I wake with him on my brain. I go to sleep with him still there. On my fingertips that wander down into the hem of my panties when I should be getting a full night’s sleep so I can wake in the morning fully refreshed and ready to teach a classroom full of kindergarteners.
Ugh. See? Deranged. I’m supposed to set an example for the next generation, and here I am breaking laws and moral codes. I’m hunting this person down and trying to dig into their life because I have a sick need to get closer to a total stranger.
I know that we’ll never be together—in love—or any kind of real relationship. In reality, when I step back and think about what I’ve done, I know it’s wrong. But when I study him on the screen, all I see is a man that I want to be his everything. I want him to look into my eyes and fuck me raw. I want his sweet nothings in the morning. I want him holding me in bed with his strong tattooed arms, smelling like smoke and fire.
Ah shit, the smoke alarm is going off. My lungs are starting to fight. Oh god, what have I done?
I can’t just walk up to the firehouse, introduce myself, and offer me up as some kind of prize. So, I’ve done all my research and I know what he likes. I’ve sat and watched from across the street, parked at the post office, as he picks up an order from Rosario’s Italian Delicatessen every Friday. I know every morning at five-thirty he’s at the gym. He runs treadmill first, then weights, then back to the treadmill. At eight forty-five, he likes to stop at JoJo Juice and order a mix of pomegranate, cherry, kale, and pineapple after his workout.
Oh, no. Oops. I started a full on fire.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“Yes, my name is...” I choke, “...Olivia Poppins. I need help. There’s a fire in my kitchen.” The red flames rise higher, spreading across the white cabinets. I race to the front of the house and lie on the cool tile near the door. My heart races inside my chest. “Please, send help.”
Like I said, I’ve never done anything like this in my life, and never dreamt that I would, but my obsession is beating my brains, and I won’t rest until I can feel him inside me.
I try to make it to my front door, but the flames rise higher and higher. Oh no, what have I done?
They say when you die you’re supposed to see a white light, hear angels singing and be reunited with your loved ones—the good ones who made it into Heaven, anyway.
Not me. When I died, all I saw was a sea of blue. And I’m not talking about the ocean or skyline. Nope. More like, the navy blue shirts of Hightower Hills paramedic crew pounding my chest until my ribs protested under the pressure of their mighty fists pumping with fervor to resuscitate me.
This was not the uber romantic rescue of my dreams where a scorching hot fireman—Corbin Carmack—swoops in to lift me up into his strong tattooed arms before carrying me to safety.
There was no surrounding my mouth with his succulent man lips as he breathed his superhero oxygen into my lungs.
Not even a standard ‘he kissed me awake’ like a fairytale princess rescue.
Nada. Squat.
Instead, a bald man named Edgar put his sour-tasting mouth to mine and blew air into my lungs until I choked and nearly vomited on him. To make matters worse, I’ve been labeled the woman who almost died heating up chocolate sauce. That’s the story I told them. They don’t need to know I was trying to have the sexiest fireman in the world come to my rescue.
I’ve never tried to set a fire before. Hell, I wasn’t even trying to set a fire tonight. I figured a little dramatic smoke and a helpless damsel in distress would be enough. But apparently, ha, chocolate burns really, really fast.
I try to sit up, even though my chest is also on fire. Edgar urges me to lie back down, but I shove away from him and attempt to make my way back to my house. I’m doing fine on my feet, until I reach my mailbox and the whole world begins to tilt sideways. I reach for the metal box to steady myself but slip and stumble forward into a hard wall.
But walls don’t talk.
“Whoa. Hold on there. Where do you think you’re going, Miss Pyro?”
Lord Jesus, take me now. It’s him.
His voice. His arms. His smell.
Everything I’ve been fantasizing about for months is all around me. But, this is not how I planned for it to go.
I want to shove away and hide myself, but I can’t escape. I’m wobbly on my feet and he holds me fast with warm hands on my hips. His upper arms brush the sides of my breasts. I finally brave glancing up into his face and he smiles down at me, his teeth super white against the backdrop of tan skin and dark scruff. He’s even more beautiful and heartbreaking in person than he was in those videos.
“M-my name is Poppins,” I stammer, locked on his caramel eyes.
“Well, tonight, you’re Little Miss Pyro.” He nods his head toward my house. “Burned down half your kitchen. Is this how you usually spend a Friday night alone?”
“I was making fondue,” I lie.
His hands stay on my hips, eyes on mine. His tongue licks over his bottom lip before he says, “Too bad you burned it. Hot date planned tonight?”
I beam back at him. “Is that a firefighter joke?”
Instead of answering my poor attempt to flirt, he props his arm under mine as a crutch, and tries to walk with me in his hold, but I sway a bit. “Sorry, I’m a little…”
Before I can finish my sentence, he swoops me up and carries me easily in his arms back to the ambulance. I pretty much want to die. But also, I’m swooning like a Swoony McSwoonster. Silently, of course.
“Hey, Edgar,” he says, bouncing me ever so slightly, “I think you lost something.”
“No. She ran away,” Edgar huffs. “I’m a year away from retirement and not in the damn mood to be running people down who don’t want my help.”
“Understood,” Corbin says, glancing at me with a glint of wickedness in his eyes and then back to Edgar. “But as long as you’re still on the payroll, you got a fucking job to do.”
The old man folds his arms. “Not until she apologizes.”
“I think she needs to save her air for something more useful than stroking your ego.” Corbin turns away from Edgar and heads to the fire engine, placing me on the silver platform on the back. He retrieves two blue blankets from a compartment.
“They had to split your dress down the middle, because they thought they might need to use paddles on you.”
He glances down to my chest, and I follow his line of vision and see that I’ve had my white semi-see-through bra on display the entire time. My cheeks flush as he wraps the soft fleece around my shoulders.
“You should stay warm so you don’t go into shock.”
He rubs up and down my arms, and if he doesn’t stop doing that, I’m going to need the hose turned on me to put out the fire igniting deep in my bones.
“I am,” I say, hypnotized by his soul-stirring eyes.
“Hmm?” He continues massaging my arms and now a little over my back as he makes circles around my shoulders. Good god. I’m gonna need more than a fire hose spraying me down if he doesn’t quit that.
“What?” I ask.
He laughs. “You said ‘I am.’ I’m trying to figure out what ‘you are.’”