Page 65 of Burning for Alexander
“He was the firefighter who died,” I whispered. “The one I told you about.”
Judd’s head swiveled to me in surprise. “Shit, Alex. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize the two of you were together.”
I didn’t correct him because I felt like if I admitted we hadn’t actually been together, he’d think my grief at losing the man was an overreaction.
“I’m trying very hard to be over him,” I admitted. “But it’s not as easy as it sounds. And I… I guess what I’m really not over is this fear that it could happen again. That I might fall for someone, and just when things are going amazing…” I broke off with a headshake.
I’d never admitted that out loud before, not even in my own brain, and part of me couldn’t believe I’d just admitted it now. Tohim. I laughed softly. “Boy, I am a barrel of laughs tonight, huh? Anyway—” I tried to shift my feet, to put a little distance between us.
Judd laid a hand on my ankle, holding me in place. His expression was surprisingly empathetic. “I know exactly how you feel. It’s similar when you’ve been ghosted by someone you cared for deeply.”
“The ex,” I said knowingly. “Do you… do you want to talk about it?”
“Maybe later. Right now, I want to ask how the fuck you’re still a virgin when you were dating a firefighter. We’re not known for being timid misses.” He winked and took a final bite of pizza before leaning forward to toss his plate on top of the pizza box. Then he sat back and reached for my foot to begin rubbing it.
“Oh, I… well…” I felt my cheeks get hot the way they always did when we spoke of my lack of experience. I didn’t want to admit I’d never met my “lost firefighter” in person, so I hedged. “I guess I wasn’t ready. I was young, too. It was a while ago. In my early twenties.”
He nodded. “Losing someone so young is hard. I can see why you didn’t date for a long time after.”
“That… and moving to Legacy to start Timber.”
“Yeah, tell me more about that. I know it’s a historic building and you spent time renovating before opening.”
I launched into one of my favorite topics: the LGBTQ history of the Timber building. We ended up talking for a long time until I happened to mention Mattie’s upcoming wedding.
“You don’t sound excited for her,” Kincaid said. “Is the guy a dud?”
“No, god no. We like him a lot. I just… I haven’t left Timber for that long before, and I know it’s going to be hard.”
Kincaid lifted an eyebrow. “You a little controlling, Marian? Is that it?”
“Says the guy who commanded me to choke on his cock an hour ago,” I said, nudging him in the gut with my toes.
His laughter made all of my shoulder muscles loosen, and I found myself relaxing even further into his sofa.
“Hey, some of the most controlling people like to give it up in bed. It can be freeing.” His eyebrows bounced. “Want me to free you, Firebug?”
He ran his hand up the leg of my pants, his warm palm massaging my calf enough to make my cock perk up.
“Honestly, I want to very badly, but I’m about two blinks away from becoming one with your sofa,” I murmured. “My dick saysyes, please, while my eyes sayg’night. So I should probably go now before I fall asleep at the wheel.”
“You’re not going anywhere this late while you’re sleepy. Let’s go.”
He pushed my feet off his lap and stood, reaching for my hand and pulling me up beside him. Then he half-carried me to bed.
Once we were snuggled together in the cold sheets, I thought of something. Kincaid had always low-key panicked about me driving at night.
“Did your parents die in a car accident?” I asked in a soft voice.
He paused for a moment. “No. House fire.”
I felt a wave of prickly numbness wash over me, leaving me dizzy. “Judd.” What else was there to say? “Judd.” This time, it came out high-pitched and emotional.
His arms tightened around me. “It was a long time ago, Alex.”
I shifted up so I could bury my face in his neck. “I’m so fucking sorry,” I said, feeling and hearing the thickness in my throat. “Were you…” I couldn’t even say the words.
“In the house? Yeah. Obviously, I got out. They didn’t.” Hetouched the scars on his arm, and I realized they weren’t from his job. It was the other way around. He had the job because he’d been through something terrible. Unimaginable.
