, unsure of what he’s going to say or ask. I cautiously smile, my voice low.

  “Okay, what’s that?”

  “Let me take you out. Let’s have a drink.”

  I laugh, disbelief and shock washing over me as I process what he’s just asked me.

  Is this guy serious? Just yesterday he carried me out of a burning building—not to mention he was sort of a dick to me the entire time—and now he’s asking me out on a date? What sort of game is he playing here? Not to mention the way this guy strung Ana along before. I be a really shitty friend if I went out with him.

  Not a good idea. Just tell him and be done with it.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I say, pulling my hand back and fidgeting with my fingernails, “I don’t think that would be wise.”

  He laughs and shrugs as he leans forward again, persistent in his quest.

  “Oh, come on Beth, why not? One good reason.”

  “Well, it’s just not a good time right now. With everything with the fire, and—“

  He cuts me off again and places his hand over mine, squeezing it gently. I look back at him incredulously. I can’t believe the words that come out of his mouth.

  “Exactly, the fire. Don’t you think you owe me? I literally ran into a burning building for you. Twice. I saved your life, and I went back for that,” he says, nodding at my pocket holding the letter. I half expect him to snatch it away like a small child until he gets what he wants.

  His overly cocky demeanor is really setting something off in me. Who does this guy think he is? Is he seriously going to use the fire and him doing his job to guilt me into having drinks with him? What sort of asshole is he? Sounds like Ana really dodged a bullet with this one.

  My first reaction is to pull my hand away from him and tell him to never talk to me again, but then something occurs to me. I stop myself.

  I’ve been sitting here half-panicked, wondering if my plan is going to work out or if I’m going to have to deal with the police. This guy, entitled ego-fest or not, could be the key to finding out exactly what I’m dealing with. The police and the firefighters work pretty closely together in cases like this. Maybe going out with him will give me some insight into what I’m actually up against here.

  I play out the hypothetical in my head. Let’s say I meet up with him, we have a drink or two and discuss what happened. I pretend to swoon and fawn over him, causing him to let his guard down and give me some info on what the police are doing. I act all concerned and ‘damsel in distress’ like, he reassures me with what information he has.

  It might just work.

  So I sigh and smile back at him reluctantly, tilting my head.

  “Okay, one drink, but that’s it.”

  He chuckles and grins, cockiness and pride practically oozing out of his every pore, like he knew all along he’d be able to charm me into a date.

  “Sure. One drink… to start with. Though I won’t be upset if you want to stay for another one. Or two. I tend to have that effect on people. I’m very likeable.”

  Jesus. H. Who is this guy?

  I smile and roll my eyes, shaking my head at him as I take my hand back and sip from my cup.

  Alright, so I’ve got a ‘date’ with the cute guy who carried me out of my burning house. Best case scenario: I get some information I can use. Worst case scenario? I enjoy a free drink or two with attractive frat boy-cum-firefighter here and call it a day.

  What could go wrong?

  …Right?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  DEREK

  “What will you have?” I turn to Beth as she slides onto the wooden bar stool. It wobble
s and she sways a little, grabbing the bar in front of her. I instinctively reach for her elbow, steadying her.

  Oh yes, this woman needs me.

  For a brief second, I rethink this whole drink thing, considering she just got out of the hospital and maybe shouldn’t be drinking. She might be too weak. But then again, she’s a big girl, she could’ve said no… Well, definitively.

  Her eyes meet mine as my hand lingers, and for a moment I feel like she’s going to melt into me.

  Or vice versa.

  The intensity of her deep blue eyes takes my breath away. They’d drown me if I was a weaker man, all cobalt and color.

  “Rum. Rum and coke, please,” she turns to the bartender, patiently waiting for us to order. “Make it top shelf. He’s buying.” She smirks confidently and straightens her shoulders.

  There’s the feisty woman I carried in my arms.

  “And for you?” The bartender nods his head towards me.

  “Beer. Whatever’s on tap.”

  He leaves us to go make our drinks. I turn my attention back to Beth.

  “Just a beer? I thought you wanted to go for a drink?” she teases.

  “Rum and coke, huh? That’s a strong drink for a damsel who was just rescued by her knight in shining armor.” I wink and turn my body to face hers.

  “A knight in shining armor?” she laughs. “Ha! Someone thinks highly of himself.” She squares her shoulders and lifts her chin, keeping her attention towards the bar, never once turning to me.

  But I can tell she’s aching for my gaze, my touch, or maybe just my attention.

  She can have all three if she plays nice.

  “No one has complained or told me otherwise. To most, I’m what they call a ‘hero.’” The bartender places our drinks in front of us and I hand him my card, cutting him off before he tells us the tab. “Keep it open.”

  She shakes her head and brings the drink to her mouth. “Wow, you really are a cocky son-of-a-bitch.” I watch as her tongue curls around the tiny red straw, pulling it into her mouth.

  My dick springs up wanting nothing more than to be that damn straw.

  Fuck me.

  It’s taking every ounce of restraint I have not to grab her, bend her over the pool table, and make her repeat her new nickname for me, louder. I like the sound of it better than the usual ‘daddy’ or ‘God.’ Son-of-a-bitch is far more fitting.

  If it was any other chick, the thought of me saving them in my firefighter gear would have them on their knees, thanking me over and over.

  But not Beth here.

  “So, you’re saying you don’t like your men in uniform? Perhaps, out of uniform is your preference?” I take a swig of my beer and watch as her body reacts to the image I’m drawing for her.

  Her ass squirms against the chair, and if I’m not mistaken—seeing as I do know a thing or two about women and their erogenous zones—rubbing off some friction.

  Let her.

  I press my lips together, fighting a smile from splitting my face in two.

  “I like a man with manners. One who knows how to treat a woman, not just handle her,” she jabs. Her voice strained. I’m not certain if she’s annoyed with me or if she’s trying to stifle her desire.

  I’ll pretend it’s the latter.

  This hard-to-get act is something I’ve never had to deal with before. I’ve never had to work so damn hard. I mean, I saved her, went back into the fire and got her precious letter, persuaded her to go out with me, and yet she still swats me away.

  Most of the time women see me in a uniform and automatically drool. I’m the type of man they put on their calendars and stare at while masturbating to the month of July, coincidently, the hottest month of the year.

  But this frustratingly, hot-ass girl won’t even purchase the calendar, let alone give it a second glace.

  Strangely, I like it. I like fighting for her while also watching her squirm and deny her attraction to me. Plus, I’ve heard that when you finally earn the prize after all that work, it feels and tastes so much sweeter.

  “What if a man can do both? Treat while handle?” I test her.

  “That doesn’t exist. Men like yourself only have one thing on their minds. And it has nothing to do with ‘treating’ a woman.” Her eyebrow arches as if challenging me. “They only want their egos stroked.” She smiles condescendingly and finishes the rest of her drink.

  She swivels around to face me, narrowing her eyes, but her more fluid speech tells me the rum is loosening her inhibitions.

  “I have a sneaking suspicion, however, that despite your wonderfully crafted persona, you’re more than this firefighter hero with a massive ego. Is there something else under all this rock-hard muscle?” She pokes her finger into my chest, marking a trail down my abdomen.

  Is she flirting with me? Touching me and complimenting me. Though it’s a backhanded compliment, I’ll take it from her.

  The bartender hands her a drink, distracting her from the Derek-themed adventures.

  Her hair brushes over her shoulders and I see a small patch of black ash on her cheek. I can still smell the stench of smoke lingering from her clothes, but I don’t mention it. If anyone is used to the smell of smoke, it’s me. Hell, I probably still smell like fire, too.

  I lick my thumb and lean over, wanting to erase the ash from her chin. She grabs my hand when I touch her skin and pulls it away, looking down at my hand as if it’s a foreign object.

  “See, I know there’s something else under that hard exterior. The letter is proof.”

  She looks up at me, her eyes hooded with desire. They travel up my body slowly.

  Her gaze is both tender and rough. It sends a cold shiver through me. The sensations that swirl inside cause my vision to go blurry, leaving only her in focus.

  I gulp down the rest of my beer and call over the bartender, needing another one to dull her effect on me.

  She’s hot. That’s it. The only reason I’m feeling anything other than my erection right now is because I’m not feeling her wetness sucking me into her.

  “To be honest, I became a firefighter to make up for my past,” I confess.

  Her eyebrows shoot up, and the corner of her mouth curls into an innocent smirk.

  “Your past?” she asks.

  I grab my beer from the bartender and take a large gulp. I’ve never told anyone this before.

  “I’m an asshole. I think you know that by now.” I smile and give her my best puppy dog eyes.

  She rolls her own and sips her drink, ignoring another one of my usually successful moves.

  “If you can believe it, I was a bigger asshole when I was a teenager,” I continue. “I would get into fights, ruin people’s yards and mailboxes, break hearts. You name it, I did it.”

  “Ruin people’s yards? What?” She leans in. I can tell she’s intrigued. Maybe my charm isn’t completely lost on her.

  “Yeah, if I didn’t like you I would go to your house and vandalize it. I only got caught doing it once, and then it just became my thing. It was stupid.” I shake my head and run my hands through my hair, hoping to calm my nerves.

  Recalling the past is always a sore subject for me. I’m not proud of who I was back then, so reliving the memories makes me cringe.

  “Sounds very stupid,” Beth chimes in.

  “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” I smile, enjoying the fact she’s so straightforward.

  “Nope. What’s the point? You already know it’s stupid, so all I can do is agree, right?”

  “Good point. But after a while that shit got old. People looked down on me and always assumed the worse. Even my father. Becoming a firefighter was my way of earning his respect, I suppose.”

  For the first time in a long time I’m spilling my guts and it’s shocking me more than anyone.

  She turns to face me head on and I’m taken aback by her expression. There’s a smile on her face, making her eyes sparkle. I can sense the shift in her mood, from guarded to open,
dark to light. It’s so fucking alluring.

  “So, did you?” she asks.

  “What? Did I what?” I cock my head to the side, not sure what she means.

  She laughs and turns to order another drink before she looks back at me in all seriousness.

  “Did becoming a firefighter earn the respect of your father like you had hoped? Did it help rectify all your wrongs?”

  Shit. How in the hell am I supposed to answer that?

  I take a second to mull over the possible answers. I could tell her the truth, that I really don’t fucking know. Or, I could lie and be the firefighter hero I’ve pegged myself to be.

  But, from what I’ve gathered so far, she responds better to honesty.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” she asks, tilting her head to the side, mirroring me.

  “Yes and no. I come from a long line of firefighters—my father, grandfather, his father, and so on, so I have a lot to prove. Respect is hard to earn when you’ve convinced others—and yourself—you don’t deserve it.”

  Fucking profound, brother.

  She nods her head in agreement, almost like she understands what I’m saying. Her expression gives off a mix of empathy and surprise.

  “There he is.” She lifts her drink up, motioning me to do the same. “Cheers to ignoring your massive ego for a few minutes.” She grins, bringing the glass to her lips. I watch, mesmerized as their fullness slides over the crystal rim.

  And, just like that, my massive ego is back and eager for her attention.

  “Shit!” she blurts out, making all the other customers turn to look her way.

  “What? You okay?” My anxiety peaks, I worry she might be feeling some after-effects from the fire or something.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” She waves me off. “Sorry, I just realized my house burned down and I have nowhere to go.”

  She pulls out her phone and starts searching for hotels.

  I snatch it from her and slide it in my pocket. “No, you don’t need to stay at a hotel. You can stay with me,” I say.

  “Excuse me?” she reaches for her phone, but I grab her wrist, keeping her away from my pockets.

  Wait, why am I doing this?

  Oh, right. I need to remember the long term goals, not just the short term.