Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
“Fuck,” I hissed, reaching into my shorts to squeeze my dick. When had I last been this turned on by a dream? I felt like a teenager.
After blindly fishing the lube out of my bedside drawer, I shoved down my boxer briefs and slicked up my cock, shuttling it in and out of my fist while shamelessly imagining Alexander Marian face down on my desk, gripping the far edge with white-knuckled fingers while I railed his plump ass.
I came embarrassingly quickly. Thick jets of cum shot over my lower belly, clumping into the trail of hair below my belly button.
“Fuck.”
I closed my eyes and waited for my breathing to slow down.
Alex had spent more time yesterday asking after my well-being than trying to convince me to give him an open-flame permit.
And as I got up and started my day, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
So as soon as I got into the office, I shot off another email.
7
ALEX
DrunkenPoet: Are you close with your family?
IndexEcho: No.
_____________________
I stared at the laptop screen in disbelief.
Subject: Re: Timber’s Application for Exemption Permit
Mr. Marian,
You may pick up your open flame permit for the Slingshot Showdown at the firehouse on two conditions:
1. You will agree to an increased number of fire-safety inspections for the next six months as I bring my crew up-to-speed on new inspection techniques. Legacy needs a volunteer training guinea pig and you’re it, Marian.
2. You will not set shit on fire that’s not supposed to be set on fire. Period. This includes, but is not limited to, napkin holders (again), grasses or underbrush of any kind (even if privately-owned), any part of your bar (including the walnut countertop you keep crying about), fancy cocktails (no matter how Instagrammable), or my patience.
This is not a negotiation. Take it or leave it, Firebug.
Judd Kincaid
Chief, Legacy Fire Department
My heart thundered. “He’s giving us the permit,” I said to no one in particular. In reality, that wasn’t what was causing my heart to stampede under my sternum.
Firebug.
It wasn’t the first time he’d called me that. Somehow, it had seemed… almost affectionate. Like an endearment. But I knew that was ridiculous. The man saw me as an annoyance, a pest. And when I’d witnessed him leaning toward the beautiful blonde woman he was with last night, I’d gotten a firm answer to whether or not I might have sensed attraction from him.
He was straight.
I’d been asking around as casually as I could, and so far, no one had any evidence he was anything else. Of course, it wasn’t fair of me to assume a default of het, but it also wouldn’t be fair to allow myself to get my hopes up when so many sexy men were, in fact, into only women.
And why wouldn’t he be? The woman he was with last night was great. Warm smile, easy laughter, outdoorsy and fit.
Maybe I even had her to thank for his one-eighty on the permit. Perhaps all it took to soften the man was a good night in the sack.
A little growl vibrated my throat. My sister was probably right. I’d find any reason to avoid dating someone actually attainable. It was leading me toward wanting unavailable men.
Because I was still obsessed with a ghost.
“Did you say something?” Karim asked as he poured a bucket of ice into the well behind the bar. “Because either you’ve been mumbling lately or I need my ears checked.”
“Yeah, we got the permit to serve at the Slingshot Showdown. Tell Juni we’ll need to call the Sysco guy and update our order.”
He nodded and headed back to the kitchen while I opened the staffing schedule to try and cover both the Showdown and a busy Saturday here at the restaurant on late notice.
While I was grateful to have the permit, I wasn’t about to run the risk of seeing Kincaid in person while retrieving it from the station house. I waited until the lunch crowd slowed before begging Deena to go.
“Bro, for real? I still have a six-top sitting on the patio,” she said, sliding a receipt into the till drawer and stacking the empty leatherette folder on the stack above it.
“Fine, but after that, will you go? Please?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Promise you won’t make me work the Showdown, and I’ll do it.”
I glared at her. We both knew she was my best server, and I’d never force her to do anything she didn’t want to do, but we also knew she’d be my first choice to handle an event like the Showdown. “You’ll do it anyway because you love me.”
“Only because love hurts, Alex,” she teased. “Fine. But if I’m working the Showdown, promise me Karim will be working the grill. He’s the only one who can handle the crowds without murdering people.”
It went unspoken that my head chef was a moody pain in the ass who didn’t handle change well.