****
Eric
My head tilted backward as I took the last pull of my beer. My eyes surveyed the room, watching the women and men mingling around, likely scoping who they’d take home that night. That thought had my eyes floating back to the bar at the woman tending to customers. Angela. I drank her in without making it obvious. I felt a tightening in my groin when her succulent lips parted on a full-on laugh. Her head fell back, showing off her asymmetrical cut. Short dark brown with a few purple highlights was pushed from her forehead. Her skin the color of pecans glowed under the lights of the bar. She stood about five-five, but her presence was so much larger, with her bubbly and demonstrative personality. As the owner of the bar, everyone knew Angela, and it was her outgoing spirit that made this place what it was and kept people coming back.
Making a decision, I rose from my chair to head straight to the bar. Unfortunately, I was cut off when a large figure came between me and the bar.
“Going somewhere?”
I closed my eyes briefly and sighed before placing my empty bottle on the table
“What can we do for you, Sean?” I asked, as the rest of the guys stood.
Sean surveyed the five of us at the table and a smirk I didn’t like appeared.
“It’s not what you can do for me. It’s what I’m going to do for you.”
“Ah hell. Cut the shit and tell us what we owe you,” Don interjected. He wasn’t a guy who liked beating around the bush, especially when it came to losing.
Sean chuckled. “All right, gentlemen. Since you lost our little wager, we of Rescue Two propose that you attend a spinning class at the gym on Oakland this Tuesday morning.”
My eyebrow spiked up. “Spinning?” I turned to look at Corey, Don, and the two other guys with us. They all wore the same skeptical expression I was.
“I’m not attending any goddamn spinning class,” one guy muttered under his breath.
“Right? Not having my ass in the air like some pansy,” Don added.
“Aww, the poor boys from Rescue Four afraid of a little spin class?” Sean taunted.
“We’re not afraid of a damn thing. We also know you’ve got more up your sleeve.” That was Corey.
Sean chuckled, indicating he indeed had more in store for us. “Now that you mention it...”
“Here we fucking go,” Don mumbled.
“You will attend the ten o’clock class… in tutus.”
“Get the fuck outta here!”
“Fuck off!”
“Are you shitting me?”
The chorus of curse words sounded off around the table. I shook my head. I knew it would be some dramatic bullshit. I was just as pissed as the rest of the fellas. Part of me was angry at myself since I was driving the rig this morning. The rig that got us to the scene just a couple seconds behind Rescue Two.
“A deal is a deal. Time to pay the piper.”
“I got your piper right here!” Don grabbed his crotch, thrusting his hips aggressively.
That made Sean nearly double over in laughter. Here’s the thing about firefighters?we’re two things: assholes and competitive. The combination of which can sometimes be dangerous or get us into fucked up situations such as our current dilemma.
“Tuesday, ten o’clock at Oakland Gym. Wear tutus. And don’t be late.” He pointed his finger in our direction.
“Where the fuck are we supposed to find tutus?” Corey asked.
“Right? I’m not going to the damn tutu store to buy one,” Riley, one of the other Rescue Four guys with us, yelled out.
“Don’t worry. We’ll drop some off at the station for you,” Sean assured, still laughing.
