Five Alarm Kiss (The Kiss Club #3)

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Ever since he’d sat down at their table thirty minutes ago, Jake Lockwood had been glancing back at the woman in the baseball hat. Never in his life had he been in Hannah’s and seen a girl who wasn’t dressed as catnip. Tight shirts with low necklines, mini-skirts, sky-high heels… that’s what women wore to this bar. Not jeans, tennis shoes, and a sweater so thick, it hid every curve. He’d bet money she had curves underneath all that knitting, if her perfect ass was any indication.

But probably most intriguing was the baseball hat she wore. No over-sprayed curls or fancy up-do for her. Just hair hidden underneath a ball cap and barely any makeup.

Don’t get him wrong, he appreciated short skirts and tight shirts as much as the next guy, but the natural look had always been more appealing to him than any heavy makeup and brightly colored eyelids. He’d much rather kiss soft, bare lips than ones shellacked with shiny, dark lipstick. He knew from experience the stuff ended up smeared all over his mouth… and other places. He wasn’t fond of the stickiness or taste, but he was a guy and enjoyed kissing. He could deal with having to wash his face if it came with perks.

But a woman with natural beauty? That was hot as hell. And one not trying to impress was even hotter.

His tablemates laughed at something Logan said, pulling Jake from his thoughts. He’d met Logan in high school and they’d become best friends. They’d bonded because neither of them had a father present in their lives. Logan’s dad had run off with another woman and never looked back, and Jake’s dad had passed away when he and his twin sister, Jessa, were six.

He and Logan had been partners in crime all through school. But after a couple failed semesters at college, Jake had moved to California.

He’d invited his friend to come, but Logan had been in the middle of EMT training and decided to stay behind. Jake had no clue what he’d wanted to do with his life back then, so hanging out on the beach and learning to surf had sounded way better than studying for classes he didn’t give a shit about.

It only took about a year before he’d moved back home. “Missed my family” was the excuse he’d given. And even though it was true, he’d really needed to get the hell away from California… and her. The girl who hadn’t let him get away, she’d pushed him out the door.

After he’d moved back, Grand—you didn’t dare call her “Grandmother” unless you wanted to take your life into your own hands—had read him the riot act.

Jake grinned. He still remembered exactly what she’d said…. “Grow the hell up, pull your head out of your ass, and get your act together.” Grand wasn’t one to mince words.

Logan had been working as an EMT at the time with his sights set on becoming a fireman. The more Jake had thought about it, the more being a firefighter had felt like a good fit for him too. And not just to get girls, though that was an added bonus.

The two had gone to the fire academy together and now were lucky enough to work at the same station.

It’d taken Jake a while to find his calling, as bullshit as that sounded, but now he couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

Taking a long pull of his beer, Jake saw the woman in the pink baseball hat approaching. Eyebrows drawn together, she was wringing her hands, looking everywhere except at him. It was kind of adorable, since she was heading straight for his table.

She glanced up a moment, and their gazes locked. Not two seconds passed before panic flashed in her eyes. She spun around and smacked into one of the girls she’d been sitting with, who was right on her tail. A little scuffle ensued, before the chick with the purple hair forcibly turned her back around and gave a push. Baseball hat dipping slightly, she stumbled forward a few steps before regaining her balance.

Jake fought back a smile. He wasn’t used to being approached by women who were shy—most strutted right up to him, the desire for a good time blatant on their faces. Not once had a woman approached him as if there was a gun at her back forcing her toward a firing squad.

He watched her take a deep breath, tug her hat lower on her brow, and start advancing again. Her steps were cautious, but wobbly. She’d said earlier she hadn’t been drunk, but judging from her walk, she might be now.

Her shoulders rose and fell on a breath, before she took the final few steps to reach his table. Jake’s friends stopped talking and turned her way, but she stood frozen until her friend nudged her.

“Hi,” she blurted out, tugging on the brim of her cap.

From his position at the far end of the table, Jake could barely hear her over the din of the crowd.

“Hi,” Logan echoed.

One half of the fire station’s paramedic team, Tori, gave a little wave. “Hey.”

Randy, her paramedic counterpart, said “hi” as well.

Jake waited until she braved a look at him, then flashed his “panty-melting smile,” as a number of women had dubbed it. “Hello, again.”

She swallowed hard, but didn’t say a word.

Her friend bumped her with a shoulder, forcing another sharp “Hi” from her throat.

Since she seemed incapable of saying anything else, the purple-haired chick took over the introductions. “I’m Skye. And this…” She steered her friend around the table until she was standing between Jake and Logan. “…is Laurel.”

“Hi, Laurel. I’m Jake.” He wasn’t expecting her gaze to drop to his mouth, but his dick pulsed when it did. “Can I get you two something to drink?”

Laurel nodded.

“She’s good,” Skye said with a pointed look at Laurel, who wrinkled her nose in response. Unfazed, Skye pushed her closer to Jake.

When Laurel glared at her, Skye held up five fingers.

Laurel spun back to face him. “Can I have your beer?” Without waiting for his reply, and before her friend could stop her, she grabbed his beer off the table and gulped down the entire thing.

Jake watched her set the empty bottle back on the table. It took her a few tries to keep it from tipping.

“I would’ve bought you one,” he told her.

“Dance?” Laurel squeaked out.

Okay, it’d taken her longer than most to hit on him, but she’d finally gotten there. He grinned, and she visibly swallowed again.

She’s adorable.

“What was that?” he asked, touching his fingers to his ear. He’d heard what she’d said, but it was fun teasing her.

“Do you want to dance?” she repeated quickly, like she had to say it before she lost her nerve. “With me,” she added, apparently feeling the need to clarify.

He chuckled. “I gathered.”

She blinked a couple times, a worried expression tarnishing her angelic face. “Sorry. Never mind. It’s okay. You don’t ha?—”

“C’mon, Princess.” Jake stood and took her hand. “Dance with me.”

He led her onto the dance floor before she could utter another word. It was packed, but he managed to maneuver them to an open pocket by the winding staircase that led to the balcony. Even if he’d paid them off, the band’s timing in playing a slow song couldn’t have been better.

He pulled Laurel in and felt her tense in his arms. “Relax,” he instructed, dipping his head to bring his mouth closer to her ear, so she could hear over the music. The soft scent of baby powder teased his nostrils. “I don’t bite,” he said. “Unless you like that.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say because she jerked back, her big, hazel eyes wide and unblinking. If his arm hadn’t been around her waist, he was certain she would’ve bolted.

“I’m kidding.” Okay, he wasn’t kidding. He’d been known to nibble on a neck, or—hell, he’d lost count of the number. “We’re just gonna dance.”

She tentatively peered up at him from underneath her ball cap.

Man, she’s tiny.

Her head barely reached his shoulder, and the innocent expression on her face immediately brought his protective instincts to the forefront. That fact surprised him. He didn’t even know her, yet felt certain he’d take out anyone who tried to hurt her.

“Promise,” he assured her. “Just dancing.”

She exhaled and gave a silent nod, allowing him to draw her closer. After they’d danced a while, she started to relax. One delicate hand was imprisoned in his, but she kept the other on his upper arm, preventing him from pulling her flush against his chest.

“So, what’s your story, Laurel?” he asked, and damned if he didn’t want to know. That was new. What was it about this girl that piqued his interest?

“What do you mean?” Her soft voice barely cut through the noise.

“You don’t seem like the bar type.”

Her brows furrowed. “Why not?”

Because you look like a virgin trapped at a swingers’ party, that’s why.

He pointedly glanced at her hat, then down at her sweater. It was bulky, but he could still make out the swell of her breasts. His groin tightened.

She followed his gaze downward. “You mean because I’m not dressed like a slut?”

The grin he’d been sporting turned into a full-blown smile when she pressed her lips together, as if she’d just realized she’d said the words out loud, but hadn’t meant to. She looked at his mouth, and the sudden urge to kiss her hit like a blast from an exploding building.

“Something like that,” he said, fighting to keep his lips off hers. “Plus, you seem uncomfortable.”

The disconcerted look that crossed her face was so fucking cute.

“Do I make you uncomfortable, Laurel?” He brushed his thumb along the back of her hand.

“N-No.”

Yeah, I do.

He’d bet a kidney her being uncomfortable had everything to do with how she was responding to his touch and not that she didn’t want to have anything to do with him.

“You sure about that?” He rubbed his thumb along her skin again.

She swallowed, pausing a moment before lifting her chin defiantly. “I’m perfectly com-forble,” she said, drawing out and slurring the last word.

“You are, huh?” He slid his right hand underneath the hem of her sweater, testing her statement. She was wearing a second layer, but he could still feel the warmth of her back through the thin material. It felt smooth and silky. A camisole, maybe?

She inhaled sharply when he rubbed his thumb along the small of her back. Her pupils dilated, making his dick respond.

“Postivly.”

Jake didn’t miss the dropped syllable. She may not be full-blown drunk, but she was definitely tipsy.

“Good to hear.” He pulled her a little closer, and this time, she leaned into him. “Cuz I can think of a bunch of things I’d rather make you feel than uncomfortable.”

Whether consciously or not, she squeezed his hand as her other hand tightened on his arm.

She hadn’t missed his meaning. He’d never taken advantage of a woman who was drunk—and never would—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t flirt. Plus, he was fairly certain flirting was ingrained in his DNA, so not like he could help it.

She wrinkled her nose and tilted her head back to meet his gaze. “Does that line typically work for you?”

He studied her face, both surprised and intrigued by her sudden switch from shy to confident. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

She blew out a breath, lips flapping together like she was imitating a horse snorting. “Not so much.”

“Really?” He was grinning like a fool, but her not fawning at his feet was refreshing.

“Yeppers.” Her lids were lazy, creating that relaxed, sleepy expression people who had drunk too much wore so well. It looked ridiculously adorable on her. “So cliché”

“Did you just call me ‘cliché’?” he asked, amused.

“Hey, if the shoe sits.”

“Fits,” he corrected.

She looked down and lifted a tennis shoe-clad foot. “Yes, it does.”

He stifled a laugh. “That’s good.”

She looked up at him with hazy eyes. “What is?”

“Your shoe.”

“I do what?”

“It fits.”

“I don’t wanna sit. We’re dancing.” She ran her left hand up his arm to rest on his shoulder and relaxed into him.

Her breasts pressed against his chest, a fact Jake didn’t miss. “You’re right. We are.”

The slow song had ended—an entire song ago. The band was now playing “Heartbreaker” by Pat Benatar, but Laurel hadn’t noticed. Not that Jake minded. He was perfectly happy keeping her nestled against him.

“Wow.” She squinted up at him, like she couldn’t quite focus on his face. “Pretty bad you forgot we were dancing.”

“It is,” he agreed, playing along. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled so much. “Sorry.”

She shook her head in disappointment, then instantly froze, fingers digging into his shoulder. “Whoa.”

“You okay?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them slowly, like she wasn’t sure what she’d see. “That was weird.”

“What was?”

“The floor just moved.” She glared down at the “moving” floor in question, then stumbled a little when she lifted her head. “No more liquor for you, young man.”

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “‘Young man’?” They were probably around the same age.

“Aren’t you?” she asked.

“Age is relative, don’t you think?”

“Pfft!” She made a sour face. “We’re not related. How old are you?”

He grinned at her interrogation. “Turned twenty-eight in January.” He and Jessa had been born on January second. They’d missed being New Year’s babies by five hours. Well, Jessa by five hours and seventeen minutes, since he’d been born first.

“Oh, wow.” Laurel grimaced. “You’re a pup!”

He barked out a laugh. Fitting, actually, according to her description. “I’m a ‘pup’ ?”

She made a tsk-tsk sound. “Never ask a lady if she’s thirty.”

“Actually, I didn’t ask,” he corrected. “You just told me. But, you’re right. Asking a woman her age is a definite no-no. Or so I’ve been told.” By the way she said her age, he could tell it bothered her, but since she’d brought it up... “Thirty, huh?” Why women cared about age, he’d never know. Especially when they looked like her. “Guess I am a pup,” he teased with a wink.

Her nod was so exaggerated, she looked like one of those toy drinking birds that bobbed up and down.

“Yep, a puppy,” she said, studying his face. “A really hot puppy... with really sexy eyes. But, yeah, a pu—Stop looking at me like that.”

He knew he was staring. He couldn’t help it. She was beautiful, yet didn’t know it. And no matter how worried she was about a number, that’s all it was. A number. Age had never mattered to him. He’d dated both younger and older women, though two years hardly counted as older in his book.

“How am I looking at you?” He rubbed his thumb along her knuckles again, and she squeezed his fingers, probably without even realizing it.

“Like I want to take your clothes off.”

The faux pas made his cock harden. “You wanna take my clothes off?” he asked with a smirk. “Cuz that can be?—”

“Six.”

He snapped to attention.

Did she say “sex”?

“What?” His voice came out strangled.

“Six,” she repeated. “I just did five.”

Okay, “six,” not “sex,” which is obviously where his brain was. “You’ve lost me.” She was harder to follow than a water line in a smoke-filled room. “‘Five’ what?”

She pinned him with a keep-up-would-you glare. “Six!”

Now we’re back to “six”?

Before the thought had even left his brain, Laurel fisted his shirt and pulled him down while going up on her tiptoes. When she kissed him, shock was quickly replaced by a flash fire igniting his blood the moment their lips touched. His reserve went up like tinder. Jake crushed her against his chest and invaded her mouth with his tongue. She moaned softly, the sound shooting straight to his dick. She snaked her arms around his neck, as best she could with their height difference. He lifted her. The movement knocked her cap off, which afforded him better access. He groaned when she opened wider for him. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she hooked her ankles behind his back. He moved a hand down to her pert little ass, pulling her more tightly against him.

One sharp whistle and a “You go, Laur!” were followed by catcalls and more whistling and cheers from the people around them.

Laurel stiffened, and Jake knew she was going to pull back. He deepened the kiss—wanting one last taste before he had to let her go. Instead of pushing away, she melted into him and tangled her tongue with his. She tasted like the beer she’d stolen, only sweet. Something solely her mixed with the alcohol. It was intoxicating. She was intoxicating.

When the cheering got louder, Jake somehow found the strength to end the kiss.

Laurel’s hazel eyes went from dreamily reflecting the stage lights in the flecks of gold around her irises, to panicked. Her legs dropped from around him, and she kicked her small feet, searching for the ground. As soon as he set her back on the dance floor, her hands flew to her head, and her cheeks burned red.

“Oh, fudge!”

She instantly dropped to her knees, leaving Jake with all sorts of inappropriate scenarios running rampant in his head.

“Oh, no, no, no!” Laurel started searching the floor in a panic. “My hat! Oh, fudgesicles! Where’s my hat?” She crawled through the crowd, frantically looking back and forth, oblivious to the multitude of people trying their best not to step on her.

Jake cleared a perimeter around her, then reached down, took her arms, and lifted her to her feet.

She stared at him with wild eyes. A split second later, she pulled her sweater up over her face as high as she could get it to go. “Don’t look at me!”

Look at her? He couldn’t see her save for her… yellow hair. Hmm. She had lemon yellow hair. With her conservative attire, he definitely wasn’t expecting that.

“Are you looking?” Laurel asked.

“Why don’t you?—”

“Don’t look!”

Unfortunately, her squawking caused the exact opposite result and drew the attention of everyone on the dance floor. A couple people pointed and a few snickered, but Jake guessed it had more to do with the fact her entire sweater was covering her head like a bad impression of the headless horseman—with a yellow waterfall coming out of his neck—and less to do with the actual color. Lots of people had brightly colored hair, Laurel’s purple-haired friend included. Difference was, Laurel was self-conscious about hers. Obviously, the bright hue hadn’t been her end goal.

Jake scanned the nearby area and spotted the lost, pink baseball cap behind a girl to his left. He retrieved it and held it out to Laurel, who, of course, couldn’t see it through the tan cable knit smothering her face. He grinned as the soft, “no, no, no” mantra she was chanting sifted through her thick sweater.

He put the hat on her head—well, the only part of her head he could see—and pulled her sweater down to her nose. That was the furthest he could get it to go, since she held it in a death grip.

“It’s okay,” he told her. “You’ve got your hat. It’s all good.”

Her hands flew to her head, and the neck of the bulky sweater slipped down to her chin.

“‘All good’?” Laurel’s face was as red as a fire truck. “‘All good’?” she sputtered. “You don’t look like… like…” She flailed her hands around her head, as if that would make the description she couldn’t think of magically appear.

“Lemon meringue?” he suggested.

Her eyes widened to the size of an anime character’s.

Okay, wrong thing to say.

Laurel spun around, wobbled like a toddler who’d barely learned to stand, then scurried off the dance floor. She made a weaving beeline to her friend who was waiting by Jake’s table, along with the blonde they’d been sitting with earlier.

He followed.

“I want to go home!” Laurel sobbed. “He said I look like a pie!”

What? No, I didn’t. I said ? —

“A pie?” Skye sounded dubious.

“I love pie,” the blonde next to her chirped.

“I didn’t say ‘pie’,” he clarified upon reaching them.

“I don’t want to look like a pie!” Tears were rolling down Laurel’s face.

His chest constricted at the sight. “You don’t look like a pie.” He laid a hand on her shoulder, hoping to comfort her. “I said…” Lemon meringue. Fuck, that’s a pie! “Laurel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean?—”

She slapped his hand away with a repeated dog-paddle motion. “Calling me a pie was mean!” she shouted. “Puppies aren’t supposed to be mean!”

He felt like shit. He hadn’t meant anything by the comment. It’d just slipped out. “Princess, I’m sorry.”

Skye turned to him. “‘Princess’?”

With a giggle, the blonde tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to Laurel’s ball cap.

“What? … Oh,” Skye said, realization evident in her voice.

“‘Oh’ what?” Laurel asked. “What’s ‘oh’?”

The blonde tweaked the bill of the baseball hat and motioned to it with her chin.

Confused, Laurel took off her cap. All the color drained from her face, and her free hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my goodness!” Panicked, her head slingshotted from the silk-screened fairytale princesses on the front of her cap to Jake.

He shrugged his shoulders, unable to stop a small grin. She looked cute in the hat. But, if he thought she was pale before, she turned practically arctic now.

“I look like a pie wearing a kid’s hat,” she whimpered, tears drenching her cheeks. “I’m gonna be?—”

Sick…. All over his new tennis shoes.