Page 70 of The Fireman and the Flirt

“I’ve never been in a successful relationship. If my boyfriend track record were my sales numbers, I would’ve left the real estate game years ago.”

“I’ve only been in one successful relationship, and it turned out it wasn’t that successful because she was going behind my back with my friend.” The fear of that happening again would always live inside me. It was like those people who’d been through horrific accidents. Statistically, they knew it couldn’t happen again, but that didn’t stop them from worrying, from the worst case scenarios creeping in.

“If you wanted to keep this just sex, I’m cool with that.”

I caressed his cheek with my hand, feeling the tiny nicks and grooves in his seemingly smooth face. “I want more.”

I could tell he did, too. In the way he nuzzled against my hand like it was sustenance. In the way he closed his eyes and heaved out a tiresome breath that’d been cooped up too long. He had trust issues. So did I. I never thought I’d consider dating after Paula died, and I certainly didn’t think I’d fall for a guy. But like the house I was about to make an offer on, in my gut, I knew this was right. Maybe, despite the odds, we could be made of more than hurt. Maybe we could be something pure in this world that only wants to shovel shit on us.

“Cary…” I slid my hand to his chin, tipped it up, waited for him to meet my eyes.

“Fuck it,” he said. And with that, he pushed me against the wall and kissed me.

22

CARY

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Derek was a client. Derek was my best friend’s sad widower brother. Derek was a crush, someone to be desired and admired from afar. He wasn’t supposed to notice me and want me.

When this was fooling around, it was easy. It was fun. But the way we kissed in that shed confirmed what Derek was telling me right before I launched my body on him. That this was more.

I could handle Derek when he was a fantasy, but when he was real? Nightmare memory flashes of bad boyfriends leading all the way back to my gearhead origin story spliced into my head in between swooning over Derek’s lips on mine. I had trouble remembering my social security number, but unfortunately, I would always remember the ruthless glare of Gaston when I rejected his ask for sex. It truly was a thin line between love and hate. Why did our brains hold onto these memories and let the happy times fade away? I believed it was for self-preservation, that despite letting myself fall for Derek, I always had to be on my guard.

“You seem very deep in thought for someone who’s half-naked,” Derek said.

Oh, right. He’d unbuttoned my shirt and slid it down my arms, letting it fall onto the dirty floor. In fairness, he’d also pulled off his T-shirt. We had twenty more minutes left of our showing before the homeowners could be back. Why the hell was I letting my anxiety take over? Why was it impossible for me to live in the moment?

“Sorry,” I said. “Sometimes I wish I could turn my brain off.”

“I like your brain.”

“Metaphorically, of course. If I turned off my brain completely, then I would have no bodily functionality. I would be a vegetable, and you couldn’t have sex with a vegetable. Well, you could but that would be ethically–”

Derek rightly shut me up with a kiss. Our chests rubbed together, his furry pecs overpowering my more waifish body. He rested his forehead against mine.

“Stay with me, Cary.” His stern but caring voice shut up the squabbling in my head. “We only have so much time.”

“Right.” If I kept babbling, then the moment would die.

Derek picked me up and twisted us around so my back was against the wall, the uneven grain in the wood digging into my skin. I would gladly risk a splinter for good sex. I loved how he maneuvered me so easily, his biceps flexing with my weight.

“You are so fucking hot, you know that?” he growled into my ear. “Were you this hot in high school?”

“I was skinny and pimpled and used way too much gel in my hair.”

He bit his lip and grunted in uncontrollable heat. “Hot.”

“It was not hot.”

Derek kissed down my neck. His calloused fingers pinched my nipple, eliciting a gasp from me. “I had sideburns that were too long, pants that were too baggy, and frosted tips. Frosted tips, Cary. I wanted to be like Mark McGrath from Sugar Ray.” He laughed into my shoulder, his deep chortle vibrating in my chest.

When he said it like that, he sounded like a total loser, but trust me, Derek made all of it, including the frosted tips, unbearably sexy. As Sugar Ray might’ve sang, every morning when I woke up there was a boner in my Abercrombie jeans.

“It was hot,” I said, palming the erection in his non-Abercrombie jeans. “We’ve learned from our teenage mistakes.” Although, I wondered if in twenty years, we’d look back on our outfits now and cringe with embarrassment.

Derek kept laughing into my chest while still tweaking my nipple. He curled an arm behind my back and let his hand drift southward to my ass crack. I had to admire his ability to multitask.

“Now I have Sugar Ray in my head,” Derek said as his finger lodged itself deeper into my crack.

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