Premiere, page 9
If he had the courage, then she would find it, too. It wasn’t just about fires or food. If he could explore her body, then she could do the same to him. He lent her his strength, and she used it to seek the hem of his T-shirt, to lift it up and find bare skin, the ripple of his abs. He felt damp to the touch, lingering sweat and soot, but she didn’t mind that at all, because of the way he had earned it, because it was him. She soaked the dampness up with her skin, as if her skin were a sponge, as if she could take a piece of him inside her.
Her hands drifted lower to the place where his pants were snug. She knew he liked it because he groaned into her mouth. His tongue sought hers and spoke the words he could not say. She obeyed those, too, because he was a man who reached for what he wanted, and she would follow his example.
She slipped her forefinger into the waist of his pants and ran it gently, side to side. Against her finger pad, the thick fabric was still warm with his body heat. And on her knuckle, she felt the ridges of his muscles, taut with excitement, with need. It was a tease, for him, for her; there was only so far she would go out in the open, even though no one was around this late.
She couldn’t take what she wanted, couldn’t give him what he needed, but her finger in his pants, tugging him closer, touching him barely—it was a promise. She would do more with him, and soon. She wanted everything.
He deepened the kiss, pressing her open and making her vulnerable. He bent her backwards until the warm metal cradled her back. His hand slid beneath her shirt, rough fingers sliding over her belly. She laughed breathlessly, tickled by the calluses there, excited by them. He bent his head and kissed the soft, pale flesh he’d exposed to night air. He opened his mouth and placed wet kisses in a line across her belly. She wanted him to move higher, to her breasts—or even better, lower. But they wouldn’t do that here, in public. Later. Next time.
Headlights flashed as a new car pulled into the parking lot. Matt pulled back and straightened her shirt, shielding her from sight as the guy got out and headed toward the station. A teasing whistle pierced the air, and Matt flicked the finger at the guy with a small, embarrassed smile.
He helped her sit up, apologetic as he explained. “The next shift. There’ll be more guys coming in now.”
She straightened her clothes, a flush heating her cheeks. “Sorry. I should get going anyway. It’s late.”
“You’ll let me see you again.” He said it as a statement, not a question. But in his cerulean eyes, she saw the question mark, a hint of doubt that made her melt inside.
“I’m counting on it,” she said softly.
Matt was strangely reluctant to let her go. He knew why—because she’d disappeared once already, like Cinderella into the night. He wanted to invite her into the station, or better yet, bring her home. But there’d be time for that later, because she’d left her phone number this time, the metaphorical glass slipper on the stairway.
Right now, her eyes were shadowed with exhaustion. And worry, too. She’d told him about seeing the news report. If he got serious with her—and he planned to—there would be more where that came from. It was an unavoidable part of the job. He’d do what he could to minimize that stress, and that started with sending her home to sleep.
He waited in the parking lot until her red taillights disappeared. Then, as soon as he’d checked in with the guys and headed home, he called her, because to hell with mandatory waiting periods. He wasn’t going to wait to call her, to see her again, to make something happen between them, and he suspected she didn’t want to wait any more, either.
“My dad was a firefighter, too,” he said when she answered the phone.
“So you get the legacy thing.”
He heard the pleasure in her voice, could see the slight smile in his mind. “I do, though in my case it was more of a mandate. My dad practically raised me in the station. It’s still a second home.”
“Oh, yeah? I’d love to see it. Well, more than I did the first time. Maybe you can show me around sometime.”
“I’d love to. After I show you my regular home, though, even though it isn’t much. I need some time with you without those bastards catcalling. That reminds me … did that box of yours happen to have a calendar?”
A pause. “Oh, God. You found that?”
“Behind my boots,” he confirmed. “It must have fallen out. I figured either that or one of the guys was ribbing me.”
“Throw it away. I don’t want it anymore.”
“Exactly what I was hoping to hear, sweetheart. If you need a firefighter to look at, you’ve got me.”
“Twelve months of Station 12,” she said in a teasing voice. He liked that voice. He wanted more of it. Twelve months sounded just fine to him for a start.
“I’m counting on it.” His voice came out rough, which was just how he felt inside, sideways and spilled over. She’d managed to get under his skin in just a short amount of time. The simplest things, from her stubborn chin to her secretive smiles, tore down his walls. If he spent more time with her, how much deeper could she go? The thought should have terrified him, but he’d figured out long ago what made him tick. He liked the thrill, and she was the biggest risk he’d ever taken.
One thing was for sure, it would be a hell of a ride.
Amber Lin is the author of new adult, contemporary, and historical romance. RT Book Reviews called her debut novel, Giving It Up, “truly extraordinary.” Amber believes everyone deserves a happy ending, even if it feels impossible. Especially then. All of her books contain redemption and steamy ever afters. Oh, and pie. Find out more about her books and sign up for her newsletter at authoramberlin.com
Ty
“I DARE YOU TO get that chick’s number.”
I watch the girl Jace is talking about. She’s short and stacked, with long blond hair that falls in sexy, perfect waves to the middle of her back and plump lips slicked with bright pink lip gloss I can see from where I’m standing. And we’re clear across the room from each other.
“She looks like my type,” I drawl, bringing my beer bottle up to my lips and taking a swig. I’m already a little drunk, and we’ve only been here a little over an hour. But we’ve each had almost three beers, so we’ll be shitfaced in no time. “I bet those glossy lips would look real good wrapped around my dick.”
The moment the words leave me, I wince. I’m sick and tired of acting like this. But it’s become my role among our friends, and it’s easier to just go with it.
Four years in college acting like a complete asshole in regard to women is getting beyond old, though.
“I knew you’d think that.” Jace laughs and nudges me in the side with his elbow. “That’s why I thought she looked perfect for you.”
The girl catches us looking, and I flash her my best, biggest smile. She rolls her eyes in response, making Jace laugh harder, the jackass.
“I think you’re losing your edge,” he says.
I ignore him, keeping my gaze locked on the girl. She’s wearing a tight white T-shirt with a deep V-neck and a short denim skirt, exposing all kinds of tanned skin. Her shirt rides up when she lifts her arm and runs her fingers through her hair, offering me a glimpse of a belly ring flashing in her navel.
Fucking hot. Normally I’d already be over there, standing at her side, making all my usual moves, saying all the usual things. Lately, I haven’t been motivated. I’m starting to feel guilty for all the things I’ve done and said in my not-so-distant past.
But Jace is drunk and full of expectations. This is what usually happens with us when we’re out drinking together. I approach the prettiest girl first, and he goes after one of the friends. It’s a win-win for us.
Tonight, I’m realizing I’m pretty much over it.
“Go talk to her.” Jace shoves at my shoulder, nearly sending me toppling, but I right myself before I fall on my face.
Damn. I guess I’m drunker than I thought.
Offering Jace a murderous glance, I polish off the rest of my beer in one swallow. “I am,” I mutter before I hand him my empty beer bottle and head toward my new supposed favorite blonde.
The bar is packed, but it’s always packed on Thirsty Thursday. I shove through the crowd, shout a few heys to some guys I know. The music is loud. A girl I screwed around with last semester offers me a flirtatious hi, and I know if I can’t score with the blonde, I have that one waiting in the wings.
Wait a minute. I don’t necessarily want to score with the blonde. And I definitely don’t want another girl waiting in the wings, either. What I should do is get the hell out of here.
But I don’t.
Finally I reach my target, stopping in front of where she’s standing with a small group of friends. Her back is to me, and I drink her in, my gaze settling on her very fine ass in that very short skirt. She doesn’t turn until one of her friends spots me. A tall brunette with a skeptical expression on her pretty face and curly-ass hair leans over and whispers in Blondie’s ear, her gaze never leaving mine.
I stare at her, thinking she’s actually much prettier than the blonde. Not my usual type with her willowy body and dark hair, but she has a wholesome look to her. Hell, she’s even wearing glasses.
If I even attempted to bring someone like her around to my friends, they’d laugh at me. I’d never hear the end of it.
Slowly the blonde turns, her smile too bright, a little false, and I blink, focusing on her rather than her friend. My confidence falters, and I realize quickly she’s not interested.
Lately, hardly any of them are, and I wonder if they can tell I’m not interested, either. That’s gotta be it.
“Hi,” I say in greeting, feeling at a loss for words. And that never happens.
Her smile fades. “Hello,” she says coolly.
“So. Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. What’s your name?” Huh. Original. Wonder if it’s all the beer I’ve consumed. Or all the girls I’ve consumed. Banged. Whatever. Maybe I’m finally running out of flirting material.
Maybe I need to stop looking for the next quick fix and focus on finding a nice girl for once. That would thrill the hell out of my mom.
“Kristi.” Her smile is completely gone now. All I can see are those overly glossed lips of hers. They look sticky. No way do I want to kiss that.
Not that I really wanted to in the first place …
“Well, nice to meet you, Kristi. I’m Ty.” I nod, shoving my hand into my pocket so I can pull out my cell phone. Since Jace dared me to get this chick’s number, I’m doing it. Not that I’ll call her. I’m not that interested. “I’d love to talk to you, but this place is too fucking loud.”
It’s my standard line, one I always use in a too-loud bar, which is every bar downtown, especially Thursday through Saturday. Though usually I have my arm around the girl by now, looking deep in her eyes, trying to get that brief connection I’m always striving for. They always seem to go for it when I ask if they want to take our conversation somewhere more private.
“Maybe we could get together some other time,” I suggest.
Her brows rise. “That sounds fun,” she says weakly, like she doesn’t really mean it.
“Give me your number, and I’ll text you this weekend.” I might. Depends on if I’m bored or not.
Christ, you’re an asshole.
“Awesome.” She rattles off her number, and I enter it into my phone along with her name, offering her a quick smile when she finishes.
“My friend is waiting for me.” I wave a hand in Jace’s general direction. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”
“Promise?” She bats her overly-caked-with-mascara eyelashes at me.
“Yeah. Sure,” I say. I can’t stand when girls want me to promise them shit I can’t deliver on. Every chick does it. Even Mom.
And I hate it.
Lauren
“You actually gave him your number?” I can’t believe it. I heard him ask Kristi for it, but I didn’t pay much attention to their conversation. First, I couldn’t hear them very well; it’s so noisy in here. And second, even I’ve heard of Ty Webster. He’s a player. Loves nothing more than to hook up with a different girl every day of the week. He’s a total pig.
And he would so not be interested in me. I’m not his type considering I’m not short, blond, nor do I have huge boobs. He’s tall and made of solid muscle, smoking hot, and I’m just … me. Tall, flat-chested, with boring, uncontrollable curly hair.
The complete opposite of Ty Webster’s type.
That even I know his type shows just what a total dog he is.
“No.” Kristi turns to look at me, a smirk on her too-glossy lips. “I gave him your number.”
“Wait … what?” I shriek, but no one can really hear me. The music is hella loud, and so is the crowd. I grab hold of Kristi’s arm and tug her close, yelling in her ear, “Why did you do that?”
“Why not?” She shrugs, looking rather pleased with herself. “I didn’t want him harassing me.”
“So you’ll let him harass me instead?” He’ll be incredibly disappointed, too, if he ever texts my number and finds out it’s me and not Kristi.
“You’re a big girl. You can handle it.”
I don’t say anything in response, and she tugs her arm out of my grip, flashing me a smirk before she moves toward the bar. She’s my cousin, and I swear half the time she invites me out with her friends just so she can have someone to pick on, dump on, whatever.
Every time I go out with her, something like this happens. She goes out of her way to humiliate me, give me a bunch of crap. I complained to my mom last week when I talked to her, and she told me I should give Kristi another chance. So I did.
And this is her last one. I’m done. Just because I don’t know a lot of people doesn’t mean I can’t have any type of social life without Kristi.
Well, I hope not.
Taking a sip from my drink, I glance around and notice Ty Webster standing directly across the room, looking straight at me. I pause, my glass still held up to my lips, my eyes going wide. He’s totally watching me. Why? I don’t get it. And he’s alone, too, leaning against the wall, one hand shoved deep in his jeans pocket, his tall, muscled frame deceptively casual. I say deceptive because he looks ready to spring into action at any given moment. All that contained energy just seems to vibrate beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed.
I wonder what it would feel like. To have all the vibrant potency that makes up Ty Webster unleashed all over me.
Ugh. Why in the world are you thinking of him like that?
I’ve seen him at bars before, specifically the last time I came with Kristi and her equally bitchy friends. Usually he’s checking out another girl, sizing her up before he approaches like he just did to Kristi. It’s his typical mode of operation, one that everyone is aware of.
Doesn’t he get sick of this? According to Kristi’s friends, he’s been at this for a few years, pretty much his entire college existence. Doesn’t he want a regular girlfriend?
If I could roll my eyes at myself, I so would. Listen to me. The very last thing he probably wants is a regular girlfriend. Someone that’ll tie him down and make demands on his time. My ex broke up with me exactly because of that. I wanted too much, he’d said. It wasn’t that I was needy, but did we have to spend so much time together?
I’d been almost relieved when we broke up. If he hated being with me so much, then good riddance.
Chancing a glance in Ty’s direction, I see he’s still staring. Bet he won’t come talk to me, though. Being seen with me might make him look like he’s slumming.
God, I hate that I even thought that. Where the hell did my self-confidence go lately anyway?
I decide to unabashedly stare at him right back, letting my gaze roam over his features. He keeps his dark hair almost military short, and he has a classically handsome face. All sharp cheekbones and angled, hard jawline. The slightly crooked nose that looks like it’s been broken a time or two plus those intense dark brown eyes, offset by a lush, beautiful mouth.
Put that all together with his massive, muscular frame and it’s downright devastating. No wonder all those girls can’t resist him. He’s gorgeous and he knows it.
A slightly crooked smile curves his lips, and he tips his head toward me. I glance over my shoulder, thinking he’s smiling at someone else. Maybe Kristi.
But no. There’s no one standing behind me, no one looking his way. He’s smiling at me.
I smile back, just a quick flash before I duck my head, my long, curly hair falling in front of my face. I wait a few seconds, tuck my hair behind my ear as I lift my head to actually find him approaching. Headed right for me.
Oh. My. God.
Locking my knees, I try to keep my legs from going wobbly and wait for him. My heart is racing, and my mouth has gone dry. I take a big drink from my glass, polishing off the last of the vodka cranberry I ordered earlier before I set it down on a table beside me. I can feel the remnants of vodka clinging to my lips, and I lick at them real quick, feeling like an idiot. Thankful he didn’t see me.
I don’t know how to talk to gorgeous, womanizing guys. The past men in my life are all average dudes. Not sexy football stars who strut around campus like they own the place.
Ty stops directly in front of me, his dark gaze roving over my face, and I feel my cheeks heat. “Hey.”
His voice is deep and rumbly. I can literally feel it wash over me, making my skin tingle. “Hi,” I say softly just as he leans in closer, maybe to hear me better, I don’t know.
But I swear I hear him inhale, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s actually … smelling me?
That’s kind of hot.
“Want to get out of here?”
I gape at him. Didn’t he just ask Kristi out? I mean, really? What a jerk. “Not with you,” I retort.
