Fireman Daddy (Crescent Cove 8.50)

“Right.” I couldn’t help the quick pang of disappointment. “Of course.”

I flipped open the envelope and gaped at the long list of offenses. I scanned the three pages, my blood boiling over each small infraction. And finally, the last one got me.

“The pool table isn’t regulation-sized for the space?” I slapped the pile of papers against his chest. I was so angry I couldn’t even form words. My job was to create ads full of them, yet I was at a complete loss. “You—you…bully!”

He caught them against his very hard belly. “Now, Freckles, I’m just doing my job.”

“You’re being completely ridiculous. Is this because I’m a woman?”

His eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes went flat. “No, these are real infractions.”

His voice was so matter of fact. Rage swirled around me like a dust storm.

Before I said something I might regret later, I stomped up the stairs. There was fresh wood leading up to the door. It wasn’t stained like the rest of the ancient porch, but there had been effort put i

nto making the boards match up.

That attention to detail should have slowed my roll, but then I slammed open the door and saw the pool table. The pool table I’d played at for most of my summers as a teen.

Where Danny and Jake had taught me to play, no less.

Mostly Jake. Danny never had a handle on the angles like Jake. My ex used to get bored and wander off to try to charm Rita into giving him beer.

Memories tumbled free. Laughter and the jukebox playing well into the night. Curfew bent on dozens of nights, thanks to endless quarters fed into the table or the juke.

I walked around the perimeter and grabbed one of the pool cues off the wall. I heard Jake’s heavy boots on the scarred floor, so I knew he’d followed. “And just how is this not regulation?” I swung it above the green felt recklessly. The chalk-stained tip grazed his belt buckle.

To Jake’s credit, he didn’t even flinch. He simply took off his sunglasses and tucked them in the pocket of his pristine white T-shirt, then tossed his jacket on the foosball table. He eased the cue out of my hands and circled the table slowly.

I backed up into the wall.

“Your proof is right there.”

I frowned up at him. “What, that you’re crowding me?”

“There should be a minimum of five feet on every side of the pool table.” He stepped in front of me, and the space shrank. His shoulders seemed extra massive with the denim shirt over his white T-shirt. My skin flushed from the heat coming off him.

Memories battered me. Jake had always run hot. His skin had been like a furnace on all those late nights on his bike when he’d rescued me after I’d fought with Danny. Keeping me warm and safe.

His chest brushed along the buttons of my dress. “Does it seem like there is five feet of space right here, Freckles?”

No, there was no damn space.

And I didn’t mind.

Five

Her chest heaved and our height difference gave me a damn good point of view. Erica had been blessed by the gods in the breast department. Not too big, but more than a handful for sure. They pushed at the black material of her dress, begging to be freed.

My mouth watered, and my dick was definitely on board with that idea.

“Why did Sharkey get away with it for years?”

My gaze locked on her lush lower lip. Her lipstick had worn away, leaving her natural pink. I wanted a taste so fucking bad. I’d dreamed of that mouth throughout my formative years, and now that we were very much adults, my imagination made things even worse.

Because I knew the pleasures that could be held in just a kiss. As a teen, I’d been too focused on the end result. Too impatient to explore and enjoy.

Now I wanted to snack on her mouth, her breasts, and most definitely, her pussy. The borrowed sundress wasn’t quite her style. Probably out of Frankie’s closet, based on the length.