Chapter 2

Nolan

What the fuckis wrong with me?

I braced my arms against the table, the room spinning as I mentally recounted the absolute meltdown I'd had on my way back from the bathroom.

Of all the people to run into, to be here in this damn bar tonight, of all nights...

I just had to run into the one firefighter who I'd been stupidly fantasizing about since I ended up assigned to this region.

As if moving to a new city wasn't hard enough, it became quite clear, quite fast, that I did not fit in. Not at the office, and certainly not at the firehouse that my firm worked with. Not that I fit in... well, anywhere really.

My mama used to say I was just "shy", but I'm not shy. I'm awkward. Sheldon Cooper's got nothing on me.

In my head, everything makes sense. I can say what I want, dreaming up scenarios where I blend in naturally, cool as a cucumber and the life of the party.

Where I can pretend I'm someone like Dawson Richards.

Bold, confidant. Sexy enough to be practically naked on a calendar that I jack off to after a long, boring day of numbers and figures.

Which is probably how I would have spent my twenty-eighth birthday, had my best friend Allie not convinced me to go out for once. To "let loose and have a little fun." Even if I would be doing it alone, like I had for the last couple of years since moving here. It wasn't like I hadn't tried to meet people, but the town of Jasper Springs wasn't really all that different from where I grew up. No one took a second glance at me. No one except Mr. March. At least when I first arrived.

Dawson seemed cool. All charisma and perfect smiles, that natural flirtatious air about him that was some cross between a used car salesman and high school prom king.

I thought maybe he was different. Maybe, just maybe, moving here wouldn't be so bad if I could make one friend.

But all thoughts of hope and happiness diminished when work called us both, and Dawson's short attention span rendered me forgotten.

Until I'd been called out on my first claim, which happened to be a local fire that Dawson had responded to.

I tried to remain professional, because what else could I do?

I'd been promoted to Jasper Springs for a reason, and that reason was there were far too many claims and not enough people to accurately investigate and close the cases. I'd always been good at my job, meeting my quotas and then some. But I'd never dreamed that I would be fought quite this hard on them by one stubborn firefighter.

Who just had you backed up against the wall like some villain from a comic book.

The memory of Dawson's piercing gaze, the way he lumbered over me, caused my cock to stiffen like a lightning rod.

It wasn't like I hadn't thought about a scenario like that before. In fact, it was one I thought about often.

It was like some other entity had possessed me, because the minute my back hit the wall, some switch inside of me flipped.

His hot breath on me, his six foot one frame towering over my measly five foot eight inches...

The command in his voice, the way his eyes blazed as his gaze fell to my lips, causing my stomach to twist into knots.

In the presence of Dawson Richards, I was someone else, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

I decided that I'd had enough of all this birthday insanity and threw down some money, feeling like I needed to get as far away from M's place and the memory of Dawson and his ridiculously hot stare as I could get.

But it was no use.

I closed the door, feeling even more defeated as the lights came on to illuminate my empty apartment.

I flipped the lock, tossing my keys on the kitchen counter as I opened my fridge to pull out the oversized cupcake Allie had delivered to the office earlier. I meticulously peeled the blue wrapper back, section by section to keep the confectionery delicacy from crumbling.

"Happy birthday to me," I sighed out, feeling exhaustion kick in. I devoured the chocolate cake in less than three bites, but it did nothing to sate the emptiness I felt in my stomach.

After I'd eaten my cupcake of shame, I removed my clothes, tossing them into the wicker hamper in the hallway, relishing in the cool air of my apartment as it hit my sensitive skin. I always kept the place at sixty-eight degrees.

As I crawled into bed, my mind wandered to thoughts of darkened hallways, of a tall, sexy man who made my insides twist and my cock spring to life. I groaned as I looked at the digital clock on my nightstand. 11:30pm.

Twenty-eight years old, single, and in bed by eleven thirty. Yeah, talk about lame.

There was no chance in hell anyone would find routine and order sexy.

I closed my eyes as I let my hand slide beneath the waistband of my boxers, wrapping my fist around the head of my cock. My thumb brushed over the tip, feeling the faint beginnings of precum coat my fingertips. Slowly, I tugged at the sensitive skin, building a steady rhythm as I let my mind wander further down the darkened corridor of fantasy, to thoughts of copper eyes and broad shoulders, to fists slammed against the wall beside my head.

Of thick fingers around my neck, and fiery lips that cursed me to high hell before they claimed mine.

Of the weight of his body on top of me as he fucking owned me.

The thought of his cock sliding against mine, pressed against the wall, hard and wet, threw me over the edge.

I cupped my hand over my swollen head as I came, groaning in defeat as my cock pulsed, sticky, warm wetness spreading through my fingers as I fought to catch my breath. I wished it wasn't mine.

"Holy fuck." I sighed, staring up at the ceiling as I fell back to earth.

I knew then, as I lay there, that Dawson Richards was going to be the fucking death of me.