Would it have changed anything? Probably not. I’d still be here, fantasizing over the man who likely thinks I’m a crazy stalker for moving to his town.
Muffling my groan as another wave of embarrassment hits me overthatrealization, I set my phone down and squeeze my eyes shut. God, what he must have thought at seeing me again. Well, at least I can be confident I’ve ruined any chance of him wanting to strike up anything more with me. Between the possibility of me being a crazy stalker combined with the single mom status that makes guys like Sawyer sprint in the other direction, there’s not a chance he’s going to ever want to acknowledge my existence again.
But lying here with my eyes shut, an image of Sawyer’s photo from the calendar seared into my brain, I have to admit, there’s no way I’ll be able to forget him. And I know that every time I see him around town, which is bound to happen in a place as small as Dogwood Cove, no matter how hard I plan on trying to avoid the man, it’ll be a reminder there are good guys in the world. Good guys who give good orgasms.
Getting up, I go to my closet and reach for a locked box on the top shelf. There’s only one thing that will help me sleep at this point, when I’m still feeling frustrated. But a different kind of frustration, if you know what I mean.
Making my selection — a long black vibrator that hits in all the right spots, although not quite as well as Sawyer’s dick did — I lock my bedroom door and settle back in bed. Taking a deep breath, I try to push thoughts of the firefighter out of my mind.
But as soon as the first vibration hits my clit, I fail, and when my trusty battery-operated boyfriend brings me to a quick and dirty climax only minutes later, there’s no escaping the hushed word that falls from my lips.
“Sawyer.”
Chapter eight
Sawyer
How I let myself get suckered into running one of the BC Wildfire Fighter new recruit boot camps, I will never know.
I’ve volunteered my time to fighting wildfires for several years. It’s how I met Derek and Boone, and there’s no denying the importance of the work, especially as the fire situation worsens every year. But as I move up in rank in Dogwood Cove, my priority has been my home station and crew.
But the man who runs the entire wildfire training program reached out to me personally, saying he was short an instructor. The next thing I knew, I was hopping on a plane to the town in the BC interior where the boot camp is run a few times each year.
The weeklong training session was fun, but also tiring, hot, sweaty, and at times, a stark reminder of what can go wrong in this job if your mind isn’t fully focused. Some of these recruits need to get their heads out of their asses and realize the fire doesn’t give a shit about whatever drama you have going on at home. The fire will eat that drama for breakfast and use it to grow into an even bigger bastard that needs to be extinguished.
Deciding to tack on a couple of days in Vancouver to catch up with the boys was a given, as was coming to this bar tonight. I need a distraction, someone to help clear the smell of wood smoke out of my mind for a few hours.
But we’ve been at this nightclub for over an hour, and no one has caught my attention. Or maybe the better word isheldmy attention. There’s plenty of ladies here tonight; I’ve taken a few out on the dance floor for a spin. Yes, I dance. Quite well, I might add. It’s my backup weapon if the smirk ever fails. Not that it does, but you know. A man’s gotta have options.
And this man had a younger sister that wanted to learn how to dance when she was younger, forcing all of her brothers to learn as well. Thanks, Kat.
Right now, I’ve got one hand resting lightly on the hip of a redhead who’s grinding her ass back into my crotch. The music is pumping through my veins and I’m feeling loose from the couple of drinks I’ve already had. This girl could be fun, even if my dick isn’t responding to her at all. Then she spins around and yanks my head down to ask if I want to buy her another drink, and her rank breath hits me, making me fight back a gag.
No, thanks. Besides, I’m not so sure I want a redhead tonight, anyway.
Now, a blonde…
Ah, for fuck’s sake. No. I’m not here to think about the cute little angel that decided to take overmyhometown,andmy sanity.
I manage to get away from dragon breath without any issue, especially seeing as some other dude was obviously biding his time and wasted none of it swooping in to spin her back out on the dance floor. Now unencumbered, I wander over to Derek, who’s leaning against a post, surveying the crowd.
“Swing and miss?” he asks, sipping on what I know is a Jack and Coke. He’ll move on to beer after this, seeing as one drink is all he can handle. Why else would his nickname be Lightweight? The baseball analogy makes me grin. Derek’s a die-hard Vancouver Tridents fan, and even with my brother being a former pro-hockey player, I find myself preferring the old ball game as well.
“Nah, didn’t even take a swing. Not feelin’ that one.”
He just nods. “Cowboy already left with the girl he’s been seeing.”
“Cowboy’s seeing a girl?” I ask incredulously, but Derek just shrugs.
“Guess so.”
“Huh, weird. Are we still doing breakfast at the diner tomorrow?” I ask, draining my glass.
Derek fixes me with an incredulousare you a dumbasslook, but I just smirk. “Are you seriously asking that?”
My shoulders lift and I can’t help but needle the guy. “I mean, it’s been a while. Maybe tastes have changed.”
“Fuck off, asshole,” he grumbles, glaring at me.
