Hot For You (3 page)

It helped that Kitty knew what it felt like to be a woman in a male-dominated profession and that she wasn’t the sort of girl who neglected her friends when she hooked up with a guy. Even though she and her boyfriend, John, had moved in together a few months ago, Kitty still ran with Faith every week and had enlisted John—a fellow cat lover, and total sweetheart—to feed Faith’s cat when she was working a forty-eight to seventy-two hour shift.

Kitty was the kind of girl Faith could really talk to, and she wished they had connected sooner. But back in school, Kitty and Melody had been joined at the hip, and Faith hadn’t been interested in girlfriends.

Faith had spent her afternoons running wild with her three male cousins on their forty acres—riding four-wheelers, hunting squirrel, and building forts out of the various odds and ends her uncle hoarded in his old barn. By the time her aunt and uncle moved to Alabama, taking her cousins and partners in crime with them, Faith had been too busy proving herself in her new job to worry about friends. Gradually, her coworkers had become her friends, and later on, her family, and she hadn’t worried about a social life outside of the Summerville Fire Department.

Still, she was glad she and Kitty had reconnected. It was good to have a friend her own age, especially when it came to tracking down New Year’s Eve parties and eligible, kissable guys.

“All right, brace yourself,” Kitty said as they rounded the corner near the bowling alley and started toward an apartment above a shuttered bodega where the New Year’s Eve party was already in full swing. “Melody invited fifty people, so it’s going to be crowded. I guarantee you’ll be glad you wore a sleeveless shirt.”

“Right,” Faith said, her mouth suddenly feeling dry, yet sticky at the same time.

Even though the apartment was still a block away, she could already hear the pulsing throb of dance music. People were dancing in there—
dancing
, the only thing more stress-inducing than kissing. Faith was not a bump and grinder; she was a stand-in-the-corner-and-roll-her-eyes-at-the-people-dry-humping-on-the-dance-floor kind of girl. Hopefully she’d be able to find a guy of the same opinion and avoid any embarrassing wiggling to music in public.

A guy.
A
strange
guy she’d have to make some kind of conversation with before the kissing started.

Faith swallowed hard. “I can do this, right?”

“You can totally do this, and I’m so glad you’re here.” Kitty gave her arm a squeeze as they headed up the stairs toward the second-floor apartment. “With John out of town at that stupid convention, I was dreading making an entrance alone. And don’t worry, I’ll stick close.”

Faith nodded and tried to smile, but failed. Now that she was seconds away from being surrounded by other young twenty-somethings—twenty-somethings who had social lives and partied on a regular basis instead of hanging out at bars with firefighters a decade older than they were, or snuggling on the couch with their cat every Saturday night—she wondered what the hell she’d been thinking.

This wasn’t her. This was the
opposite
of her, and was probably going to be about as enjoyable as being electrocuted. Repeatedly.

She was seconds away from telling Kitty
adios
and making a run for it, when the door at the top of the stairs opened and Melody March appeared on the landing. The curvy blonde’s hair was teased into a huge bouffant. Combined with her cat’s eye eyeliner and black chiffon baby-doll dress, she looked like a nineteen fifties movie star, making Faith feel underdressed in her jeans and boots.

“Kitty and Faith!” Melody held out her arms, wiggling her fingers for them to hurry. “I’ve been watching for y’all from the window for an hour. Get up here and let me get you both a drink.”

Kitty laughed and fell into Melody’s hug with ease. The moment they parted, Melody reached out, drawing the taller Faith into her arms and squeezing tight.

“I’m so glad you could come,” Melody said, pulling back to smile up at Faith. “Kitty has told me so much about you. I know we’re all going to be great friends. Well, as long as you two don’t try to make me go running,” she amended with a laugh. “Because the only way I’m going running is if I’m being chased by zombies.”

“And zombies would probably be slow,” Faith said. “So even if they were chasing you, you still wouldn’t have to run.”

Melody grinned. “I like the way you think. Come on in, let me take your coats.” She ushered them inside, raising her voice to be heard above the music. “What can I get you? Beer, champagne, or some deceptively sweet punch that will knock you on your butt if you have more than two glasses?”

“Beer,” Kitty said. “But none of the light stuff. It tastes like pee.”

Faith’s eyes flicked from one side of the party to the other, relieved to see several clutches of people avoiding the dance floor. But there were still a sufficient number of partygoers bumping and grinding to make her feel on edge.

“I’ll have some of that punch,” she told Melody, figuring she could stand to be knocked on her butt a little.

“Great, be right back.” Melody turned, threading her way through the crowd toward the makeshift bar set up on the kitchen counter.

There were punch bowls and cups, every kind of drink container imaginable—from martini glasses to shot glasses to those giant red wine glasses Faith tended to break. The food spread on the other side of the room was fancy, too, giving the gathering a more elegant vibe than the average kegger. But then Melody was a professional caterer, and obviously had a leg up on other hostesses, and the space was very party friendly.

The apartment was the roomiest Faith had seen in a long time—a large open concept layout that gave people plenty of space to spread out. It was definitely packed, but it didn’t feel claustrophobic, and by the time Faith sucked down her first cup of punch and prepared to go looking for her second, she was feeling decidedly more relaxed.

“You need anything?” she shouted to Kitty, who shook her head and held up her still half-full beer before turning back to the guy she’d been talking moonshine cars with for the past twenty minutes.

Faith made her way toward the punch bowl with a bounce in her step, surprised to find that she was having a good time. She wasn’t dancing, but the music and the party vibe were fun, and she was enjoying chatting with the handful of guys who had set up camp with her and Kitty at the edge of the room.

Unfortunately, though, none of the guys she’d met so far were kiss-worthy prospects. They all seemed genuinely nice, not the sort who would be up for a no-strings-attached make out session. She needed someone else, someone with the same cocky swagger Mick had, the kind of guy who would think nothing of kissing her senseless and then walking away.

Mick wasn’t the one who walked away, and you know it.

Faith ignored the thought and ladled out another glass of punch before turning to retrace her steps.

The only reason Mick hadn’t walked away was because
she
had walked away first. He was only interested in her because she was hard to get. If she were to make the mistake of indulging her curiosity about Mick Whitehouse—finding out if his kisses were as intoxicating as she remembered, discovering if there were more to him than a nice sense of humor and a handsome face—she had no doubt he’d walk away so fast it would give her whiplash.

She’d seen it happen to her mom way too many times. Getting involved with a guy who made your head swim when you kissed him was a bad idea.

Speaking of swimming…Melody hadn’t been kidding about the punch.

Faith glanced down at her cup, surprised to find it already half-empty. She was going to have to slow down if she didn’t want to be unconscious on Melody’s chaise lounge before midnight. In fact, it might be a good idea if she grabbed a few chips and pretzels, something to soak up the alcohol before it went to her head. If she slipped outside onto the deck, she could cut around to the other side of the apartment to where the snack table was without setting foot on the dance floor. She might be having fun, but she wasn’t ready to venture into
that
unholy territory yet.

Kitty was still deep in conversation, so Faith eased around a group of guys discussing the last Falcons’ game, and headed toward the glass door leading out onto the deck. The apartment wasn’t huge; Kitty could find her if she needed her.

She stepped outside and paused, pulling in a deep breath of cold, head-clearing air, before turning and plowing face-first into a brick wall.

No, not a brick wall, she realized as she stumbled backward. A guy built like a brick wall. The behemoth’s heavily-muscled chest completely filled her vision, blocking her view of the other people hanging out on the deck behind him.

“Sorry.” Faith tilted her head back to look up at the wall’s head.

It was a decent head, with blue eyes, a strong jaw, and several eyebrow piercings. Or was that several eyebrows?

Faith squinted, relieved to find that the man possessed the requisite two eyebrows and a mere three piercings. Good. She wasn’t
that
tipsy.

“No worries, I’m Trent.” He held out a hand, which Faith clasped, letting her eyes roam up and down Trent’s body as they shook.

His arms were covered with tattoos that wound around and around his forearms before disappearing beneath the pushed-up sleeves of his black sweater. He was definitely a gym rat—you didn’t get muscles that defined without a heck of a lot of work—and somehow managed to exude swagger, even while standing still.

In other words, he was exactly the type of guy she’d come here looking for.

Their chance meeting should have made her happy. Instead, it made her stomach sink. Trent was perfectly good-looking and even smelled nice, but something about him turned her off.

Probably the something that isn’t Mick Whitehouse.

“Faith.” She tightened her grip on his hand and forced a smile, determined not to think about names that started with “M.” She’d done enough of that the past two weeks. The whole point in coming to this party was to move on and quit obsessing.

“Faith. That sounds familiar. Have we met?” he asked, holding onto her hand a beat too long before releasing her fingers. “Maybe at the gym?”

“I don’t think so,” Faith said. “I work out at my job.”

“Maybe
Touchdowns?
I’m there almost every Saturday afternoon.”

Faith shook her head. “No, I’ve never been there. I don’t get out much.”

Way to sound interesting, lame ass.

Trent smiled. “Me either. I spend most of my life at the gym or work. I run a bike shop outside Atlanta.”

“Cool,” Faith said, taking another sip of her drink, hedging while she tried to think of something else to say. “Bikes with spokes or bikes with motors?”

“Spokes,” he said. “But I own a chopper. You ride?”

Faith shook her head. “I’ve seen too many motorcycle accidents. I’m with the Summerville Fire Department and we assist on a lot of those calls.”

“So you’re an EMT?”

“I’m certified, but I’m a firefighter by job description,” Faith said, bristling the way she always did when people assumed a woman couldn’t be a fire
man
. “I carry heavy equipment, hack things apart with axes, throw people over my shoulders when I have to. That kind of thing.”

“Hot,” Trent said, shifting closer.

“It does get hot sometimes,” Faith said, masking her nerves with another drink.

He chuckled. “No, I mean it’s hot that you do that kind of work. That’s pretty brave.” He advanced another step. “Are you here with someone?”

“Um, no?” Faith winced as she realized the words had emerged as a question, but Trent didn’t seem to notice.

“Me, either.” He reached out, bracing his arm on the wall above Faith’s head, the same way Mick had before he kissed her in the gazebo.

But that night she’d been tingling all over, dying to know what it would feel like for Mick’s lips to touch hers. Now, she felt nothing but uncomfortable and pretty certain she was never going to be able to pull off Mission: New Year’s Eve Kiss, no matter how many glasses of punch she drank.

“We should hang out,” Trent said, leaning closer. “Do you like to dance?”

“Not even a little bit.” Faith’s tongue slipped out to dampen her lips. This guy was practically delivering a “forget about Mick” kiss on a silver platter. All she had to do was woman up, and pucker up.

Come on, Miller. Go for it!

“But we can hang out,” Faith continued, pulse speeding as she downed the last of her punch in one gulp and reached out, grabbing a handful of Trent’s sweater. “Or we can just make out.”

Trent’s eyes widened. “Sounds good to me.”

“Then kiss me, already.” Faith braced herself for the worst, but was relieved when Trent’s lips met hers and there was relatively little to complain about. His lips were too firm, and he was a little too aggressive with the tongue, but overall it was a perfectly competent kiss that made her feel…

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

No tingles, no sparkles, nothing but vague pleasure that Trent was big enough to block the wind and warm enough to ease the chill bumps from her arms. But when his hands found her hips, Faith knew she had to end it.

She didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. She and Trent weren’t going to be leaving the party together, and she wasn’t going to let him maul her in public. A kiss was one thing—she’d seen several couples making out in the corners of the room—but groping her was another.

“Stop.” Faith pulled her lips from Trent’s, blinking as the sky behind his head pulsed, the stars spinning no matter how hard she tried to focus.

“Okay,” Trent said, his hands coming back to her waist. “You want to get out of here? I’m staying with a friend, but I have a set of keys. We can go back to his place if you’re over the party.”

Faith shook her head and immediately regretted it. The stars spun harder, and Trent suddenly sprouted a third eye in the center of his forehead.

“Oh, no,” Faith mumbled as her stomach churned unpleasantly. “No, no, no.”

Suddenly, a familiar voice came from behind Trent’s massive back. “Get away from her.”