Chasing Tail Page 2

  No, not tonight. Tonight, she had faith in the firefighter…and a little wine buzz.

  “Actually, I was waiting for an Uber,” she said, which was absolutely true. “And I heard this high-pitched cry. I couldn’t help it, I had to go see, and there she was, this orange street cat, wet and alone and starving.”

  “Oh, who’s the hero now, Sadie?” he asked, lightly touching her knuckles again and sending a shiver through her whole body. “So you just picked up the cat and took her on your date?”

  She blinked in surprise. “I never said I was going on a date.”

  “I imagine a woman as beautiful as you would have nothing but dates.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re really on your game, Lieutenant.”

  “Not a game, Sadie.” He eased a tiny bit closer. “Unless you want to play.”

  Heat coiled through her, and she tried to cool it off with a sip of wine. Everything felt fiery and taut in her body, so she let out a slow, calming breath and slipped out of her jacket. “I guess it depends on what we’re playing for.”

  He pointed to the pool table, free now. “Winner buys the next round?”

  “I don’t want another drink.”

  “Winner gets a phone number?”

  She fought a laugh as she pushed off the stool. “How about we just play for bragging rights?”

  He instantly followed. “Boring.”

  “Not if you win.”

  “Which I will.” He pulled a cue stick from the rack, handing it to her along with a piece of chalk.

  “Are you sure?” Maybe it would be a good time to tell him that her father had a pool table, and they’d spent hours together in the basement, playing while he practiced the next day’s poli-sci lecture on his young, rapt audience.

  “Positive. But I have to warn you, Sadie…” He closed his fingers around hers as they exchanged the chalk, his hand warm and strong and callused like she’d expect from the work he did. Nothing like Nathan’s. God, he was the antithesis of Nathan Lawrence. “I don’t lose.”

  “At anything?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  She chalked the tip and tipped her head toward the table for him to rack. “There’s a first time for everything, then.”

  He didn’t move, though, looming over her at easily six-one or six-two, with a sexy, sly half-smile as he held her gaze. “Then let’s play for a first.”

  “Your first loss?”

  He dipped a centimeter closer, locked on her eyes, somehow drawing her whole body toward him. “Our first kiss.”

  Heat blasted through her, sudden and powerful enough to weaken her knees.

  “That way,” he whispered, tapping her chin with the chalk square, “it’s a guaranteed win for both of us. Doesn’t that seem fair?”

  Right that moment, nothing seemed fair. Not how achingly bad she wanted to kiss this stranger, not how sexy his lips were, and certainly not how the only place she could bring him to take care of the burn in her body was a converted garden shed in her grandparents’ backyard.

  She swallowed and drew back, lifting her stick a bit. “Are we calling shots?”

  His eyes flickered with surprise. “You’re calling them all tonight. I’m just going along for the win…Sadie.”

  Her name slid through his lips like he liked the sound and taste of it, like he wanted to whisper it in her ear, like it was his new favorite word.

  “Okay, you can break.”

  He still didn’t move to the table, and neither did she. They were inches apart, and the whole place seemed to fade into the background, the music, the voices, the scents and sights disappearing as every one of her senses focused on the man in front of her. They didn’t say a word, but looked right into each other’s eyes for a few seconds, and each passing heartbeat made her lower half melt a little more. The palpable pull of attraction was sexy and intense, making her blood hum and her throat dry.

  The arrival of a group of men, laughing as they entered the room, forced them apart.

  “Take it slow, Mahoney,” one of them called, lifting a beer. “You’re on duty in the a.m.”

  He barely glanced over his shoulder to respond. “Screw you, Probie.”

  “Not a probie anymore.”

  Sliding into a booth, the men resumed their conversation, but the interruption had broken the tension…and cleared her head.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, turning his laser-sharp gaze back to her. “Where were we?”

  But she just stared at him, an ancient file opening somewhere in the recesses of her hormone-fogged brain. “Mahoney?” she asked in a hushed whisper. She knew a Mahoney from Bitter Bark. That kid who’d joked his way into the class presidency. That football player named—

  “Connor Mahoney,” he said. “But you can call me Lieutenant.”

  Seriously? Connor Mahoney? She let out a soft, rueful laugh. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “Not kidding about anything.” He frowned, searching her face. “Should I be?”

  “Connor Mahoney.” She shook her head, half smiling over the irony of it, half wanting to kick herself for not realizing who he was. The chestnut hair might be shorter now, but still thick and shiny. The blue eyes might have a few laugh lines, but they could still send a message without a word. The shoulders were broader, the jaw a little more square, and the mouth not as youthful. “I don’t believe this.”

  He looked utterly baffled. “Do we know each other?”

  “I know you.” He was the swaggering quarterback who charmed and disarmed and deflowered half their class. The cocky prankster who ran for class president on a bet he made with his football buddies and then beat the far more qualified candidate.

  A hot kiss and flirtatious games with the small-town firefighter were one thing, but she wasn’t so lonely for a local boy that she’d make out with the fake-humble victor who’d been instructed to shake the loser’s hand and hadn’t remembered her name.

  “But…do I know you?” he asked. “Oh man. Do we have…a past?”

  “Not what you’re thinking, Connor,” she said lightly, snapping the cue stick back into the wall rack. “We never dated. We never flirted. We never had sex. In fact, you never knew I existed except for about a minute when you had to congratulate me on a great campaign.” She lifted a brow. “Ring a bell?”

  She could tell from his completely blank expression that nothing was ringing at all. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never met anyone named Sadie in my life. Sadie…Winthrop?” he guessed, using her grandparents’ last name.

  “Mercedes,” she said, holding out her hand for a formal shake and hating that little thud of disappointment when he showed exactly zero recognition. “Mercedes Hartman. Your formidable opponent for class president of Bitter Bark High.”

  “Mercedes.” He took her hand, but didn’t shake it. Instead, he enveloped her fingers and drew her closer. “Wow, you’ve changed.”

  With a soft snort, she slipped her hand from his. “You don’t remember me.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t.” He gave an apologetic shrug. “It was a long time ago, and that election was not…that big a deal to me.”

  “It was a long time ago and not that big a deal to me, either.” Not today, anyway. The day of the defeat? She closed her eyes at the unexpected punch of an old and ugly memory of Connor sauntering across the cafeteria the next day and mocking her.

  She turned to their table and reached for her jacket. “I honestly haven’t given you a moment’s thought since then. But…” As she slid her arm into a sleeve, she let her gaze drop over his body, and damn, it was tempting to just laugh off the past and get back to the present.

  But Sadie Hartman was a woman of principles. Wasn’t that why she was standing in a dive in Bitter Bark instead of an upscale cocktail lounge on Capitol Hill? Her principles had forced her to run far and fast…and they were going to lead her away from the fry-your-eyes firefighter who’d thought everything was a joke in high school an
d probably hadn’t changed one iota.

  “So, thanks for the wine, Connor. See you around.”

  “Seriously? You’re going to brush me off for something that happened, like, seventeen years ago? Something I don’t even remember?”

  “I’m not…” Yes, she was.

  “Being honest,” he finished for her.

  “Okay, it’s stupid, I’ll give you that. But not only did you win with exactly zero qualifications, you…you…”

  “I what?”

  “You called me Ear Girl.” Her face warmed at the memory. Ear Girl.

  “Ear? Oh…yeah. The ear posters,” he muttered as at last something came back to him. “What did they mean again? You listen to everyone?”

  “It was my campaign slogan,” she admitted with a sigh. “Experienced. Approachable. Responsible.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He tried to cover a laugh. “But everyone called you Ear Girl.”

  She gave an easy smile, too, because it was funny now, considering how sophisticated she’d become at campaigning. But she still wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of a game or a kiss or anything. On principle. “So Ear Girl is calling it a night.”

  He shook his head as if he just couldn’t believe this turn of events. “Let me walk you.”

  “Not necessary. I’m going right around the corner.”

  “I know, but…” He picked up his jacket, and she put a hand over his.

  “No. Thank you.”

  Instantly, he dropped the jacket, but gave her a side-eye. “You didn’t recognize me tonight, either.”

  “I know, but I should have.” All the charm and playful banter, the electricity and zing, the seductive whisper of her name. That was what Connor Mahoney did to girl after girl after girl. Was that the kind of guy she wanted to be with after what she’d been through? Not a chance. “I really should have, because in all these years, you really haven’t changed at all.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “You still don’t take anything seriously, do you?” It was a guess, true, but based on the millisecond of a response in his eyes, she knew she’d hit the mark.

  Before he could answer, she gave him a quick wave, turned, and made her way through the bar and out the door, never once looking back.

  Chapter Two

  “It’s official.” Connor dropped the Bitter Bark Banner on the dining table where three other firefighters were scarfing down scrambled eggs and bacon. “Blanche Wilkins is retiring as mayor of Bitter Bark.”

  “’Bout time,” Ray Merritt muttered through a mouthful of toast. “She’s never been half the mayor her husband, Frank, was. But then, who could be?”

  “Careful.” Pouring a cup of coffee at the counter, Connor’s older brother spoke softly with the voice of authority these men were all used to hearing from Captain Declan Mahoney. “Connor and I are kind of related to Blanche, Ray.”

  “How so?” Cal Norton brushed a crumb from the uniform shirt the recently promoted probie wore with such pride. Connor glanced at the kid, who’d unwittingly and prematurely wrecked what was shaping up to be a mind-blowing connection the night before. But he couldn’t completely blame Probie. Once Sadie found out his name, she’d have bolted. But maybe he’d have gotten that kiss and convinced her not to run.

  “My cousin Shane Kilcannon is married to Frank and Blanche’s niece, Chloe,” Connor explained.

  “Oh, Chloe’s the one that came up with calling the town Better Bark for a year,” Ray said. “Put this town on the map for dog lovers.”

  “But tourism is down a little.” Mike Skinner’s thick fingers held a bacon strip he used to point to the others. “Not to mention that the teachers haven’t had a pay increase in two years. Ambrose Avenue has six new potholes every winter. The lights are falling off the trees in Bushrod Square—”

  “And all the first responders need a raise,” Ray interjected.

  Rounding the table to get his own cup of coffee, Connor felt the heat of his brother’s intense gaze cutting through him. Declan didn’t say anything, which wasn’t unusual, but Connor shot him a sideways glance. “What?”

  “I thought you were going to run,” Declan said.

  “For mayor?” Cal interjected with wide-eyed interest. Or maybe it was abject shock.

  “I flirted with the idea,” Connor said.

  “What—or who—haven’t you flirted with?” Ray cracked.

  “He was certainly working some smokeshow at Bushrod’s last night.”

  “Shut up, Probie,” Connor fired back, but without much bite. Cal had had no idea that calling Connor by his name last night would be the equivalent of aiming a hose at a six-alarm blaze. And Connor sure as hell wasn’t going to admit it.

  “A new one?” Ray snorted. “Shit, Mahoney, you really are not the mayoral type. A mayor should be settled and stable.”

  You still don’t take anything seriously, do you? He tried to shake off Sadie’s parting shot, like he’d been since that smokeshow beelined out of Bushrod’s. But he couldn’t quite forget the stinging observation.

  “He killed it at the bachelor auction, though,” Cal said.

  “Precisely.” Mike punctuated that with a gulp of coffee. “Stick to what you know, LT. Women.”

  “Spoken by a man who hasn’t had a date in three years,” Connor shot back. These guys loved to needle him, but the truth was they were mostly married or sadly single, two things Connor would never be. Marriage wasn’t in the cards, and there was nothing sad about his single status. Well, not counting last night, which might not have been sad, but sure had been infuriating and incredibly confusing.

  He had no idea where his physical yearbook was, but he’d found the online version last night and still couldn’t remember the girl, even after looking at Mercedes Hartman’s imminently forgettable senior picture.

  But Sadie? Oh, Sadie. Now she was a woman he’d remember. With that coffee-colored mane surrounding delicate features and a set of dimples that went straight to his heart. Eyes that warmed to whiskey-gold when he got too close and a body that managed to be slender and curvy and would no doubt fit him perfectly.

  There was nothing forgettable about Sadie…which was a damn shame, because the only thing he should be doing is forgetting her. She’d made that perfectly clear. Unfortunately, he was doing a crappy job of it. In fact, all morning he’d had one thought: Should he try again, or take the L and move on?

  God, he hated defeat.

  And speaking of defeat, how could he be held accountable for who he’d beaten for class president? He’d decided to run two days before the election because some of the guys on his team bet twenty bucks each that he couldn’t win. The only thing he knew at the time about his opponent was that she had ridiculous campaign posters with pictures of an ear. That was it. He honestly had forgotten Mercedes Hartman existed, probably by fifth period the day after the election.

  And if that’s what ticked her off, he got that, he really did. Calling her Ear Girl in front of their classmates had been a dick move by a seventeen-year-old who’d made a lot of them. But, for crying out loud, they were in their thirties now, and life had moved on.

  So should he try again?

  “Sorry, Connor, but I just don’t see you as mayor.” Mike lifted a beefy shoulder used more for hauling the line into a fire than having a woman hang on it. “You can’t run a council meeting on jokes and motivational football quotes.”

  Connor rolled his eyes as he drank some coffee. “Come on, man. How hard could the mayor’s job be? First of all, I love this town right down to my last strand of DNA, and I’m good—no, wait, I’m great—with people.”

  “Female people,” Ray stage-whispered to Cal.

  “All people. I can cut a few ribbons, throw down the gavel at town meetings, give the nod to the dates of the next Paws for a Cause fundraiser and still get my hours in here. Anyone with half a brain and a decent personality could do it. Hell, a dog could do it.” He gave a soft snort. “In this town? A dog
should do it.”

  “Then why aren’t you running?” Declan asked.

  This time, he shrugged with practiced nonchalance, knowing better than to color the truth with this man. “You know, Dec, I got the same reaction when I floated it past everybody at Christmas.” Dec knew, of course, that everybody meant their sprawling extended family. “Pretty much mockery all around when it came to the idea of Mayor Connor Mahoney. And you know how I feel about losing.”

  Declan gave a bittersweet smile. “I know how Dad felt about it,” he said softly. “‘Doesn’t build character. It makes you weak, son.’”

  Connor didn’t bother to argue with the words they’d heard their whole young lives until they lost that man who’d loathed losing and fear and negativity and anything else he thought made a man weak. As the oldest, Declan had heard it constantly. And as the football player in the family with Dad as his coach, Connor could recite every platitude the man liked to spew during practices. “Well, I’d hate to let down his memory with a defeat at the ballot box.”

  “Maybe you’d win.”

  “My unpaid focus group”—he gestured toward the table—“says differently.” And he could still hear Joe Mahoney’s voice in the car on the way home from practice.

  You play to win, Connor, not to lose.

  Dad might be gone twenty long years now, but the sentiment had guided Connor through life, helping him easily know when not to get into a position of weakness.

  Declan picked up the newspaper from the table to read the headline. “God, they really are still invoking the name of Saint Frank Wilkins. Poor Blanche had such huge shoes to fill when she took over the job after her husband died.”

  “She’s done a decent job,” Connor said. “Tourism has tripled.”

  “Thank Chloe for that.” Declan stuffed the paper into Connor’s hand. “And personally, I think you’d make a great mayor.”

  He would make a great mayor, and the idea had been nagging him since he’d heard the rumors of Blanche Wilkins’s retirement. As it was, he was stuck on the same professional firefighter rung and ready for a new challenge. His only possible promotion had him running smack into his own brother and two other captains firmly in place in Bitter Bark.