Page 5 of Fire
By the time I decide to cancel the whole thing, I realize I took too long wavering, and now it would be rude to cancel. I take a quick shower and prepare myself, trying to get more excited.Remember, you’re going to get an orgasm out of this.
When the loud knock sounds at my door, I hurry to open it so I can get this whole thing over with.
I realize too late that I should have looked through the peephole first.
The man with his closely cropped dark hair and scowling brown eyes looks nothing like “Down to Fuk’s” profile picture. Maybe his older, much hotter, and more muscly older brother.
“You’re not ‘Down to Fuk,’” I say, nonplussed, wondering if hookup apps have started offering upgrades like airlines. Is this sexy man the equivalent of being bumped up to business travel when you bought the economy fare?
At my words, the man’s eyes slowly travel over me, a sneer of disapproval curling his lips. “Not with you, I’m not.”
His words sting like a slap on the face. I feel all my old insecurities start to take over. Sure, I looked better in my profile picture. I’ve been stuck in my apartment writing articles at a furious pace for months. I’m in serious need of a haircut, and my pale, washed-out complexion could benefit from some sun.
“Then why in the hell did you respond to my profile?”
“Profile?”
At the look of frustrated confusion on the man’s face, my brain starts to catch up with the situation. Too caught up by his hotness and then having my feelings hurt by his rejection, the investigative journalist in me took way too long to catalog the man’s fighter’s physique, the tattooed muscles peeking out from his leather jacket, the biker boots, and the bulge of the weapon he’s carrying.
Fuck. Cash and Johnny were right. It’s a Reiver at my door looking for payback.
The grisly details of the Reivers’ acts of violence against their enemies flash through my brain as I slam the door on him. He catches it with his arm, and it swings back open, so I duck and try to run underneath his outstretched arm.
“Hold up there,” he says, catching me infuriatingly easily and hoisting me up under his arm like a sack of potatoes.
“Let me go!” I yell, but he ignores me. I try biting him, only to get a full mouth of leather for my trouble.
“Dude. You didn’t mention a third or that you were down for rough play in your profile.”
At the sound of the voice, both of us stop struggling. I crane my neck to see a good-looking guy standing there in a polo, jeans, and chucks, who, even from my upside-down perspective, I can tell clearly likes what he’s seeing.
He puts his hand on his junk. “Lucky for you, just like my profile name, I’m down to fuck.” He gives us another once over. “Especially if Muscles tops me first.”
“I’m not fucking anyone,” the guy holding me growls and walks me into the apartment.
“But—” the guy yelps as the door slams in his face.
“Go home,” the man yells in a deep baritone as he stalks into the living room, dumps me onto the couch, and targets me with an accusing stare.
“Both Cash and Johnny mentioned they told you to stay off dating apps.”
Relief hits me first.He’s not a Reiver.I get to live.Then guilt.I knew I shouldn’t have hit send. It was shitty and stupid.Then anger.Who the fuck is this guy manhandling me and telling me what I can and cannot do?
I jump up from my couch. “Who the hell are you to tell me anything.”
“Your bodyguard,” he says with infuriating coolness.
“I don’t have a bodyguard,” I throw back at him.
According to Cash Mcree and Johnny Devon, you do. And until I’m told the threat you're under is over, I’m not going anywhere.”
“The hell you aren’t.”
He locks eyes with mine. “Try getting rid of me,” he says calmly as if his presence in my life is a forgone conclusion.
My eyes go over his muscled body again and dismiss the idea of being able to push him out my door.
Looks like my attitude is going to have to do the heavy lifting today.
