Page 16 of Fire Me Up
I rounded the corner to find Dylan helping a startled woman pick up the papers Bacon had scattered. No cat in sight.
“Where’d he go?” I asked.
Dylan pointed. “Parts room.”
We burst inside, rows of shelves and boxes making a maze of hiding spots.
“Bacon,” I called, trying to sound stern instead of desperate.
A clatter answered me. Dylan lunged, but Bacon darted past his legs like a streak of orange lightning. I twisted fast, pain lancing my shoulder, but ignored it. The hero instinct was impossible to shake—even when it was just a damn cat.
“You okay?” Dylan asked.
“Fine,” I gritted out. Always fine. Always steady. “He’s probably just scared.”
Back in the hall, we spotted Bacon stalking toward an open office. Dylan whispered, “Cut him off. I’ll flush him to you.”
We closed in from both sides, moving like a practiced team. Bacon sprang again—onto a water fountain, over my head, into the office. I nearly collided with a man coming out.
“Cat,” I explained, pointing.
“Under the desk.”
We dropped to our knees together, shoulder to shoulder. Bacon lounged under the desk, licking his paw like none of this mattered.
“Come on, buddy,” Dylan coaxed, his voice soft and sweet. “Don’t you want to come out?”
“Lunch if we go home,” I added, crawling closer.
Bacon flopped onto his side, yawned.
“Easy,” Dylan murmured. “Don’t let him fool you.”
I lunged, scooping him up against my chest. “Gotcha.” Relief flooded me, even as Bacon purred smugly.
“Leash?” Dylan asked.
“Pocket.” His fingers brushed my stomach as he pulled it out, and I nearly forgot how to breathe.
With Bacon secured, I finally laughed, tension breaking. “Holy shit. I’m sorry.”
“Are you kidding? That was the most fun I’ve had all week.” His cheeks were flushed, hair mussed, eyes bright. He looked edible.
The words were out before I could stop them. “Can I have another practice kiss?”
Dylan blinked, then smirked. “Need more practice, huh?”
I swallowed. “Since you’re showing me the ropes and all.”
“Sure.” He stepped closer, hands finding my hips, pushing me back against the counter. “Always happy to help a friend improve his technique.”
Friend. But then his mouth was on mine, hot and demanding, and the word stopped mattering. I kissed him back hungrily, sliding my free hand into his hair, while Bacon’s leash dangled uselessly from my wrist.
Dylan tasted like coffee and adrenaline. His tongue teased mine, confident and thorough, and when I pressed closer, I felthim hard against me. The realization sent fire racing through my veins. I’d done that. Me.
I ground into him, desperate for more. His hands slid under my shirt, tracing the muscles of my back, and I bit back a sound—half-whimper, half-groan.
Then Bacon tugged sharply on the leash, letting out a plaintive meow, and we broke apart, laughing breathlessly.
