Page 2 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

“Hey!” The girl in the veil squawked and dove after the trophy. “I stole that fair and square.”

The girl in hot pink held on tight to it. “Back off, Rachel. I earned it with my outstanding bitchiness.”

Laughing, the two girls pretended to tussle over the silly prize. Rachel, thought Fred. Her name is Rachel. The other two girls took sides, raucously rooting them on. Oh yes. Seriously buzzed.

Fred, watching their antics, heaved a sigh, which hurt his ribs. He was too sore for this. But he’d been carrying that trophy and he knew how cheaply it was constructed. He knew what would happen next. He rose to his feet, wincing all the way, and stationed himself strategically behind the girl in the veil. Sure enough, the thing flew apart, the statuette in the hands of Hot Pink, its base in the hands of Bridal Veil.

Rachel stumbled backward, right into Fred’s arms. He absorbed the impact of her petite body and sputtered against a mouthful of bridal veil.

“Oops! I’m so sorry!” The girl righted herself, pushing away from him. Suddenly his arms held no silky, warm presence. He swiped the veil out of his vision and found himself looking into wide, concerned eyes of an unusual deep indigo color. Two spots of pink burned in her cheeks. “Are you okay?” she asked him. “Did I hurt you? You look like you’re in pain.”

“I’m fine,” croaked Fred, whose ribs were throbbing. “Are you okay?”

“Just embarrassed.” She leaned toward him intimately, a little wobbly. He caught that fresh fragrance again, like morning rain in a rose garden. “I really shouldn’t ever, ever drink. And usually I don’t. But it’s a special occasion, you know. And Cindy made me wear the veil, which means I have to do what she says. According to her rules. ’Cuz she’s the bride.”

Mulligan came over and clapped a hand on Fred’s shoulder, harder than he had to. “Freddie can take it. He’s a stud. That’s what we call him, actually. Stud. Not just any guy can win this.” He hoisted the trophy high in the air. “Champion in the Betty Crocker Bake-off.”

Fred shot him a baleful look.

“That doesn’t look like someone baking,” pointed out the curvy blond girl, Cindy the bride. “Unless that’s a rolling pin in his pants.”

“Fred,” Mulligan whispered loudly in his ear, “I’m in love. Can we party with these girls for a while?”

Rachel overheard. “No,” she said. “Absolutely not. Right, girls? Bachelorette parties aren’t supposed to have boys.”

“Unless they’re strippers,” said the fourth girl, whose short hair looked like a spiky red dandelion. “Are you guys strippers?”

“Something could probably be arranged,” said Mulligan. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” He jerked his head meaningfully in Fred’s direction. “You should get him to tell you about it.”

True, Fred had once taken part in a bachelorette party strip show. Never to be repeated, he’d vowed. “Mulligan, sit down and shut the fuck up,” he told the other firefighter.

“Ooh,” said Hot Pink. “Are you going to let him talk to you that way, big guy?”

Fred shot Mulligan a warning look. He was nearing the end of his tether. Sore, bruised, and he hadn’t even had a sip of that beer yet. Plus he was hungry. True, the dark-haired girl, Rachel, had felt wonderful falling into his arms. If it were just the two of them, alone, maybe with a hot tub and a bottle of ibuprofen … some Tiger Balm … massage oil … Not that he was thinking that, no way, not with Courtney still calling every few days. He wanted out, but he didn’t want to hurt Courtney.

“Yes, I am,” said Mulligan, dropping into a chair. “He’s more of a badass than he looks. Nice seeing you, girls. Best wishes on your upcoming nuptials.”

“Nuptials!” the redhead shouted. “Someone said ‘nuptials.’ You know what that means. Everyone do a shot!”

The other girls groaned and they all fluttered away toward the bar.

As she left, Rachel flipped her veil over her shoulder, catching Fred in the corner of his eye. He clapped his hand over it, while she muttered a horrified apology, then fled.

Fred sank into his seat.

“You owe me big-time,” said Mulligan grimly. “Those girls are hot.”

“Just pass me the beer.” But even as he drank, Fred couldn’t help watching the girl in the bridal veil choke down her shot. She really shouldn’t be drinking. With a tiny frame like hers, she probably couldn’t handle more than a teaspoon of tequila. Maybe he should keep an eye on her. Which would be easier if his eye weren’t throbbing from getting nicked by her damn veil.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Mulligan was saying. “We’re going to organize a firehouse fight club, and take bets. I’ll put all my money on you and say I’m rooting for the underdog, and …”

Fred tuned out the other firefighter as Rachel slid off her stool, steadied herself, then set off across the bar. She seemed to be headed for the door in the far corner, the one with the red exit sign. Maybe she’d decided to go home. Not a bad idea, in his opinion, except the path to the exit took her right through a game of darts, to which she seemed completely oblivious.

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