Hot In Here. Susan Lyons

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      Of course her phone number wasn’t in the phone book. That’d be too easy. But Scott remembered Jenny saying her article was for the Georgia Straight.

      Fresh from the shower, wearing jeans and no shirt, he lay back on his bed, picked up the phone and dialed the Straight.

      When he asked for Jenny Yuen, a brisk female voice said, “Yuen, Yuen, let me see. No, she doesn’t work here, she’s a stringer. A freelancer.”

      “Can I get her number?”

      “It’s not our policy to give out phone numbers.”

      Sensing she was about to hang up, he said, “Wait! She was interviewing me for a story she’s doing on,” he swallowed, hating to say the words, “the firefighter calendar competition, and—”

      “The calendar competition?” she broke in. Her voice was all warm and purring now. “You’re one of the winners?”

      “Yeah. So, anyhow—”

      “Which month?”

      “February. But the thing is—”

      “Oh! You’re the tap dancer! You were amazing,” she gushed.

      “You were there?”

      “Cheering as loud as I could. Say, I’d just love to buy you a drink to congratulate you in person.”

      “Uh…” He’d never been much for blind dates. “I’m kinda busy right now. And I need to apologize to Ms. Yuen. We were in the middle of, uh, the interview, and the fire alarm went off and I had to leave her, you know, in the middle.” His balls ached at the thought of how they’d left off.

      “I wouldn’t normally give out confidential information, but I know I can trust you, since you’re a firefighter. Okay, you got a pen?”

      She rattled off a number and he wrote it down.

      “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

      She giggled. “I sure hope so. That was mine, for when you’re not so busy. My name’s Farrah. Now I’ll give you Ms. Yuen’s cell number.”

      A couple of minutes later he’d gotten rid of Farrah, pulled a can of Coke out of the fridge and was back on his bed, dialing Jenny’s number. And feeling nervous. She could be pissed that he’d run out on her on Sunday. Yeah, it had been a fire, but girls didn’t always get that they couldn’t always come first.

      Come. Jeez. He winced. He’d left her unsatisfied, so she had a right to be pissed.

      The phone rang a couple of times then she answered, “Jenny Yuen.”

      “Jenny?” he said warily. “It’s Scott.”

      “Hey!” Thank God, she actually sounded pleased. “The guy on my tape recorder.”

      Huh? Then it hit him. “You turned that recorder on and never turned it off.”

      “You got it, probie. I have the whole thing on tape.” She chuckled. “Not that there was much to get. Mainly one really, really loud fire alarm.”

      “You have no idea how sorry I am about that.”

      “Actually, I have a pretty good idea. Must’ve been nasty, fighting a fire with blue balls.”

      She had a wicked mouth on her.

      And God but he’d like to have that wicked mouth on him. The thought was making him hard.

      He wanted to say they had unfinished business, but that’d be pretty crude. He settled for telling her, “I’ve been thinking about you. Wondered if you’d like to get together?”

      “Get together? What did you have in mind?”

      Sex. “Uh, maybe a movie? Dinner? Or lunch? I have a weird schedule. Ten- and fourteen-hour shifts, sometimes days, sometimes nights. Then I get three days off in a row. So I’m pretty flexible.”

      “Mmm. Flexible. That’s good. I like flexible.”

      Was he dreaming, thinking she’d put a double meaning into the words? “Uh…great. So, what would you like to do?”

      “Test out your flexibility?”

      Okay, that definitely had a sexual connotation. “I’m game. How about tonight?” It was Tuesday, one of his days off.

      “Great.”

      “Want to maybe go for a drink, then later we can check out that flexibility?”

      “First I need to ask, are you seeing anyone else?”

      “Does it matter?” He wasn’t at the moment. But nor was he ready to commit to exclusivity, not when he’d just met the girl.

      “Condoms. You said you were clean, but if you’re getting it on with someone else, we ought to use protection.”

      She was right. But it would feel so damned good, going bareback, feeling all that tight, hot flesh of hers wrapped around him. “Nah, I’m not seeing anyone.”

      “No? What about that blonde?”

      Blonde? He thought back. “You mean that Scandinavian– looking girl with the white-blond hair? No, I’ve never gone out with her.” Only because he’d dumped Scandinavia for China.

      “White-blond?” She gave a snort. “Try, overbleached. No, that’s not the one I meant. I’m talking about the strawberry blonde who was wrapped all around you. Lizzie?”