February Burning: Firehouse 56, #2

By Chase Jackson

She doesn't want to get married, but she's having my baby.

Josh

Vanessa and I are practically strangers.

Except that we had a one-night stand.

And now she's having my baby.

But I want to be more, more than strangers, more than friends.

I want to come home to Vanessa every night, throw her over my shoulder and have my way with her.

She's putting up walls.

I break down walls for a living, she doesn't stand a chance.

I'll prove to her I'm here for her, and for our child.

Every step of the way.

Vanessa

Josh is on fire.

The way he looks at me, I can't get enough.

But we're having a baby, family has to come first.

We hardly know each other.

Can we really make this work?

He thinks so.

When he's in his uniform and tossing his cocky attitude around, I almost believe him.

I never thought I would want to get married, but being a fireman's wife…

Can I take the heat?

 

Chase Jackson invites you to meet the men of Firehouse 56. You're going to need a hose down after this slow burn.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Your Book Boyfriend Press
• Release date: Apr 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386800439

Book preview

February Burning

A Firefighter Secret Baby Romance

Chase Jackson

CHAPTER ONE | JOSH

Hey…don’t I know you from somewhere?

That was the question that greeted me when I stepped into the Riverview Apartments leasing office. My eyes locked onto the source: a hot little blonde thing tucked behind the front desk, blinking up at me over a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses.

I had never seen her before in my life. If I had, I’m pretty sure that body of hers would have jogged my memory: petite, tight little waist, and more curves than the Connecticut River.

Her bronzed legs were crossed at the knee, her plump tits were suffocated by her powder blue blouse, and the tight little beige pencil skirt riding up her thick thighs was practically begging for trouble.

But I’m not looking for trouble, I reminded myself. I’m just looking for an apartment to lease.

I must just have one of those faces, I shrugged casually.

That was only half true. There was a reason this hot blonde stranger swore she recognized me, and it was the same reason that my face probably looked familiar to half of the people in my hometown of Hartford, Connecticut. That reason: Brady Hudson.

Brady was an Iraq war veteran who had bravely served two tours of duty in the 101st Airborne Division. He was a second-generation firefighter dedicated to continuing his father’s legacy at Firehouse 56. He was a town hero and local legend. Oh, yeah…and he also happened to be my big brother.

We were born two years apart, but we could still pass for twins. We had the same dark brown hair, the same dimpled chin, and the same deep-set grey eyes. I was my brother’s spitting image. And since everybody in Hartford seemed to know who Brady Hudson was, that put me on the receiving end of constant double-takes and ‘don’t I know you?’s.

As the hot blonde scanned me up and down, I could already tell that it was my brother’s face that she was trying to place.

Maybe she knew Brady from somewhere. Maybe he had taken her home after a drunken night at Rusty’s Tavern…or maybe she had seen his picture on the front page of the Hartford Courant a few weeks ago, when the newspaper had dubbed my brother a hero for rescuing an unconscious woman from a burning building.

"I definitely know you, she frowned as she slid her glasses down the bridge of her nose. She propped one of the plastic arms between her lips, then gave it a thoughtful nibble. What’s your name?"

Joshua Hudson, I told her reluctantly, like it was an admission of guilt.

"Joshua Hudson..." she repeated slowly, testing the taste of my name on her tongue. Then her face lit up: "Oh, shit! I do know you! You’re that firefighter!"

Bingo. Almost...

"You were in that ‘sexy fireman’ calendar that came out a few years ago! she gushed. I knew I recognized you from somewhere! You were the month of January, right?"

That fucking calendar, I grimaced.

If my brother was a town hero, then that ‘sexy fireman’ calendar was the stuff of legends. The entire Firehouse 56 crew had gotten together a few years back to pose for the calendar. It was supposed to be a charity project…but it might as well have been my brother’s own personal Playgirl photoshoot.

Each crewmember got assigned to a different month. Brady got January, and let’s just say he started the year off with one hell of a bang. They had to order three reprints of the calendar to keep up with the orders that were coming in.

My brother’s newfound fandom earned him the nickname ‘January’ at the Firehouse. While the rest of the crew still liked to joke about the calendar, I couldn’t help but chalk it up to yet another piece of supporting evidence for my brother’s superiority.

I hate to disappoint, I said, another reluctant admission. But that wasn’t me. Actually, that was my brother.

Countdown to disappointed sigh in 3… 2…

Oh.

You’d think that after twenty-five years of living in my big brother’s shadow, I would have found my way out by now. Not the case. Turns out, competing with the town hero is just about as futile as fighting a five-alarm fire with a garden hose.

The list of things that Brady and I had in common didn’t go much further than our dark hair and matching grey eyes. Even as kids, we had been as different as night and day.

Dad had retired from the Army and joined Firehouse 56 after Brady and I were born, but he stilled ruled his roost like he was back at the barracks. Obedience and respect came before love or compassion. Mom was my saving grace; she was the glue that held the Hudson family together. When Mom died, everything fell apart. At least, for me it did…

Dad and Brady were a father-son dream team: Dad was born to bark orders, and Brady was born to kiss ass. My brother had always been the straight-laced, clean-cut people pleaser, and as he got older, he made it crystal clear that he wanted to follow in our father’s footsteps. First, by enlisting in the Army. And later, by filling the vacant position that our fireman father had left on the roster at Firehouse 56.

If Brady was our father’s protege, I guess that made me the prodigal son. I was jaded, rebellious, and rough-around-the-edges. While Brady was doing everything in his power to please our father, I was doing everything in my power to piss him off. And the more I rebelled, the heavier my father’s iron fist came down.

While Brady enlisted in the Army and got shipped off to basic training, I was one bad report card away from flunking out of high school. I managed to graduate by the skin of my teeth, and how did Dad congratulate me? By kicking me out of his house on my eighteenth birthday.

The next time I saw my father after that was at his funeral. He died fighting a fire. I never got to say goodbye.

After that, I spent a few years drifting aimlessly, crashing on couches and working odd jobs and doing whatever the hell I could do to get far away from Hartford. Eventually I realized that I couldn’t run forever, especially not with the giant chip that I was carrying on my shoulder. So finally, I returned to the only home that I had ever known.

Brady welcomed me with open arms. And, when I asked him to help me find a job, he even called in a favor with the Chief of the Hartford Fire Department. That was how I landed a spot on the Firehouse 56 roster.

After nearly a year of serving alongside Hartford’s finest boys in black, I liked to think that I was finally making a name for myself outside of being my father’s son, or Brady’s brother. But all it took was one case of mistaken identity -- like this -- to remind me of just how far I still had to go.

The hot blonde gave me a second appraisal, and this time her eyes snagged on the Firehouse 56 t-shirt that I was wearing.

Are you a firefighter too?

Sure am, I nodded.

"Oh, she said again, this time intrigued. She leaned her elbows forward on the desk and not-so-subtly squeezed her arms together, causing her breasts to balloon over the neck of her blouse. So…what month were you? In the calendar, I mean?"

And just like that, I knew I had her in the palm of my hand. Maybe I wasn’t Brady Hudson, but as far as Hot Blonde was concerned, I’d still make one hell of a consolation prize…and if that meant getting a little taste of something blonde before my lunch break was over and I had to head back to the firehouse, then I guess I couldn’t complain.

That calendar is old news, I told her.

It was old news; it came out years before I joined the crew, and even though it had been massively successful, Firehouse 56 hadn’t released another one since then.

Until now...

But…can you keep a secret? I asked.

She flicked her tongue across her lips, painting her plump pout with a wet streak, and then she nodded slowly yes.

I leaned forward, planting the heels of my hands on the edge of her desk so that I towered over her. She glanced up at me, and I glanced down the tight canyon of her cleavage.

There’s going to be a new calendar this year, I confided in a whisper. And it’s going to make the old one look like a fucking Amish almanac.

Her lips curled up into a smile: Oh really?

Really, I winked. You thought January was hot? Just wait until you see February…

"I do like February..." she cooed.

And I like thinking about how my cock would feel between your tits…but I kept that thought to myself.

So, she sat back in her chair. "What can I do for you today, Mr. February?"

Oh, I can think of a few things I’d like you to do for me…I raised an eyebrow and returned her grin. But business first:

How about that apartment? I reminded her.

Of course, she straightened in her chair and slid her glasses back in place on the bridge of her nose. Then she reached for a stack of brochures. We have a few different units that are currently available. Is it just you moving in? No roommates?

No roommates.

Really? her eyebrows shot up. I thought that you firefighters liked to stick together?

We do, I shrugged. Those guys are my family, but that doesn’t mean I want to live with them.

Besides, I added to myself, that’s how I ended up here in the first place.

Living with Brady in our childhood home-turned-bachelor pad had been a pretty sweet arrangement. The house was close to the station, the fridge was always stocked, and there was always something going on -- from hosting backyard barbeques, to joining the crew for a night out at Rusty’s.

But that all came to a screeching halt when Brady announced that he was abandoning the bachelor lifestyle and tying the knot with the girl next door. To call Brady’s engagement to Cassidy Laurent ‘out-of-the-blue’ would be an understatement. My brother and I had known Cassidy all our lives, and the Laurents were practically family…but I had never even seen them kiss. Now they were suddenly getting hitched?

Something about their overnight engagement just didn’t add up. And after a little prying, the truth finally came out: Cassidy’s mom was sick, and her dying wish was to see her little girl get married. Since Mrs. Laurent was like a mother to Brady, my brother was more than happy to make that wish come true. I guess playing Happy Couple had made something click, because what had started out as a fake engagement ended up becoming a very real love story.

There might have been a few bumps in the road, but Brady and Cassidy’s story was about to get its happy ending: their wedding was just a few days away. And that meant that I had just a few days left to find a new place to live…

So no roommates, the leasing agent nodded. And uh…no girlfriend?

"Definitely not," I scoffed.

I was happy for my brother, don’t get me wrong. But I had no intention of following in his footsteps to the altar anytime soon. Especially not now. With Brady officially off the market, I’d finally get my turn to be Hartford’s most eligible Hudson.

No more playing second fiddle to the hunky hometown hero…it’s my time to shine.

And it looked like the hot blonde leasing agent would be the first in line to take a trip down my fire pole. She was practically sizzling like a stick of melted butter behind her desk…and when that butter started to burn, I’d be right there to put out her fire.

In that case, she simpered, "I’d love to give you a private tour of our one-bedroom unit."

Before I got the chance to ask what, exactly, a ‘private tour’ entailed, I was interrupted by the loud whine of a siren blaring from the pocket of my jeans.

That was the ringtone I had set to the Firehouse 56 emergency line. And if I heard that ringtone, that could only mean one thing...

Fire.

CHAPTER TWO | VANESSA

What would you like to drink, miss? the bartender asked as he slipped a black cocktail napkin across the bar towards me.

The tallest glass of Cabernet you’ve ever poured, I wanted to say. Or better yet…just give me the bottle and a really long straw.

Before I could come up with a more dignified answer for the bartender, a pair of hands wrapped around my ass from behind and shifted me away from the bar.

My eyes flung up as a tall, dark stranger strode into view and took my place at the bar. He looked like a dollar-store version of Patrick Dempsey in an expensive tux.

Nice to meet you, he said with a cocky smile, sticking out a hand to greet me. I’m Christopher.

I reached for his outstretched hand but, instead of shaking it, I shoved it back towards his chest.

"Christopher," I plastered on my best ‘I’ll-kill-you-if-you-touch-me-again’ grin, I’d appreciate it if you kept your hands to yourself.

You’re feisty, a slimey, unperturbed smile stretched across his cheeks. I like it. Let me buy you a drink.

It’s an open bar.

Even better.

I rolled my eyes and turned back to the bartender, who just offered me a sympathetic shrug.

I’ll just take two of these, I told the bartender, nodding towards the pre-poured flutes of champagne that were arranged like bowling pins at the edge of the bar.

I plucked up two glasses and then, before Knock-Off McDreamy could get another word in, I headed back across the reception area towards my table.

That guy at the bar was totally hot! Summer Adams hissed as I sank into my seat beside her. Why did you blow him off?!

"Umm, that guy was totally creepy, I grimaced as I passed her one of the champagne flutes. Didn’t you see him grab my ass?"

"That was not an ass grab! she protested. It’s only an ass grab if he gets a cheek."

To clarify, she curled her fingers into a claw and demonstrated her version of an ‘ass grab’ on the air.

"You can call it a whatever-you-want-grab, I rolled my eyes. It was still totally creepy."

And besides, I added after a sip of champagne, "He was wearing a wedding ring. The asshole was married!"

Ok, eww, Summer wrinkled her nose and sighed in defeat. Fine, you win. That guy was a creep.

"But, she added. I still think you should give guys a chance sometimes. They’re not all creeps. You push away a lot of decent guys, too…"

That earned another eyeroll. Summer treated life like it was one big romantic comedy. She was hopelessly in love with the idea of love. The quest for her own personal Prince Charming had begun long before she met me and, even though she hadn’t found him yet, she wasn’t any less hopeful that he was out there, somewhere, waiting for her.

I had first met Summer Adams the summer after I graduated from cosmetology school. We were both newly licensed, broke as a joke, and desperate for any work we could find. And that’s how we both ended up giving $12 bowlcuts to snot-nosed rugrats at the Westfarms Mall in West Hartford.

That summer job didn’t last long, but my friendship with Summer did. We stayed in touch over the years as we both continued to work our way up the beauty industry ladder. Eventually, our hard work paid off: I was working at a high-end salon in Hartford, and Summer was the head makeup artist for a local morning talk show.

Even though we had both found success, we were still left wanting more. Then, one fateful weekend, we decided to attend a Ouidad workshop together. We had a little bit too much to drink, and we had one of those deep, drunken, what the hell are we doing with our lives?! conversations. And that’s when we decided to quit our jobs and start our own business: Fairy Godmother Beauty.

True to its name, Fairy Godmother Beauty was an on-call operation that specialized in performing hair miracles and makeup magic for our Cinderella clients. We handled all occasions, from black-tie charity balls to white-laced weddings. Our first year was tough, but by the second year our business was booming. And once we had built a steady repertoire of clients in Hartford, we set our sights on expansion.

More specifically, we set our sights on New York City.

And here we are, I thought as I gazed around the Terrace Room at The Plaza Hotel. New York City…the Upper East Side.

My eyes scanned the room until I found our Cinderella of the ball: the bride.

Summer and I had spent five hours perfecting every last detail of her hair and makeup -- from her coiffed updo, to her mink eyelash extensions. The results were worth every second of hard work: she was a vision.

The bride had been so over the moon that she had insisted that Summer and I stick around for the wedding. Probably for the best: I had a backup stash of eyelashes and waterproof mascara in my purse, just in case...

She’s gorgeous, Summer whispered, reading my mind. Then she clinked her champagne flute against mine and added: Cheers. To a job well done!

To a job well done, I smiled, taking a sip of champagne.

This wedding wasn’t just another job for Summer and I. This was a major milestone, and if we played our cards right, this wedding could open a lot of doors for us as we continued to establish a client list in New York City.

Goodbye, Hartford…hello, Big Apple!

Summer sighed wistfully as she continued to gaze at the head table. The