Melt For Him(17)
But even so, there was definitely a kernel of truth to this ribbing. There were codes, there were lines, and he certainly didn’t need to cross them again.
Even though the crossing had been the best thing he’d had in ages, the only thing that had felt purely good.
Chapter Seven
“Pancakes! Who wants to bet I serve the most pancakes?”
Travis brandished a quarter, slipping it back and forth between his fingers. He was always betting on something or other. Usually the bets were much bigger and involved straights and flushes at executive card games he played all across wine country, in darkened rooms filled with cigar smoke and plenty of high rollers, made rich off vines and land. This morning, the bet was over which man from the shift would rack up the longest line and serve the most flapjacks at this morning’s fund-raiser at a nearby hospital.
Just your average day at the Hidden Oaks Fire Department. The work here was more focused on responding to medical emergencies, hosting blood drives, and conducting fire safety classes at local schools than it was about fighting fires. The sleepy little wine country town was mostly nonflammable, though the blaze a few weeks back had been an exception.
Becker hadn’t planned on joining the fire department when he’d moved here a year ago. He’d packed up his home in Chicago for Hidden Oaks because he needed a change. Hidden Oaks had been the perfect place for a new start. His financial adviser knew of an old pool hall in the middle of town that was prime real estate to be turned into a hip new bar. Becker signed the deal for the space that became the Panting Dog, and Hidden Oaks became his new home. For the first few months, he zeroed in solely on the bar.
But the lure of the firehouse proved too powerful to resist. It was a way of life. A calling, and so when the Hidden Oaks fire captain moved to Big Sur, Becker was offered the post. This town was much quieter than Chicago, which suited him just fine.
The trouble was he hadn’t eradicated the painful memories of the fire in Chicago just by moving away. They still clung to him like a film and showed no signs of abating. The what-ifs were relentless. He hated to admit it, but sometimes he wondered if maybe he should quit the firehouse. Maybe he’d never get his head screwed on straight. Every now and then, he flirted with the idea of being just Becker the bar owner. Maybe that’s why he liked being with Megan so much, because when he was simply the guy in the alley behind the Panting Dog, he wasn’t carrying around a shitstorm of guilt.
But he wasn’t a coward, and the thought of quitting ignited a fresh wave of shame. He didn’t want to be that guy. He wanted to be someone who could deal, who could manage, who could rise above.
Fortunately, today’s shift was all about pancakes and the calendar, and he damn well better be able to handle those two things.
“Is this even a contest?” Smith said as he strutted across the concrete floor, heeding the siren call of Travis’s challenge. “You know I’m winning hands down, and you’re going to be washing my truck for the next year.”
“You’re on,” Travis said.
“And I’m betting that neither of you serves the most,” Becker chimed in, trying to keep the mood light. “And you can put me down for heads or tails on that one.”
“Who are you betting on, then, boss?” Travis asked.
“Anyone else. Anyone else but you two peacocks. Now get out of here.”
“Aunt Jemima, here I come,” Travis said as they strolled to the red truck parked outside.
The other guys on shift were upstairs, so Becker was effectively alone in the firehouse, and immediately thoughts of Megan descended upon him. He was gripped by the memory of her beautiful body, of the soft skin of her thighs, of the way she’d finally let down her tough-but-playful guard when he was buried between her legs. She was so vulnerable then as she’d arched into him, her spine bowing, her hair spread out across a pillow, her hands grappling in his hair. He could get lost in her touch, in pleasing her, in bringing her to the edge of desire again. The way she responded to him, to his lips, his mouth, his touch, was both an intense turn-on and also a balm to the loop that played too often in his head. When he was with her, there was nothing else in his head but her.
Pleasing her had made him feel good. Made him feel great, even. Like a painkiller that numbed all the noise. He wanted to go back there, to lose himself in her.
He pushed a rough hand through his hair.
He’d have to run for ten miles tomorrow to get that woman out of his mind, especially since she’d be here soon to go over the calendar. But daily tasks would do the trick for now, so he went through his usual morning routine of checking the equipment on the engine and making sure everything was in its proper place, until he heard the rumbling sound of a motorcycle pulling into the parking lot of the station.