Page 79 of The Fireman and the Flirt

We entered the conference room where once upon a time he’d been a potential client and I’d been his potential agent. Derek shut the door behind us.

“We are not having sex on this conference room table,” I blurted out. What was with me blurting out comments about sex today? I had forgotten how to play it cool. Fortunately, Derek was amused. “There were rumors that two associates had sex on a conference room table during a holiday party, but I don’t know if it was this one. And I don’t know how it’s relevant to whatever we’re about to discuss. And I don’t know why I’m still talking.”

Derek shut me up with a soft kiss, a kiss that was full of warmth but would not be a gateway to sexytimes today.

“It’s a good thing I love the sound of your voice because you talk a lot,” he said.

“Thanks?” I smoothed out my shirt and gestured for Derek to take a seat, which he did not. “So what’s up?”

“Are you free tonight?” he asked.

I mentally checked over my schedule, which included binging a new show that everyone was talking about while scrolling on my phone. I had a very active social life.

“I am.”

“Good. Because I want to take you on a date.”

“Uh. Sure. There’s a good restaurant that people rave about…”

Derek shook his head no, a smirk hitting his lips. “I have something else in mind.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“You’ll find out tonight. And to answer your next question, it’s not sex. Or just sex.”

“I didn’t suspect that at all,” I lied.

Derek wrapped his fist on the table twice. “I’ll pick you up at six.”

“You’ll pick me up? So this is like a date-date?”

“As opposed to just a date?” he asked.

I didn’t know why the idea of a date seemed so strange. Perhaps because our only encounters had been fucking in model homes and one stargazing session. People went on dates with the intention of forging a relationship. Derek and I were working because we’d done our own thing. Were we going to ruin it with a proper date?

Derek peered at me, as if he were actively reading my mind. But it didn’t take psychic abilities to see that underneath the great wardrobe and professional competency, I was a mess.

“Are you sure you don’t just want to fuck on the conference table?” I shrugged.

“Cary, I like you. And when people like each other, they go on dates.” Derek rubbed my arms. “Why are you hesitant?”

“What if I’m like…a bad date?” It was a statement that made perfect sense in my head but wasn’t as solid when said aloud.

Derek gave me a sweet eye roll. Bless this man for putting up with my anxiety. “Cary, I hate to break it to you, but you’re wonderful. I like you, and I want to spend more time with you.”

I felt myself blush. Compliments would always be weird. But I said fuck it and let myself trust Derek.

“Pick me up at six fifteen,” I said.

“Deal.” Derek took my chin in his rugged hands and planted another soft kiss on my lips, which despite it being chaste, made me think about all the hot things we could do on this conference table.

At six fifteen,Derek pulled up in his truck. Did anyone else find men in trucks super hot? Or did I, an east coast suburbanite, have some kind of country boy fetish?

Derek wore a gingham button down under a navy blazer with pressed jeans. My guess was Russ did the ironing. He was a few steps up from his usual attire, and his beard was nice and trimmed. I couldn’t wait to feel it on my inner thighs later.

“You clean up nice,” I said.

“Just trying to keep up with you. Get in.” He nodded his head for me to join him in his big, honking truck. He curled an arm behind my headrest and drove off.

---