Finn
Summer was truly the best time of year and, as I headed away from the firehouse on a beautiful Friday night, a sense of right permeated my being. The sun was only just beginning to crest the horizon as we were just past the summer solstice—when the long, lazy days were the norm.
I eased my pickup truck to a smooth stop at the red light on the Number Seven highway. I was headed into Vancouver to enjoy some nightlife. Having the next three days off meant plenty of relaxation time. Time to head to a bar on Davie Street in downtown Vancouver and see if I might get lucky. Those bars were only an hour away from my hometown of Mission City, British Columbia, but a world away in temperament.
Vancouver was a lively, bright, and vibrant metropolis.
Mission City was a sedate, friendly, and very small town.
I loved both for different reasons.
Plus, on Sunday, I’d head over to the Abbotsford Hospital and visit the pediatric oncology wing. Nothing made kids light up like seeing me wearing my firefighter department T-shirt and talking about blazes I’d fought.
The sound of a motorcycle’s powerful engine arrived before the actual bike. As it came along the driver’s side of my shiny new truck, I cast a casual glance over at both the bike and the rider.
Holy hell on both counts.
The sleek crotch rocket shone in the waning sunlight.
The equally sleek rider, though, was really who caught my eye. Slender and ripped.
I mightn’t have been able to be certain under the black leather…but I knew. Had seen enough gorgeous men in my time to spot a work of art. A thing of beauty.
He turned his head to face me. All dark skin, scruffy chin—with just a hint of silver in his stubble—and stunning cheekbones. His mouth begged to be kissed. Finally, behind those mirrored sunglasses, I was certain I’d find dark-brown eyes.
Unexpectedly, he slid his sunglasses down an inch and regarded me over the rims.
Holy hell.
Yep. Dark brown and stunning.
He looked me up and down.
All copper-red, short-cropped hair, long pale arms and, behind my own sunglasses, dark-blue eyes.
After the moment where our gazes held, he turned and took off.
Crap, green light.
And then,damn. Missed opportunity.
Because I so would’ve forgone a trip to Vancouver to tap him. Or better, have him tap me…
On that thought, I started to pick up speed. Attending too many accidents on this highway had me driving carefully. Usually, things didn’t end well when people were speeding. Occasionally, they didn’t end well for the wildlife.
Like the bear who’d been hit by a truck.
Seth Jacobs—a local RCMP officer—had insisted I check the bear thoroughly. No balls? Female bear who might have cubs nearby.
I snickered.
I’d pointed out to the venerable Royal Canadian Mounted Police member thathehad the gun.
We’d checked together.
Yeah…balls.
We’d arranged for the bear to—
