“What?” she asks, leaning into me.
“I’ve noticed that we don’t like to spend time apart.”
“You think?” she asks dryly. “What tipped you off?”
I pretend to think on it. “Well, the fact that we’ve spent almost every night together since we got back from New Orleans was a pretty major clue.”
“Good detective work.”
“Right? I’m thinking of opening an agency if the ‘becoming an EMT and firefighter’ thing doesn’t work out. I’m also thinking you should move in with me.”
“Are you crazy?” she asks, surprising me. But then she adds, “You’re moving in with me, where there are no pans banging at four in the morning or sisters eavesdropping downstairs. Not to mention, more room for Captain Snugglepants to roam around and get his cat on while we’re gone.”
I grin. “That probably makes more sense. The Captain does enjoy his space.”
“And I enjoy you,” she says. “If I didn’t have to be rested for work, I would take you home and ravage you all over again. Right now.”
“Oh, yeah?” I pull her closer. “Well, if Ben can cover for you until five, you’ll probably be good to go as long as you get to sleep by eight or nine.”
Her tongue slips out to dampen her lips. “And it’s just a little after four now, so that does give us almost four hours…”
I bite my bottom lip before asking in a faux scandalized voice, “Do you have any idea how many times I could make you come in four hours?”
She shivers. “I’m imagining it right now. Let’s hit the road. I’ll call Ben. If he can’t do it, I’ll call Brandon and twist his arm. He owes me a favor after all the times I’ve bought him burritos.”
I snatch her up, hugging her so tight her feet leave the pavement.
She laughs, her arms twining around my shoulders. “What’s this for?”
“I just love you. A lot.” I set her back down, gazing into her upturned face as I add, “A ridiculous amount, really.”
She smiles. “Same.” She wiggles her brows. “I’m also ridiculously hot for your body.”
“One of the things I love best about you.” I tip my lips closer to hers. “Can I move my things into your place while you’re at work?”
“I would be pissed if you didn’t,” she says with a content-sounding sigh. “I like coming home to you.”
“And I like that you called yourself an aunt back there,” I murmur.
She makes a soft, surprised sound. “I did, didn’t I?”
“You did. Which is perfect. Because I’d really like to marry the shit out of you as soon as possible.”
She laughs. “Very romantic.”
“Right?”
“But that had better not be your proposal,” she warns. “I want a sappy one. Lots of talk about your feelings and how excited you are to be together forever and stuff. Down on one knee. The whole thing.”
“I’ll get on that.”
“Good,” she says, a little shy and a little sexy and just so…her. My girl. My best friend. My Faith. “But maybe get on me first?”
“Whenever you want me for as long as you want me,” I promise.
“Forever’s a good start,” she whispers.
“It is,” I agree, and then I kiss her and it’s like catching fire, the way it always is.
The way I have a feeling it always will be.
As long as I’m with her.
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PLAYING WITH FIRE
Jamison and Maddie’s story!
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PLAYING WITH FIRE
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Maddie
“Crap on a cracker.” Those are my first words as I step out of my friend Piper’s van at the Southern Singles Seaside Camping Retreat.
But what I really want to say is—Fuck me.
Or better yet, fuuuuuuuuck me, with lots of extra “u” for how very undesirable and uncool it is to see Jamison Hansen emerging from the pickup truck in front of us.
Jamison Hansen—the last person I want hanging around, rolling his eyes at me while I try to remember how to flirt.
But there he is, looking ridiculously handsome with the late-afternoon sunlight glinting off his sun-streaked brown hair. His muscled shoulders strain the fabric of his olive-green T-shirt, and his corded forearms exude pure manliness. Meanwhile, his sculpted backside practically compels me to drop to my knees and thank God for whoever invented blue jeans.
Argh! This is bad. So very bad.
I’ve been looking forward to this retreat for weeks.
I was so excited when I piled into the van with Piper, Shelley, and Dawn this morning I could barely contain myself. I talked their ears off all the way down to Myrtle Beach, promising to out-hike, out-swim, and out-drink all three of them, so long as they swear to lock me in the van if I let the whiskey get the better of me.
Most of the time I’m a level-headed person but get a little whiskey in me and I can become daring to the point of personal endangerment. But we’ve all been best friends since we met at Girl Scout camp in junior high. They won’t let me do anything life-threateningly stupid.
They actually encouraged me to let my hair down and to start my Month of Maddie—my annual month-long celebration of my May birthday—off with a bang. They know the past year has been an absolute shitshow and agreed I’m overdue for a little footloose and fancy free.
Just over a year ago, my six-year marriage ended in disaster when my husband, Serge, left me for another man. I spent a good eight months grieving the loss of a friend and partner who loved me well—if not always with as much passion as I might have hoped for—and have only recently emerged from my despair pit.
I finally feel ready to enjoy being single, to flirt and banter and maybe kiss a sexy stranger on the beach after the bonfire burns low. This singles’ camping trip was going to be the start of a new me, one who isn’t afraid to reach out and touch someone, even if that someone isn’t going to end up being long-term relationship material.
I’m turning thirty in three weeks, for goodness’ sake. I can’t afford to let any more time slip through my fingers. It’s time to start enjoying myself and put my dreams of home and hearth on hold until I meet the right guy.
I was ready to kiss lips and take names.
But now, everything is ruined.
Jamison Hansen—childhood friend, womanizer, drop-dead delicious firefighter, and a man who smells so good he shouldn’t be allowed within fifty feet of the ocean for fear his yummy man-scent might attract sharks—is here.
Three months ago, that would have been bad news. Jamison’s always treated me like a little sister, someone he’s in charge of pestering to my wits’ end while keeping me safe from danger in all forms. In the old days, he would have cramped my style; now, he’s going to ensure I suffer three days of misery while being forced to watch him flirt the panties off of at least one, if not more, of the single women on this trip.
Knowing my luck, it will be one of my friends, and I’ll have to endure a play-by-play description of Jamison’s legendary lovemaking the entire trip back to Georgia.