Eager… Just how I like ’em.
I chuckle to myself as I read the message, which is a response to one of my pictures.
FireInMyVeins: Great song. Saw him perform it live when it first came out.
Interesting choice for an introduction message, but I can dig it.
KnockinBoots:Damn, pretty sure I was just a youngin’ when that song came out. Maybe instead of calling you Fire Daddy, I should call you Granddaddy Fire instead. *wink emoji* *smirk emoji*
Hopefully, this mystery man has a sense of humor.
After a minute passes and it still shows unread, I close out of the app and finish chopping up the cantaloupe. As soon as I’m done, I’m right back to ogling his pictures and that damn video. The badass compass tattoo on his ribs is hot. And the hand trailing down his chest looks like he definitely knows the meaning of hard work, which will always be a huge turn on for me. Somebody with a strong work ethic and willingness to get their hands dirty will catch my eye ten out of ten times. As somebody who has been expected to pull his weight on my family’s ranch since I was old enough to walk and talk, I’ve come to learn the squeaky clean, button-up type of people will never do it for me.
Neither will someone who expects life to be handed to them on a silver platter. I can’t relate to somebody with that kind of mindset, which I guess isn’tthatbig of a deal, given the fact I don’t do relationships of any kind, so relating to them isn’t a huge priority. But relatability aside, it’s also a turn-off, which is probably why the sight of his large, rough handsliding down his fuzzy abdomen is so damn hypnotizing, and why I can’t stop drooling over him and wishing there was more. My mouth waters every single time I get to the end of the video, when his hand dips below his boxers, giving me the briefest sneak peek of a thick patch of dark hair.
Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to see what that patch leads to.
If I have any say in the matter, I’ll be finding that out in no time. By this afternoon, preferably. That is, if he doesn’t get offended by my response. Who knows? Maybe pointing out our hefty age gap will freak him out. I’ve bagged my fair share of older men before, even a couple of silver foxes—there’s just something about a seasoned man, with a whole lot of life experience under his belt, that makes my dick hard like nothing else can. I can confidently say most of them don’t give a shit about an age difference, but there are the occasional few who prefer not to acknowledge it for whatever reason.
Luckily, I don’t have to wait long to find out which side he swings on the pendulum, as a new message from him pops up a moment later. Despite knowing nothing about this guy, other than the fact that he has a deliciously husky chest and he’s, much to my liking, pro-bush, I’m drawn to him and find myself wanting his response to be flirty rather than put off. Before I have a chance to find out one way or another, an acrid scent fills my nostrils. Without even looking, I already know what I’m going to find as I spin around.
“Shit! Fuck!” Feet planted in place, I stare at the stove, wide-eyed, my hands held up in front of me as my mind blanks. As I watch the little yellow and orange flames blaze around thereallyfucking burnt bacon, I’m frozen for a moment.
There’s a fucking fire.
A fire!
What do I do?
In school, you’re taught the proper procedure in case of a fire. Firefighters come out to the school, walking kids through a plan, step by step, even sending them into a dark portable filled with fog that’s meant to resemble smoke and have us find our way out safely—which is honestly a little fucking intense for elementary school, if you ask me—so, I should know what to do. Yet here I am, standing in my kitchen like amoth to a goddamn flame.
Shit.
“Okay, we got this,” I mutter aloud as I open the drawer beside the stove and grab a potholder. “It’s a small fire. No biggy. You’ve handled worse. You’re a fucking cowboy, for Christ’s sake.” I wave the potholder over the flames while blowing on them with my mouth, but it’s not doing much of anything. “Fuck!”
Okay, it’s fine. Plan B, it is.
Finding my phone, I pull up a number I know can help me. The line starts ringing as I place the call on speaker before setting it down on the counter next to the stove. My heart’s beating so fast, you’d think there was a wild herd of cattle fleeing in a wild stampede behind my ribcage. I keep blowing and waving the mitt over the flames until the line connects, my best friend, Remi’s, deep voice coming through.
“Little early for a call, isn’t it, Hol?”
“There’s a fire!” I blurt out as I toss the potholder off to the side and place my hands on my hips while I stare at the phone.
“What?” Remi hisses. “The fuck ya mean, there’s a fire? Where?”
“On my stove. I was making bacon and got a little distracted.”
“Did you call 9-1-1?”
“No, I called you.”
Remi huffs a dry laugh. I imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Dude, why the fuck would you call mebeforecalling 9-1-1?”
My brows dip. “Uh, because you’re a firefighter? And who would they send here? Firefighters. I’m savin’ us both time by cuttin’ out the middleman.”
“Not really how that works, but whatever. Your world, Hollis. We’re just livin’ in it.”
“Damn right, it is.” I chuckle. “Now, are you goin’ to help me so I don’t burn my house down?”
