Firefighter's Virgin

“Sure, okay,” Gabrielle answered as she twisted her tongue around her ice cream cone. I was mesmerized by her tongue, curling like a kitten’s around the lucky fucking soft serve that melted into her mouth.

My cock begged to join the party, but I talked him down. Well, almost down. He was definitely aware of Gabrielle’s presence.

My fingers interlocked with hers as we walked. “Anything interesting happen to you this week? Except for, you know, becoming Mr. Skye. James Skye?”

“Are you ever going to let that go?” I didn’t really want her to. It made me feel like a superhero spy or something. Like getting her number had been me completing some sort of mission. I guess deep down inside, all men want to feel that.

“Not a chance, Mr. Skye.” She pushed her sunglasses to her forehead and wriggled her eyebrows at me. It was the realest gesture a woman had made to me in a long time.

“Well, Ms. Ralls. The answer is no, nothing really. You’d think that the life of an NFL player would be much more interesting. I went to the gym with Ryder and yeah...” I spent time with Harper, but we were miles away from that conversation.

“That sounds scintillating. Tell me more.” She l

aughed.

“Oh, it was.” I leaned in like I was about to tell her some big secret. “He’s a big softie. Always grunting through his sets.”

She stopped dead and called out to the empty sand. “Extra, extra read all about it. Ryder is a big softie. Stop the presses!”

Gabrielle had a goofy side. I’d always hated goofy, but she wore it well. “Yeah, yeah. Enough with your big mouth.”

“You like my big mouth. You’d like it even more if—” She squealed as I hoisted her up over my shoulder and walked her to the water.

“You had one free pass, Ms. Ralls. And you’ve already used it, so it seems a swim in some cool water is in order.” She hammered her tiny fists on my back as she laughed her protests.

“Don’t you dare, James! I’m serious, put me down!” She could hardly catch her breath.

“You had more than enough warning,” I told her as my feet hit the shoreline.

“I surrender. I do. I solemnly swear that I was up to no good!”

Jesus, did she just quote Harry Potter to me? I set her down. “Mischief managed.”

Her face turned incredulous as I completed her quote. “You are something else, Mr. Skye.”

I tugged on her ponytail like a middle-schooler. “As are you, Gabrielle. As are you.”

We stood in silence for a beat before she reached for my hand and laced our fingers together. “So, uh, who is Ryder?”

“Do you know nothing about the team?” She honestly expected me to believe that she knew none of us?

She shrugged and stared out at the ocean. “I don’t know nothing; I just don’t know much. I prefer it that way.”

“Ryder is my wide receiver.” I doubted that the information meant much to her. “And my best friend. We met in college and sort of stuck together, you know?”

She tilted her head and looked at me contemplatively. “Yeah, I do, actually. My best friend is Heather. We met when I was in my freshman year. She’s older than I am.”

“No shit; Ryder is three years older than me,” I told her.

Her eyes lit up, though it seemed like there was some kind of challenge in them. “I win then; Heather is 28. She’s four years older than me.”

“Figures that we’d both have best friends who were older.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why is that?” She seemed confused.

“I don’t know you. I don’t know your story, but something tells me that we were both forced to grow up way before our time.”

I didn’t have any fucking clue where that came from. I didn’t do emotions. I didn’t do any kind of deep, aside from the balls deep variety.