Play With Fire (The Men of Fire 1)

I finally get my ass through the door, and deciding that I’ll be spending the rest of my day with this girl, I hurry down to the far end of the store. I find the rope I’m looking for and loop it over my arm with a grunt. This shit is fucking heavy, but it’s not about to get between me and the angel who’s hidden away in this store. It’s like a treasure hunt, and I can’t wait to get started.

Making my way up to the cashier’s desk, I grin at Sarah, who’s been working here for at least ten years. We dated back in high school, and it lasted all of three seconds before she fell for Tom Randall. Though I wasn’t too broken-hearted, it was clear they were a better fit. After all, they ended up married right after senior year.

“What’s going on?” she says, grabbing the rope and hauling it closer. “Haven’t seen you around lately.”

“Been on shift,” I explain, taking a step back. “I’ll come back for that. Gotta get myself a date first.”

Sarah rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “Good luck,” she says with an amused scoff.

I wink, grinning back at her. “Don’t need it.”

Not wanting to miss another second, I start scanning through the aisles until I finally find the blonde goddess halfway down the paint section, and fuck me, I’ve never seen someone so lost.

I don’t know what the hell possesses me to do it, but as she searches through the selections, I find myself hovering at the end of the aisle, watching her like some kind of perverted stalker. Maybe I’m a fucking creep who’s about to take up stalking as a weekend hobby, or maybe she’s simply drawing me in. I don’t know. Either way, she’s fucking gorgeous, and the longer I get to take her in, the better.

What kind of upstanding man watches some random chick around the hardware store? Fuck me. My priorities are seriously screwed up, though luckily for me, it doesn’t seem as though she’s aware. In fact, she’s downright oblivious to everything around her.

It’s pretty fucking precious if you ask me.

I can only imagine what the boys would say about this. I will be getting shit for years if they ever find out.

Without a second of warning, her head snaps up, and she looks right at me before freezing.

Fuck. Caught.

Her brows furrow, and I see the exact second that she decides that I’m someone to be wary of. Her back tenses, her hand tightens on her handbag, and she takes a hesitant step further down the aisle.

Great. I fucking blew my chance now.

How the hell am I supposed to fix this?

Figuring I should appear to look like I actually belong here, I grab the closest tin of paint for Mom’s old porch. She won’t quit bugging me about it, and as much as it pains me to say, I need the brownie points after my prick of a little brother, Tanner, surprised her with a spa day. That sneaky bastard. He rides on into town with his club, gives her a fucking gift card, and disappears, yet he’s still her favorite when I’m the bastard on my hands and knees painting her fucking porch. How the hell did that happen?

Deciding that I must not be too bad, she gets back to searching for paints, and I watch as she picks out a shitload of pink. I scrunch my face. Who in their right mind would need that much paint? She has enough to paint the whole fucking town, and believe me, Avalon Lake is not exactly small. She grabs some gold, and I hold my tongue. If she added a little glitter, she’d have a unicorn massacre.

Who am I kidding? One word from this angel and I’d be putty in her hands. I can just see it now, me spending my only day off painting her world pink and gold. And it would be my fucking pleasure.

What the fuck is wrong with me? She’s just some chick. Move the fuck on, Bull. You don’t need this kind of shit in your life.

She turns around with her paints, and I realize I’ve been standing here like an idiot, fantasizing about some girl that I don’t even know for at least ten minutes. If I wasn’t a stalker before, then surely I am now.

Looking down at the tin of paint in my hand, I realize it’s not even close to the color I need for Mom’s porch, but do I give a shit? No. No, I certainly do not.

What the hell is wrong with me? This shit doesn’t happen to me. I’m more of a ‘get in, get out’ kind of guy. I don’t form attachments. Yet, this woman has me wanting to run away with her and keep her to myself on a deserted island, far away from any other man.