Hot For You Read online

  “Faith. That sounds familiar. Have we met?” he asked, holding onto her hand a beat too long before releasing her fingers. “Maybe at the gym?”

  “I don’t think so,” Faith said. “I work out at my job.”

  “Maybe Touchdowns? I’m there almost every Saturday afternoon.”

  Faith shook her head. “No, I’ve never been there. I don’t get out much.”

  Way to sound interesting, lame ass.

  Trent smiled. “Me either. I spend most of my life at the gym or work. I run a bike shop outside Atlanta.”

  “Cool,” Faith said, taking another sip of her drink, hedging while she tried to think of something else to say. “Bikes with spokes or bikes with motors?”

  “Spokes,” he said. “But I own a chopper. You ride?”

  Faith shook her head. “I’ve seen too many motorcycle accidents. I’m with the Summerville Fire Department and we assist on a lot of those calls.”

  “So you’re an EMT?”

  “I’m certified, but I’m a firefighter by job description,” Faith said, bristling the way she always did when people assumed a woman couldn’t be a fireman. “I carry heavy equipment, hack things apart with axes, throw people over my shoulders when I have to. That kind of thing.”

  “Hot,” Trent said, shifting closer.

  “It does get hot sometimes,” Faith said, masking her nerves with another drink.

  He chuckled. “No, I mean it’s hot that you do that kind of work. That’s pretty brave.” He advanced another step. “Are you here with someone?”

  “Um, no?” Faith winced as she realized the words had emerged as a question, but Trent didn’t seem to notice.

  “Me, either.” He reached out, bracing his arm on the wall above Faith’s head, the same way Mick had before he kissed her in the gazebo.

  But that night she’d been tingling all over, dying to know what it would feel like for Mick’s lips to touch hers. Now, she felt nothing but uncomfortable and pretty certain she was never going to be able to pull off Mission: New Year’s Eve Kiss, no matter how many glasses of punch she drank.

  “We should hang out,” Trent said, leaning closer. “Do you like to dance?”

  “Not even a little bit.” Faith’s tongue slipped out to dampen her lips. This guy was practically delivering a “forget about Mick” kiss on a silver platter. All she had to do was woman up, and pucker up.

  Come on, Miller. Go for it!

  “But we can hang out,” Faith continued, pulse speeding as she downed the last of her punch in one gulp and reached out, grabbing a handful of Trent’s sweater. “Or we can just make out.”

  Trent’s eyes widened. “Sounds good to me.”

  “Then kiss me, already.” Faith braced herself for the worst, but was relieved when Trent’s lips met hers and there was relatively little to complain about. His lips were too firm, and he was a little too aggressive with the tongue, but overall it was a perfectly competent kiss that made her feel…

  Nothing.

  Absolutely nothing.

  No tingles, no sparkles, nothing but vague pleasure that Trent was big enough to block the wind and warm enough to ease the chill bumps from her arms. But when his hands found her hips, Faith knew she had to end it.

  She didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. She and Trent weren’t going to be leaving the party together, and she wasn’t going to let him maul her in public. A kiss was one thing—she’d seen several couples making out in the corners of the room—but groping her was another.

  “Stop.” Faith pulled her lips from Trent’s, blinking as the sky behind his head pulsed, the stars spinning no matter how hard she tried to focus.

  “Okay,” Trent said, his hands coming back to her waist. “You want to get out of here? I’m staying with a friend, but I have a set of keys. We can go back to his place if you’re over the party.”

  Faith shook her head and immediately regretted it. The stars spun harder, and Trent suddenly sprouted a third eye in the center of his forehead.

  “Oh, no,” Faith mumbled as her stomach churned unpleasantly. “No, no, no.”

  Suddenly, a familiar voice came from behind Trent’s massive back. “Get away from her.”

  Even before Trent turned—revealing the angry blue eyes and delicious black curls of the man behind him—Faith recognized that voice.

  It was Mick Whitehouse. Again. The man was like a bad rash.

  Faith tried to tell Mick to stay out of her business, but the words came out all jumbled and wrong. Her tongue was too thick and her stomach too sour, and the damn world wouldn’t stop spinning.

  “Back off, man,” Trent said, glaring at Mick. “Everything’s fine. No need to play hero.”

  “I heard her say no,” Mick said, not backing down. “Before I go anywhere, I’m going to make sure she’s okay.”

  Mick shifted his attention to Faith. “Are you all right?”

  Faith took an unsteady breath. Even with the world spinning, having Mick close made something inside her send up a cheer of approval. There was something about his eyes, about the way he looked at her like he wanted to devour her and protect her at the same time, that was completely compelling.

  And completely frustrating.

  She lifted a finger, closing one eye to make sure she was aiming at only one of Mick. “I do not need protectorin, protectoring—” She cleared her throat and concentrated. “I do not need you to protect me, Mick Whitehouse.”

  Mick nodded. “I know. You’re tough, but you also sound pretty drunk.”

  “I am snot.” Faith giggled as she realized what she’d said. “I meant not. Thas what I meant.” She hiccupped unexpectedly and covered her mouth with her hand as she mumbled, “’Cuse me.”

  “You’re excused,” Mick said with a serious nod before turning to Trent and adding in a softer voice. “She’s obviously wasted. I need to take her home. Why don’t you give her your number? If she’s interested, she can call you when she’s sober.”

  “Why don’t I take her home,” Trent said, sliding an arm around Faith’s waist and pulling her closer, making her stomach snarl angrily as their torsos connected. “I don’t know you from a hole in the ground, man, and Faith doesn’t seem very happy to see you. I think she’s better off with me.”

  “And I think you’d better let her go.” Mick stepped closer, glaring up at the slightly taller Trent, a menacing expression on his face. “Because there’s no way in hell I’m letting her leave here with you when she’s so drunk she can barely stand.”

  “Now juss wait a second…” Faith’s words trailed off as she pressed her lips together, fighting a wave of nausea.

  She wanted to pull away from Trent. She wanted to tell both of these bossy boys to leave her the hell alone and that if anyone would be taking her home it would be Kitty. But she was too dizzy, and her stomach felt like it was a volcano full of hot lava.

  A volcano that she realized—too late—was about to erupt.

  Seconds later, she bent over and was spectacularly sick all over Trent’s shiny, black shoes.

  Chapter Three

  When Faith woke up the next morning, she remembered four things:

  Mick Whitehouse holding her hair back as she vomited into a toilet bowl.

  Mick Whitehouse brushing her teeth.

  Mick Whitehouse assuring her that Trent’s shiny, black shoes needed to be thrown out anyway.

  Mick Whitehouse tucking her into the futon and smoothing her hair from her clammy forehead in a way that was surprisingly soothing, making her feel more safe and relaxed than her mother’s lullabies ever had.

  When Faith opened her eyes to the first day of the New Year to find Mick asleep in a recliner in the corner, his sock feet sticking out beneath a fleece blanket, she didn’t know quite how to feel about it.

  On one hand, he’d been an amazing friend to her last night, and she knew the only reason she didn’t currently feel like death was because he had forced a glass of water and two aspirin down her b
efore she fell asleep.

  On the other hand…

  Well—there was no other hand. Mick had been amazing. End of story.

  The realization made her feel off-balance, and unsure how to respond when Mick opened his eyes and greeted her with a sleepy smile.

  “Good mornin’,” he drawled. “How you feeling?”

  “Pretty good, actually.” Faith ran a nervous hand through her hair as she pushed herself up into a sitting position against the pillows. “Thanks to you.”

  “No thanks necessary,” he said, stretching. “We’ve all been there.”

  “I haven’t,” Faith said, picking at the pieces of yarn sticking up from the quilt that covered her legs. “I don’t know what happened. I’m so embarrassed. I’ve never gotten drunk so fast like that.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed. That punch was killer,” Mick said. “Four other people threw up. By the end of the night we were calling it the Most Barf-tastic New Year’s Eve ever.”

  “Oh God, let’s not talk about it.” Faith covered her face with both hands.

  Mick laughed. “But it was still a great party. Everyone had fun, and by tomorrow no one will remember who puked and who didn’t.”

  “I’ll remember.” Faith dropped her hands to her lap. “I feel so stupid. This is the first time I’ve seen Melody in years and I…” She sighed and glanced up at the wall above the door, finding it hard to meet Mick’s gaze. “And I could have done without you seeing me like that, too.”

  “Kissing a douche canoe?” Mick asked, his voice cooler than before.

  “I meant the puking and pathetic part,” Faith said, still avoiding eye contact. “But yeah, the other part wasn’t too great, either.”

  “Well, if you were into the douche canoe, I’m sorry,” Mick said. “I didn’t end up getting his number for you. After you vomited on his shoes, he headed for the door pretty quick.”

  Faith forced herself to look back at Mick. “I wasn’t into him.”

  “Then why did you kiss him? Or was he lying about that part?”

  “He wasn’t lying,” she said softly, unsure what to say next. The longer she stared into Mick’s eyes, the less she understood why she’d kissed Trevor or Trey or whatever the heck his name had been.

  Sparks were already leaping between her and Mick, warming the room far more than the weak winter sunlight shining through the window. Even now—with her make-up no doubt smeared all over her face and her hair in a wild tangle—Mick was looking at her like he wanted to kiss her senseless. And kissing Tristan or whatever he was called had done absolutely zero to lesson Faith’s attraction to Mick. Meeting his eyes still made her fizzy inside.

  But maybe it was okay to fizz a little. Maybe she could fizz and still keep her head on her shoulders. Maybe she’d misjudged her capacity to handle the chemistry she and Mick generated together, and misjudged Mick, while she was at it. Any guy who would hold her hair back while she was sick and help her brush her teeth when she was too drunk to hold a toothbrush wasn’t the kind to run at the first sign of trouble.

  The thought made sense. Enough sense that Faith mustered the guts to say—

  “I kissed him because I was hoping it would help me stop thinking about kissing you.”

  “Did it work?” Mick asked, his gaze shifting from her eyes to her mouth and back again in a way that made her lips tingle.

  “Not even a little,” she said.

  Mick nodded, but didn’t smile or break the mesmerizing eye contact that was making it hard for her to pull in a deep breath. “So maybe you’re more interested in me than you let on?”

  “Maybe.” Faith’s heart skipped a beat as Mick stood and tossed his fleece blanket onto the chair behind him.

  “Does that mean you’ll go out with me?” He crossed to sit down on the bed beside her, summoning a groan from the futon frame and a flutter in Faith’s chest.

  She couldn’t help but be conscious that he was less than a foot away, and looking sexier than usual with a little morning stubble. She was even more aware that she was close to accepting her first date with a member of the opposite sex in over a year.

  “I don’t know,” Faith said, anxiety making her voice tight. “Are you sure you still want to go out? After seeing me at my grossest?”

  “You weren’t gross,” he said, shrugging when Faith raised a skeptical brow. “Okay, maybe a little gross. But cute too.”

  Faith scrunched her nose. “I’m not a cute kind of girl.”

  “Yes, you are,” Mick said, laughing when Faith rolled her eyes. “I find being asked if I think you’re the Mayor of Loserville ten times in a row particularly cute.”

  “Yeah, well…I’m not usually cute. Or drunk,” she said, pushing on, wanting Mick to know exactly what he was signing up for. “I’m direct. So direct sometimes I’m rude without meaning to be. I think acting like a lady is overrated, I cuss like a sailor when I’m pissed off, I only wear sparkly shit like this on rare occasions, and I haven’t been out on a date in so long I probably won’t remember how to do it.”

  “Oh, you’ll remember.” Mick’s mouth moved closer to hers, sending a rush of adrenaline dumping into Faith’s bloodstream. “I hear it’s like falling off a bike.”

  “You mean like riding a bike?” she asked, heartbeat thumping in her ears.

  “Yeah, like that,” Mick murmured. “Sorry, I get distracted when I’m this close to your lips.”

  “Yeah, me—”

  Faith’s words ended in a soft moan as Mick’s lips met hers. His fingers threaded through her hair and his tongue swept through her mouth—tasting of mint and salt and a hint of something sweeter—and her entire body went warm. It felt like she was blushing all over, all at once, a feeling so strange and delicious that she was still trying to assimilate the sensation when Mick pushed her back onto the pillows.

  And then he was on top of her, his chest pressed to hers, their legs tangling as their tongues met and one of his hands trailed up her ribs and his knee found hers and nudged it to one side. He settled between her thighs, and Faith could feel the way she affected him, feel how hard he was even through the thick fabric of their jeans, and it was electric and dizzying and terrifying all at the same time.

  “Wait,” she said, wrenching her lips from his, trying to ignore the way her body ached in the places where they touched. Blushing all over or not, she had to put a stop to this before it went way too far, way too fast.

  “Sure, yeah,” Mick said, breath coming faster as he propped himself up on his elbows to look down at her. “You okay?”

  “I think we should stop.” She focused on the motionless fan above his head, the smoke detector, the framed movie posters on the wall, anywhere except Mick’s eyes. “I’m not…I don’t usually do this before the first date.”

  Or on the first date, or third date, or fifth, she silently added, but didn’t say out loud. No need for Mick to know what a prude she really was, at least not yet.

  “I don’t either.” Mick brushed her hair from her forehead, but made no move to roll off of her. “I’m sorry. You just…you do something to me.”

  “Yeah, well, you do something to me, too,” she said, deliberately making the words sound more begrudging than she felt. “So I guess I’ll go out with you.”

  “You will?” Mick grinned.

  “One date,” Faith warned. “That’s all I’m offering. After that…we’ll see.”

  “One date sounds amazing.” Mick dropped a kiss to her cheek that made her feel weirdly shy. “That’s the best news I’ve had all year.”

  “The year’s only a few hours old, so I’ll take that for what it’s worth,” Faith said, pushing gently at his shoulders.

  Rolling around on the bed together was one thing; having a conversation while Mick was nestled between her thighs was another. She wasn’t ready for that, not by a long shot.

  “It’s worth dinner tonight, how about that?” Mick rolled off of her, but made no move to rise from the bed. Instead, he stre
tched out on his back with his hands behind his head, smiling up at Faith as she sat up and crossed her arms, willing all the tingling parts of her to calm the hell down.

  “I think I need a night to recover,” Faith said, knowing it was the right call, though a part of her was eager to see how their “try-out” date would go. “Tomorrow’s my first day back at work since I took vacation. I don’t want to be worn out by the end of my shift.”

  Mick grinned wickedly. “And why would you be worn out, Miller? Were you planning to ravage me all night long?”

  “No!” Faith smacked his thigh—his well-muscled thigh that she did not want to see out of those jeans, thankyouverymuch. “Sometimes I work three day shifts. This week, I go in at noon tomorrow and don’t get off until noon on Thursday, and my bunk is in an old utility closet where the pipes bang the entire time I’m trying to sleep.”

  Mick’s brows drew together. “They make you sleep in a utility closet?”

  Faith shrugged. “I don’t mind. At least I have some privacy and don’t have to listen to Kevin snore in the guys’ bunkroom all night. And it won’t be for much longer. The new firehouse is going to have six individual rooms so everyone on shift will have their own space.”

  “I’m glad you’re getting a new fire house,” Mick said. “Maybe when you guys move, my sister will spend less time making googly eyes at the other side of the street.”

  Faith laughed. “Jake is the same way. We’ve started singing Moon River every time we catch him staring out the window.”

  “That’s awesome,” Mick said with a smile. “I’ve been throwing rolls at Naomi every time I catch her giggling and waving, but I’ll start singing Moon River while I do it. It will be good for them. Help reinforce the message that drooling over each other in public is gross at their age.”

  Faith snorted. “It’s gross at any age.”

  “Agreed,” Mick said, nudging her knee with his leg. “But if you find you can’t help yourself, I’m not going to judge. I’m pretty drool-worthy.”