Hot Nights with the Fireman (7 page)

“A meeting,” he said shortly.

“Hey, are you going to the search and rescue thing? Me, too. Want to ride together?”

He forced a smile on his face and sat on his cot to pull on his Haix boots. “Sure thing.” He hoped his tone sounded easygoing. This meeting should be a no-brainer, a breeze. They were both top firefighters in prime shape. There was nothing about the meeting to get their panties in a wad over, except…his were. He was nervous as all hell.

He stood and followed Dan out the door to Dan's truck. “How long have you wanted to apply?” he asked.

Dan shrugged and turned the key in the ignition. “Saw the poster a few weeks ago, and figured I'd check it out.” He pulled out of the spot with a slight squeal, and Jason grabbed the passenger-side handle above the window. So Dan hadn't been yearning after this job for years. Unless he was playing it cool. It wasn't as if they were in direct competition. It was an elite squad that needed more and more volunteers. Unfortunately for the earth's human population, Mother Nature was a bitch who kept fighting back. There was no shortage of disasters, and the need for rescue workers seemed to grow with every passing year.

No, they weren't in competition, but it would still rub him the wrong way to see Dan sail through the application process while he struggled.

When they arrived at the local community center where the meeting was being held, they hopped out of the car and entered the building. Swarms of people huddled around the entrance to the door. Dan started to push his way through, but Jason grabbed his elbow. “I think there's a sign-in sheet.”

They joined in the more-crowded-than-expected mob and waited their turn to add their names to the long list. When they entered the room, gray hard plastic chairs filled the large room in rows. Large colorful posters of disasters in faraway countries dotted the walls. They looked unsuccessfully for two seats together, and Jason wasn't too sad when they had to sit three chairs away from each other. He settled the notepad he'd brought with him on his lap and pulled out his black pen. Valerie would be proud of him. He fully planned on taking notes.

When the session began, he remembered why he rarely took notes and relied on his memory instead. He wasn't very good at taking notes. Too often, he didn't know which bullet points to scratch down and ended up trying to write every word out of the lecturer's mouth. Which, of course, meant he couldn't write fast enough and ended up missing key parts of the talk. Finally he gave up and clicked his pen closed and chose to listen intently instead.

This was going to be a big year for them. Obviously, turnout and interest in the Search and Rescue Team were higher than expected, thanks to the publicity they'd received during the major tsunami and earthquakes of the past few years. They couldn't take everyone, though they appreciated everyone's interest and spirit of volunteerism for a rough job that paid next to nothing.

A woman took the front of the room and started talking about the family support network. He supposed it was important and impressive that they'd developed resources to help the families of the rescue team stay in touch while their loved ones were thrown into hot zones, but as he didn't have a wife and kids, it wasn't very relevant to him. He just couldn't see his parents calling in for a nightly teleconference if he were in some foreign country digging victims out of rubble.

His mind wandered a bit and he scanned the room checking out his fellow rescue worker wanna-bes. Somehow the people had self-selected to sit with their peer groups. He sat in the front right corner nearest the door in a group of obvious firefighters. They all looked like him, young and fit. The front left had a bunch of guys in khakis and collared shirts. Most of them were typing on laptops or other electronic devices. They were probably the engineers, the demolition experts. The ratio of male to female in the entire room tipped heavily toward the testosterone-carrying card members, but there were a few women scattered throughout the room. The rescue team pulled from across the community for a variety of occupations. It was heavily populated with firefighters from this county. They made up the core with assists from other more white-collared jobs.

The woman left the front, and a tall man with silvery thinning hair took her place. He was a firefighter. Jason would stake his fingers on it. Sure enough, he introduced himself as Chief Sean McGowan. He sat up in his chair and leaned slightly forward, forearms on his thighs. McGowan had the gold to impart. He talked about the admissions process in great detail.

Everything he listed sounded like cake. Physical fitness? No problem. CPR training? Already done. When he got to the essay section, he realized his fingers were digging into his thighs. He forced them to relax, but each sentence the captain uttered had his gut clenching tighter and tighter. The essays counted for a lot. They wanted to ensure they were getting people with the mental capacity to handle the job.

His breathing grew choppy and he tried to concentrate on the older man at the front, but his stupid, messed-up brain kept circling back to the essays they'd have to write. Before he could refocus, it was over, and the room was filled with the din of people standing and stretching. Dan sauntered over with a grin, looking as cocky as he deserved to be.
He
would have no problem getting a spot.

“Ready to go?” Dan asked, smiling over at some women eyeing him on the other side of the room.

“Sure.”

Back in the car, Dan was driving too fast and talking a mile a minute. “Damn, I want to get on the team so bad. Sounds like a blast.”

Jason shot him a look. “If you make the team, you'll be shipped to countries in the middle of chaos. The only blast will be when the rescue team blows apart rubble looking for survivors. Doesn't sound like a party to me.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

He blinked. “To help people and for the challenge.” And to prove to everyone back in Aberdeen, family and friends, that he wasn't a moron.

Dan scoffed. “See? You're not that different than me. It's the adrenaline rush. Don't deny it.”

He couldn't argue. As much as he wanted to help people, there was the allure of putting his body in dangerous situations and challenging himself to get out. It had always been about the rush. It's why he did what he did. Even if he'd had a brain that could handle a desk job, his body couldn't. It needed to move at high octane. Yeah, he was ready to take his career to the next level.

A
week later, Jason found himself in another long line but at a totally different venue. He'd e-mailed Valerie to apologize for snapping at her at the school. She'd reciprocated by asking him if he played golf. Sure, he'd played once or twice in his life. He'd had no idea she'd interpret that as the go-ahead for her to put him down for a foursome for the charity golf tournament to benefit a local children's burn unit. Most of the firefighters were going to be walking the crowd, hat in hand to solicit donations, but they wanted some actual firefighters to play some golf.

She tried to sell it as an easy way for him to repair his damaged reputation, and she'd hinted that she wanted to see him again socially. It was tricky to read her signals. Now that he was here, he was questioning the ease of golf for charity.

He got to the front of the line feeling entirely out of place and looked around desperately for Valerie, but she was nowhere to be found. He eyed his fellow firefighters roaming through the crowd in their familiar navy work wear and wished he were among their ranks today and not about to play golf.

“Hi. Name?” A perky brunette with an overly whitened smile grinned up at him from behind her place at an official-looking check-in table.

“Uh. Jason. Jason Moore.”

She riffled through some sheets of paper with long lists of typed names. “Hmm, don't see your name here. How do you spell your last name?”

He spelled it out for her and shifted from one leg to another, feeling both hope his name wasn't on the list so he could escape, and longing that his name was on the list so he wouldn't feel like more of an ass than he already did. What had Valerie gotten him into? This was not his crowd, not his scene. At all.

Clusters of well-dressed golfers greeted one another. They wore odd colors that probably had names like tangerine or sea foam. He tugged at the hem of his old Green Day concert T-shirt and waited for the girl to declare what he already knew: he didn't belong here.

“Oh, found it.” Her smile widened. Her teeth had to be fake. No one's teeth were that white naturally. “You were a late sign-up, so your name was handwritten on the last sheet.”

He nodded without smiling, wondering if he could fake some horrible golf injury on the first hole and get the hell out of there. It was a waste of a perfectly good Sunday off work. He could be washing his truck or biking a trail somewhere. And where the hell was Valerie? He was about to ask Miss Perky if she had a clue as to Valerie's whereabouts when she started talking again.

“We're so glad you could join us, Mr. Moore. We've been trying for years to get a real fireman to play in the tournament, especially since it benefits a children's hospital burn unit, but they've always claimed to not play golf or be on call.”

Yeah, he shoulda known the rest of his comrades were too smart to get caught up in this elite country club set. He was the sucker who said yes because a pretty girl asked him. Shit, he was stupid.

“You're on Team 7, Mr. Moore, or should I call you Jason?” Suddenly the girl's tone took on a husky accent.

Now she was flirting with him. Crap. She was probably some little rich girl caught up in the fantasy of seeing a fireman's hose. Well, it wasn't going to be his. That was for damn sure. He grunted in response to her question and hoped she chalked his rudeness up to his blue-collar roots.

“If you head to the white tent that way, you'll find the rest of your foursome. You're the last of your team to check in.”

Without looking back or thanking her, he stalked off to the tent in the opposite direction of the other firefighters, getting angrier with both himself and Valerie. He didn't belong here, and to top it off, he didn't play golf very well. He could put up with being the odd man out if he could let his game do the talking, but unfortunately, he was going to look like an ass all the way around.

When he got to the tent, it was a cluster-fuck of Ralph Lauren and Lacoste. White banners with Valerie's firm's logo hung from two of the half walls. At least there were drinks. Long tables covered in white linen sagged under the weight of buckets filled with ice. Resting on the ice were plastic bottles of water and fancy longnecks of beer. He grabbed a beer, and a waiter in a black suit immediately reached out with a bottle opener to assist.

“Thanks.” He took a long swig and eyed the room. He supposed he should go look for his teammates. Now that he looked more closely, he noticed tall round tables with numbers perched on each one. He ambled over to the table with the bold 7 on it, but before he arrived at the table, a gorgeous woman in a powder blue golf shirt caught his eye. Valerie. He changed direction and charged toward her, worried she'd disappear if he didn't grab her quickly.

“Jason.” Her smile was warm and friendly, and he was ridiculously relieved to see her face. “I'm glad you were able to make it.” Her smile flickered slightly as she glanced over him from head to toe. “Didn't they give you a shirt?”

“Uh, no. The girl at the welcome table sent me here. Hey, I'm sorry for how we left things last week at the school. I was an asshole.”

She smiled slightly. “You already apologized. It's no big deal. You've more than made up for it by showing up to play golf.”

“It's my pleasure.” And it kind of was, especially when she looked ridiculously cute and professional. Her collared shirt was tight enough to cup the curves of her breasts. The tiny golf skirt paired with athletic socks up to her knees made her look like a porn fantasy and was going to bring him to
his
knees.

“Come with me.” She grabbed his elbow and escorted him out of the tent to another tent. This one wasn't as fancy. It was for the behind-the-scenes staff. Large cardboard boxes littered the ground, some empty, some filled. Valerie let his arm go and riffled through one. He stared as she bent over. The tiny golf skirt barely covered her ass, and her golf shirt rode up her back, exposing a strip of silky skin. If she were truly his woman, he'd drag her out of the tent, find a tree or patch of soft grass somewhere, and take her with the skirt hiked up. She'd keep the socks on. Shit, now he was getting, well, as hard as a damn golf club. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his worn khaki cargos to cover the arousal.

She turned back and held a royal blue collared shirt against him to see if it would fit. It was covered with logos on the chest and sleeves as though he were a NASCAR driver.

“After you change, I'll take you back to your team. Are your golf clubs in the stands outside the player pavilion?”

They started walking back to the other tent. Or
player pavilion
, as he now knew it to be called. “Nah. I don't own clubs. Is that a problem?”

She stopped on a dime and turned to him. “Oh, I thought you said you played golf?”

“You asked if I had played, and the answer is yes. I've played twice in my life. I don't own a set of clubs.”

The pink in her cheeks deepened. “Shoot. I'm so sorry. I misunderstood. Let's get you a set of loaner clubs from the pro shop. And I'm glad I put you with Lance. He'll go easy on you and carry your weight.”

He didn't like Valerie thinking anyone needed to carry his weight, and he wondered who this Lance guy was. The day was getting better and better. He needed another beer. Unfortunately, the beer was in the other tent in the opposite direction of where Valerie was headed. Feeling a bit like an elementary school boy in trouble, he followed her, wishing he could rewind to a few days ago when she'd called and asked if he played golf. Hell no, would've been his answer, but he was stuck now.

They stopped in front of a glass-fronted building looking more like a ritzy resort than a golf pro shop. A small window at eye level was open and Valerie went right over and chatted up the young man on the other side. Within minutes, a navy leather bag with a full set of clubs was trotted outside and presented for his inspection. He nodded. Given his experience, making sure the clubs were fitted perfectly to his height wasn't going to make a hell of a lot of difference. He lifted the garish green knitted cover off a club, pretended to examine it, then nodded as if he knew anything about Taylor versus Ping.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Valerie said. “You should switch into the shirt. It's from one of the sponsors, and it would be a great photo op if you wore it.” She handed over the royal blue collared golf shirt feeling like a first-class snob for doing it.

Her eyes widened and all the saliva in her mouth disappeared as Jason took hold of the hem of his T-shirt and tugged it over his head. He stood bare-chested for a glorious few seconds while swapping out his T-shirt for the golf shirt. It may have been only a few seconds, but it was enough to see every cut muscle in his wide shoulders and abdomen. It was also enough time to finally see a tad more detail of his two tattoos, one band around his wide right biceps and another on his pectoral that looked like the firefighter Maltese cross. Unfortunately, the blue polo was covering up the intriguing tattoos before she'd had a chance to examine them properly.

If Jason had been appealing before, he was doubly—no triply—attractive now that she'd seen he was packing a ripped body. All those hours of toting hoses and cats out of trees had paid off in spades. She wanted to tell him his T-shirt was fine and he could put it back on, just to gain another opportunity to see his bare chest. She knew she'd be replaying the visual in her head on a loop tonight. Maybe she
should
sleep with the guy. Lord knew she'd never have the chance to find a body that hot in her bed again.

“Valerie?”

It took her a moment to realize Jason was speaking to her. “Huh?” She shook her head, feeling like an idiot, then refocused on him.

“Should I go find my foursome now?” He stood in front of her holding the large bag of clubs as if they weighed no more than a school backpack.

“Oh,
um
, sure. I'll walk you over there now and introduce you to Lance.” For some reason he scowled when she mentioned Lance. “Lance is a great guy. His family owns half of America, but you'd never know it to meet him, especially since he's a Secret Service agent.”

Instead of nodding, Jason's scowl deepened. She rolled her eyes and stepped in front of him to lead the way down the concrete path surrounded by grass so green it had to take a village of gardeners to maintain it. Once they were in the main reception tent again, Valerie introduced him to the rest of his foursome. She rested her palm possessively on his forearm as she made the introductions. It was a casual kind of touch, she told herself. It meant nothing and didn't show how badly she itched to run her hands all over Jason's body.

“Jason, meet my friend Lance Brown,” she said. “Lance, Jason is the firefighter I mentioned. We're lucky to have him here today, so make him look good.”

While the two good-looking men shook hands, she leaned down to tug up her socks. The left one was half an inch away from slipping and revealing her calves. She stood again and checked that Jason was settled in with his team. Two men on the team were her father's age, both possibly a little drunk given the multitude of empty beer bottles on the Team 7 table. Once it seemed Jason was fine, she took off for the dozens of administrative tasks she had to do while organizing an event such as this, and she had to physically get away from Jason for her own peace of mind. For the first time in six years, her body felt alive. Well, parts of her body that had lain dormant. Jason made her want to take crazy risks. She couldn't. If and when she ever slept with a man again, it had to be with one who would emotionally be there for her. Jason wasn't that man.

Jason wanted to hate Lance when Valerie introduced them, but found he couldn't. The guy was laid back and friendly. He seemed to effortlessly blend in with the wealthy crowd and yet wasn't quite one of them. In some ways the older men almost seemed to defer to Lance in matters of politics and other conversational topics. Why wouldn't they? The dude was a freaking Secret Service agent and wealthy to boot. Hell, Jason half wanted to date him himself. He guessed the guy was appealing to women since he was tall and built, with dark hair and light green eyes.

“How does Valerie get us suckered into these things?” A tall, thin athletic man with dirty-blond hair walked up next to Lance, clapping a palm on his shoulder.

“Sam.” Lance clapped the dude on the back, with a wide smile. “Jason, this is Sam Cooper. Sam. Jason.”

Jason shook hands with the newcomer. “You're not much of a golfer either?”

“Oh, no, I played golf on my high school team, which is probably why Valerie tagged me to be here. We went to high school together,” Sam explained, scratching his cheek with fingers that looked like they'd be more at home on a computer keyboard than gripping a beer. “I meant that I hate these charity events. I'd rather write a check.”

“You were friends with Valerie in high school?”

Sam shrugged. “Well, not friends exactly. I wasn't very popular, but Valerie was one of the few girls who was nice to me, which is why I show up at these things for her.”

“And now he's an FBI agent, which means all the high school bullies are in awe,” Lance said with a chuckle.

Sam smiled at the ground. “Don't let Mr. Secret Service here fool you. I'm in the cyber security division. More of a computer nerd than Alex Cross.”

At that moment, someone on a loudspeaker called Lance's and Jason's team to the tee-off and they shook hands with Sam and headed out.

The deference toward Lance only deepened as they got out on the course and Lance proved himself to be a scratch golfer. Duke and Duke, as Jason dubbed the older men in their foursome, contained their impatience at his own shanks into the rough only because Lance's score kept them on pace with the other teams. Plus, Lance handed out golfing tips in a way that kept him at ease. He didn't know how the guy did it. If anyone else kept trying to correct his stance or grip, he probably would've slammed a golf club over their head, but Jason found himself laughing and working to correct his game under Lance's tutelage. He was half tempted to invite the guy out for a beer after the event.