Page 109 of Faking It with the Firefighter

I groaned, tension leaving me in a rush, and then I picked her up and walked until my knees hit the couch. Then I laid her down across the cushions and took a second to look at her blond hair splayed over the fabric, her dirty T-shirt, her ripped jeans.

“I love you too,” I told her. “Love everything about you. The good, the bad, and the reckless.”

She smiled and toyed with the fly of her jeans. “I’m feeling a little reckless right now,” she admitted.

My own hands reached for my pants. “Oh?”

“Maybe I need a few rules to keep me in line.” She bit her bottom lip and looked at me with those big brown eyes, and I knew I hadn’t spoken a lie: it was her, or no one. And I’d do everything in my power to make sure that it would be her from now until the end of time.

“Rule number one,” I said, “You say my name when you come, and don’t you dare muffle it in the pillows…”

A while later,we finally made it to the kitchen. Abigail was in her tomato-sauce-stained shirt and that purple thong that had made my imagination run wild last week. Since she was bottomless, I remained bare-chested and slid on my pants.

I set the popcorn supplies down on the counter and tugged Abigail closer, crushing a kiss to her lips before I got to work. “Okay, I know where the pans are, but where are the lids?”

She tucked her hands under her armpits and shrugged. The movement made her shirt ride up, which made me glance at that thong again. My woman was sexy as hell. “I don’t think I have any,” she said.

Of course. Microwave popcorn was a staple in her house. I couldn’t expect her to have pan lids. I rubbed my hands together. “Well, then, we’ll have to make do.”

“While you’re doing that, I’ll pour us a glass of wine,” she said and trotted off to fetch a couple of glasses. I lit the gas stove and coated a pan in lots of oil, letting it heat up before adding the kernels.

She returned with two glasses of white wine and handed me one. “Cheers.” She clinked her glass to mine.

“Cheers.” We each sipped from our glasses, staring at one another. “What are we toasting?” I asked.

“To balance.”

“Balance?” That wasn’t what I’d expected to come out of her mouth.

“I shouldn’t have reacted so harshly; I should’ve heard you out. You’ve been so understanding of me, and I could be more understanding of you. But…you can stop being such a good-guy pushover all the time and actually take care of yourself for once.”

“Harsh,” I said, chuckling. “But true.” I stepped closer to her, cupping her face in my hands. “Life would definitely be easier if I stood up for what I wanted.”

“Which is?”

I smiled. “You.”

I’d never get sick of kissing Abigail. Our kiss grew deeper and deeper and her fingertips slinked up my chest and she ran her nails softly down my back. I responded in kind and pressed myself against her. She let out a little moan as my hand slid up her thigh and teased the purple lace between her legs. Hell yeah.

Crackle, pop, crackle, pop, POP!

We broke our kiss and turned toward the stove. Smoke billowed from inside the hot pan and in a hot second, erupted in flames. Abigail jumped back with a yelp.

Shit! That’s what I got for leaving a hot pan unattended. Adrenaline dumped into my veins, and my focus sharpened. “Where’s the extinguisher?”

Abigail’s voice was shrill. “I used it to hose down Blair, remember?”

“I need another pan,” I said, as Abigail screamed, “I got it!”

Her words made me glance over in time to see the sink sprayer in her hand, her index finger on the trigger.

“Abigail, no!” I reached for the sprayer, but it was too late. They say oil and water don’t mix, but when the oil is hot, water makes it explode. Which was exactly what happened.

Abigail screamed when the flames flared, the blaze reaching the cabinet above. “What do we do?” she yelled as the smoke detector blared outside of the kitchen.

“Call 9-1-1 and get Winston out of here.”

“But I’m in a thong!” she argued.

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