Firefighter's Virgin

Grandma let us talk about them as much as we needed to, but things were so warm, comfortable, and safe living with her that we could soon put those feelings in a box and seal them. We didn’t have to take them out and look at them unless we chose to.

I never chose to, but since Grandma died, I was forced to. The alcohol helped me forget and it also numbed the pain that came with losing her. I had so much repenting to do…on Thursday, but not until then.

I was out of scotch.

I pulled on a t-shirt and jeans and ran my fingers through my hair. Once I slipped on my black, leather boots I checked my reflection. There was no sign on my forehead that said “Fallen Priest.” I looked like any other 31-year-old guy. I grabbed my keys and went in search of a dark, quiet bar.

Chapter Four

Daphne

I held onto his arm as we walked. The night air was cool and refreshing, and I think I may have been sobering up…a little bit. We hadn’t walked far before he stopped at a two-story house that looked like it had been converted into walk-up apartments.

“This is me,” he said. “Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?”

“Oh no! I don’t…I mean, I…” I was suddenly afraid that “coffee” didn’t mean “coffee.” I don’t do random hook-ups in bars, but I was just drunk enough not to trust myself not to accept if he offered.

He laughed.

“Coffee is the only thing on my mind,” he said. “Trust me.”

When he looked at me with those soft, warm, green eyes, I did trust him. It might also be the four drinks on an empty stomach.

“Okay, maybe a coffee before I head home.”

Famous last words.

“Good,” he said, unlocking the bottom door. He let us in and we held onto each other and the wall as we made our way up the stairs to the second floor.

The heat and feel of his body on the narrow staircase overwhelmed all of my senses. If I’d had any left, I would have gone home right then. When he let go of my arm to unlock his apartment door, I was trembling.

He pushed the door open and said, “Welcome to my humble abode. Excuse the mess; I’m just moving in.” I stepped inside and looked around. There were boxes everywhere, but it wasn’t really a mess. It was more of an organized chaos.

“Where are you moving in from?”

“Boston,” he said, making his way to the small, open kitchen. I watched him make a pot of coffee. He filled out his jeans so nicely.

“Oh,” I said, not telling him I’d just moved from Boston, too. The next obvious question would be why and I was definitely not going to discuss that with a stranger.

“I have to pee.” That was the second time I’d spoken to this man about my bladder. That was another good reason for me to never drink again.

He laughed. I really liked the sound of it. I also loved the dimples and the little laugh lines around his eyes. “Follow me,” he said.

He led me a few steps down a short hall and we turned into what I could only assume was his bedroom. The bathroom was through the bedroom. Strange set up — and convenient if you were trying to get into a drunken girl’s pants.

I narrowed my eyes to let him know I was onto him. Unfortunately, my bladder was too full to back out. I wobbled into the bathroom and closed the door. There were still boxes on the counter in there, too. I thought about snooping through them, but he was probably still standing there waiting for me. I didn’t want to get caught.

I locked the door and pulled up my skirt. I started to sit down and suddenly remembered my panties. I pulled those down and sat. I did my business, washed my hands, and found the hot guy standing in the same spot waiting for me. I’m not sure why, but I suddenly blurted out,

“I don’t usually drink!”

He smiled knowingly and stepped towards me. “Neither do I,” he said. He was really close. Too close…yet, I didn’t want him to back up…not even a little bit. “I don’t usually do this, either.”

Before I could respond, he’d dipped his head down and our lips connected. He kissed me, tentatively at first, like he was waiting for me to pull away, or slap him. I didn’t do either.

The feel of his lips as they brushed across mine sent little jolts of electricity through me and started a fire in my belly. I did just the opposite of pulling away — I leaned into it and kissed him back. His lips were soft and full and tasted like sweet alcohol. I wanted more.

I let my lips fall open and I felt his tongue begin to probe my mouth. He tasted and licked and even sucked on my tongue as I melted into him. His strong arms were the only thing holding me up as my already woozy head became intoxicated by the touch and smell and taste of him.