Hot for the Fireman

Chapter 1, Part 2

Twenty minutes later, he pulled up to a liquor store and parked his Dodge Ram 2500 behind a powder blue Mini Cooper. Climbing out of his truck, he chuffed at the difference in size. His truck looked like it could eat the tiny car in front of it. It was a wonder those things were even street legal. Erik would bet money it was owned by some bubbly college co-ed gathering supplies for a house party. It'd be nice if his biggest problem right now was as easy as which flavor of wine cooler to go with.

The bell above the door tinkled as he walked through. The older lady behind the counter glanced up from her magazine over the reading glasses perched on the edge of her nose and smiled in greeting. Erik answered in kind and started his search for the bottle of whiskey that would keep him company tonight.

The clicking of high heels on linoleum echoed from somewhere in the store, a staccato rhythm that contradicted the smooth jazz being piped in softly from the radio. Out of habit, he did a quick mental check of the place, determining any and all exits and using the large, round mirrors hanging in the corners to get a body count. He saw a flash of a blonde woman in a red dress as she clipped her way along the back wall, but she appeared to be the only person there besides the clerk.

He turned down the correct aisle and found the bottles of Jameson easily enough. The clicking got louder as the woman perused the wine selection in the next aisle over, eventually coming to a stop directly on the other side of the shelves he was facing.

"I don't get it," she mumbled. "It shouldn't be this damn hard to find."

If he wasn't in such a sour mood, he'd offer his assistance. Instead, he plucked a bottle of whiskey from the shelf and turned to head back to the front. He'd send the clerk back to help her.

"I'm officially done with the dating scene. I should just have a hot one-night stand. Find some guy to screw my brains out and be done with it."

He hadn't gone farther than two steps when the woman's words halted his hasty retreat. Feeling like a dog perking up at the sound of a command whistle, he waited in anticipation to hear what came next.

"I'm being serious, Angie. I'm so sick of all these failed dates." She must be on the phone. He shouldn't listen in, he knew that, yet he couldn't bring himself to move, either. "I want a man who knows how to make me feel like a real woman. Is that so much to ask?"

The tone of her voice held dejection and disappointment that reminded him of when his sister's boyfriend dumped her in high school. He didn't know this woman, but part of him sympathized with her all the same. The other part of him—the one currently waking up behind his zipper—was still stuck on the hot one-night stand.

"I don't know; it's not like I have a list of qualities with checkboxes." Her friend—Angie—must have asked for clarification. "Someone who doesn't awkwardly fumble through a kiss or treat me with kid gloves like I'm a damn China doll would be a step in the right direction." Glass clinked together as she finally pulled a bottle from the shelf. "A man who can make the past disappear and render the future immaterial. A man who makes it impossible to focus on anything but him and the wicked hot things he's doing to me."

Erik dragged a hand over his mouth and tipped his head back to look up at the water-stained drop ceiling. Fucking hell, the images her words conjured had his blood running hot. When was the last time he'd been with a woman? Two months? Three? It suddenly felt like years.

"Yeah, I'll just proposition the next guy I see," she said. Erik could almost see her accompanying eye-roll. "Okay, I'm going to let you go, chica. I need to buy my wine and get home to my pity party, party of one. I'll call you tomorrow."

Her heels striking the floor again as she moved toward the front of the store snapped him out of his daydreaming. Shit, she had to pass his aisle to get to the register. She'd know he heard her entire conversation and think he was some kind of creeper. You were being a creeper, dumbass. Countering his position to hers, he moved in the opposite direction and slid around to the next aisle just as she vacated it. He should wait until she was gone, but the desire to get a better look at her had his feet moving before he could think better of it.

Rounding the front of the aisle, he let his gaze rove over her body in profile as he made his way to the counter. Her sleeveless red dress scooped low over the swells of her large breasts and molded itself to her curves, hitting her at mid-thigh. He wondered if she wore matching red panties underneath, then noticed the absence of panty lines and wondered if she wore any at all. Christ. Images flashed in Erik's head of twisting her long, wavy hair around one of his hands and pulling it back so he could devour her mouth, her neck— Shit. If he kept up those thoughts, he'd have a permanent zipper imprinted on his dick.

"Shit," she swore, dropping her head back on her shoulders. "I think I left my purse at the bar."

"I'll buy your wine," Erik said, stopping next to her and already retrieving his wallet.

The Lady in Red turned to face him, effectively trapping the air in his lungs. Her body might be a knockout, but her face was nothing short of stunning. Delicate features inside of a heart shape with creamy skin, high cheekbones, and hazel eyes. Her bold makeup—heavily lined eyes and candy apple lips—contradicted the vulnerability and hint of innocence in her expression.

"Thank you, but I can't let you do that," she said, her cheeks infusing with color. "I don't really need the wine."

"With the night it sounds like you're having, I think you do." Her eyes grew big and he realized too late she must think he meant her phone conversation, so he added, "Because you left your purse at the bar."

Relief flowed out of her on an exhaled, "Oh, right. Still though—"

He held up his hand as he smiled. "Listen, if we were at that bar, I would've offered to buy you a drink anyway." She hesitated, biting on the corner of her lower lip, which tightened his gut into a knot. "Tell you what," he said, handing his credit card to the older lady behind the counter who'd been watching the exchange like it was a scene from one of her soap operas. "I'm going to buy the whiskey and the wine. But I'm only leaving with the whiskey. You can either take the wine with you, or gift it to..."

He arched a brow in question to the clerk. "Betty," she responded with a smoker's rasp and a yellowed, toothy grin.

"To Betty. Up to you." Erik nodded to Betty who then rang up the two bottles of alcohol and placed them in separate brown paper bags. Red glanced awkwardly between him, Betty, and the bottle of wine.

"Don't look at me," Betty said with a wink at the woman. "Wine gives me a massive headache."

Erik grabbed the Jameson and stepped into her space. Looking down at her, he spoke low, his mouth hitching up in one corner. "Enjoy your wine." Then he strode past her and pushed out through the door, the jangle of the bell announcing his exit.

He only made it a few feet when he heard the bell again. "Thank you," she called out to him.

Erik turned around to see her standing in the middle of the sidewalk, her phone and the bottle of wine clutched in her hands. It was an opening, an invitation to continue talking. She'd had the opportunity to wait until he drove away before leaving the store, but she'd rushed out after him instead.

On any normal night, he probably would have walked back to her and tried flirting. But she'd had a shitty night and he'd had an even shittier day. He honestly didn't have it in him to pull out the full charm. Besides, he doubted she'd been even half serious about a one-night stand and he wasn't looking to fix her bad dating streak. So instead, he gave her a nod and a farewell grin, then turned and headed for his truck, trying to ignore the odd feeling of regret prickling in his chest.

Read on to find out what the Lady in Red thinks of the handsome stranger and how their night takes an unexpected turn...

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