Hot for Fireman Read Online Free Page B
Author: Jennifer Bernard
seemed the last year and a half had been filled with exciting acts of heroism, not to mention hilarious practical jokes and a visitation from the cast of America’s Next Top Model —televised, of course.
“Everyone thought the Bachelor Curse was broken when the captain got married, but not a single one of us has hooked up. I mean, we’ve hooked up. Some of us. But not, you know, permanently,” Fred told him. In the perverse way of firefighters, he was known as Stud thanks to his bad luck with women.
Ryan shrugged. “I always said it wasn’t so much a curse as a gift from God.” According to firehouse legend, Virgil Rush, a volunteer fireman from the 1850s, had been heartbroken when Constancia B. Sidwell, his mail order bride, had run off with a robber on her way West. The other firemen, always quick to tease, tormented him so much he laid a curse on the town, vowing that the firemen of San Gabriel would have as much trouble finding love as he had. Ever since then, the firehouse had possessed an unusually high number of bachelors. Which worked out just fine from Ryan’s perspective. “Keep playing that field, Freddie boy. No need to worry about rings and aisles.”
“But I kind of want . . .”
“Sorry, dude. We’re cursed. Everyone knows it. You’re a Bachelor Fireman of San Gabriel. Might as well relax and enjoy it, like me.”
“It’s different for you.” Fred sulked as Vader, who’d apparently added some new muscles to his fearsome physique in the last year and half, elbowed him aside.
“Hoagie, you hear about how Double D and me saved twenty kids? The mayor gave us an award for being badasses.”
“It was called the Hot Shot Award,” interjected Two, one of San Gabriel’s two female firefighters, shaking out her long brown braid. “And I was there too. No one seems to remember that.”
“The mayor sure knew. You should have seen him, Hoagie. Thought he’d come in his pants when he saw Two in a dress.”
“Vader . . .” Fury flashed in Two’s pretty turquoise eyes, which had inspired many an inappropriate fantasy among her fellow firemen. Vader grinned, awaiting the explosion with a crack of his knuckles. “Don’t talk that way in front of Fred.”
Two and Vader both cracked up. Ryan rolled his eyes, wondering why the pair of them didn’t get a room somewhere.
“Hey!” Fred looked indignantly from one to the other. “I just look young. You want to see my driver’s license? Again? I ought to just hang it around my neck.”
The bittersweet pain of listening to the familiar firehouse jokes and rhythms was pure torture. By the time he made his escape, Ryan desperately needed another drink. Or another brawl, whichever came his way first.
Chapter Three
K atie Dane had spent long stretches of her life blissfully oblivious to the fact that her father had acquired a bar after he’d sold his car dealership. Occasionally she’d dropped by after school. And sometimes she didn’t manage to find an excuse to skip the bar’s annual mid-August Dog Day Celebration, during which her father grilled hot dogs in the swooning heat and made ice cubes shaped like dog bones.
She’d gone through high school, college, and nearly a year of graduate studies in nineteenth-century French literature without even filling in for an absent waitress. She’d never shown any interest in the restaurant business, marketing, entrepreneurship, or anything involving gatherings of people. In her family, she was known as the bookworm, the antisocial one, especially as compared to her older sister, Bridget, the social butterfly on speed (metaphorically, of course).
So when her father had suffered a stress-induced heart attack, and her mother had begged her to run the Hair of the Dog while she whisked him off to Mexico for his recuperation, she’d known there was only one possible reason.
No one else happened to be available.
Okay, two. Her mother knew she’d do anything for her father.
In the back office
“Everyone thought the Bachelor Curse was broken when the captain got married, but not a single one of us has hooked up. I mean, we’ve hooked up. Some of us. But not, you know, permanently,” Fred told him. In the perverse way of firefighters, he was known as Stud thanks to his bad luck with women.
Ryan shrugged. “I always said it wasn’t so much a curse as a gift from God.” According to firehouse legend, Virgil Rush, a volunteer fireman from the 1850s, had been heartbroken when Constancia B. Sidwell, his mail order bride, had run off with a robber on her way West. The other firemen, always quick to tease, tormented him so much he laid a curse on the town, vowing that the firemen of San Gabriel would have as much trouble finding love as he had. Ever since then, the firehouse had possessed an unusually high number of bachelors. Which worked out just fine from Ryan’s perspective. “Keep playing that field, Freddie boy. No need to worry about rings and aisles.”
“But I kind of want . . .”
“Sorry, dude. We’re cursed. Everyone knows it. You’re a Bachelor Fireman of San Gabriel. Might as well relax and enjoy it, like me.”
“It’s different for you.” Fred sulked as Vader, who’d apparently added some new muscles to his fearsome physique in the last year and half, elbowed him aside.
“Hoagie, you hear about how Double D and me saved twenty kids? The mayor gave us an award for being badasses.”
“It was called the Hot Shot Award,” interjected Two, one of San Gabriel’s two female firefighters, shaking out her long brown braid. “And I was there too. No one seems to remember that.”
“The mayor sure knew. You should have seen him, Hoagie. Thought he’d come in his pants when he saw Two in a dress.”
“Vader . . .” Fury flashed in Two’s pretty turquoise eyes, which had inspired many an inappropriate fantasy among her fellow firemen. Vader grinned, awaiting the explosion with a crack of his knuckles. “Don’t talk that way in front of Fred.”
Two and Vader both cracked up. Ryan rolled his eyes, wondering why the pair of them didn’t get a room somewhere.
“Hey!” Fred looked indignantly from one to the other. “I just look young. You want to see my driver’s license? Again? I ought to just hang it around my neck.”
The bittersweet pain of listening to the familiar firehouse jokes and rhythms was pure torture. By the time he made his escape, Ryan desperately needed another drink. Or another brawl, whichever came his way first.
Chapter Three
K atie Dane had spent long stretches of her life blissfully oblivious to the fact that her father had acquired a bar after he’d sold his car dealership. Occasionally she’d dropped by after school. And sometimes she didn’t manage to find an excuse to skip the bar’s annual mid-August Dog Day Celebration, during which her father grilled hot dogs in the swooning heat and made ice cubes shaped like dog bones.
She’d gone through high school, college, and nearly a year of graduate studies in nineteenth-century French literature without even filling in for an absent waitress. She’d never shown any interest in the restaurant business, marketing, entrepreneurship, or anything involving gatherings of people. In her family, she was known as the bookworm, the antisocial one, especially as compared to her older sister, Bridget, the social butterfly on speed (metaphorically, of course).
So when her father had suffered a stress-induced heart attack, and her mother had begged her to run the Hair of the Dog while she whisked him off to Mexico for his recuperation, she’d known there was only one possible reason.
No one else happened to be available.
Okay, two. Her mother knew she’d do anything for her father.
In the back office