Play With Fire (The Men of Fire 1)

“I think you’re underestimating him,” she tells me. “I saw something in him. He really likes you. Like, really likes you.”

“Okay,” I scoff as we walk out of Coby’s room and into Ryan’s to do exactly the same thing. “I think you’re losing your mind. You know, I saw him get a random text after midnight? Now, I might be slightly out of the game, but I know what a text message at that time of the night means, and I am not going to allow myself to fall for a guy like that. He’s trouble. He admitted that much himself.”

“What do you expect?” she says. “A guy who looks like that is going to get plenty of ass, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s a bad guy. He just likes sex—all guys do. Besides, if you’re holding out for a guy who’s taken all of three women in his life, has a minivan, and not a hint of trouble, you’ll be bored and unsatisfied.”

I scoff and get busy picking out a pair of pajamas to put in Ryan’s overnight bag. “You know that’s not what I want, but I just don’t think the guy that I start dating should be quite so … experienced.”

“You calling him a whore?”

“Yes,” I laugh.

“And what evidence do you have to back up your claim?”

“The booty call text,” I say. I mean, has she not been listening this whole time? Am I talking to a brick wall?

“That text could have been from his mom saying her toilets are clogged for all you know,” she scoffs. “Look, all I’m saying is that you should give him a shot, see where it goes.”

Damn it. I hate it when she’s right, but I’m not about to admit that to her. She’ll never let me live it down. As for giving him a shot, I don’t know. That’s a risky game, a very risky game.

I walk out of Ryan’s room and head into the living room to fix us some lunch. She walks out behind me a few moments later with the two overnight bags over her shoulder. She dumps them on the table and walks through to the living room before collapsing down onto the couch. “Shit,” she groans. “My legs really are hurting. I doubt I’ll be able to work tonight.”

I cringe. I love my best friend but her work is a little … different.

During the day, she has her adult store which keeps her busy. Considering it’s not a huge town we live in, her store is doing really well, and I’m so damn proud of her. By night though, she’s paid big dollars by top-notch companies to trial their uhhh … toys. She then posts her review on her blog to her thousands of followers, and the rest is history.

I hate to admit it, but her reviews are fucking hilarious and sometimes a little too detailed. She has a huge following, which means a few creepy fucktards sending her unsolicited messages.

“Don’t tell me you’re ‘working’ tonight?” I groan, knowing she’ll have my babies there.

“I’ll wait until they’re tucked in bed, and I’ll keep it quiet.”

“I swear,” I warn her. “If Ryan comes home telling me that Aunt Zo Zo was screaming naughty words in the middle of the night again, there’s going to be trouble.”

“Well,” she winks. “Let’s just hope I’m not the only one screaming naughty words tonight.”

I let out a groan. “I’m not going on a date with him,” I say, repeating myself for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Uh-huh,” she grins, lying back on the couch and pulling out her phone.

I walk into the living room a moment later with lunch, and I balance her plate on her stomach. Zoey instantly dives in before turning her phone around to face me.

I look up and read over the text showing on her phone.

Jet – What’s up, babe? Got plans tonight?

“What am I supposed to do with that?” she grumbles around a bite of her chicken salad.

I grin back at her. “I’ll give Bull a shot if you do the same for Jet.”

“Come on,” she groans. “That’s not fair. You know that’s not how I work.”

I roll my eyes. “You know, one day you’re going to have to stop whoring around and find a guy to put a baby in you.”

“And you think Mr. Hot as Hell fireman is going to be that guy?” she questions. “Be real. You saw him. He is not the guy you settle down with. He's the one who rocks your world and introduces you to the devil. In fact, he probably is the devil.”

“Why do you say that?” I question. “You know, you still haven’t actually told me what went down on your date.”

“Haven’t I?” she gasps in horror, outraged at her own actions.

“No, you haven’t, and I’ve been waiting patiently, thinking that maybe you were holding back for some ridiculous reason, but come on, this is just getting out of hand.”