The Hot Brothers: The Complete Series

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

IAN

The sun blasts through the windshield as I pull into Riverbend Ridge Elementary. The school day is almost over, and the place is crawling with sugar-fueled kids. The little gremlins wearing Hello Kitty t-shirts and superhero sneakers run around the playground. God. To have that much energy.

Beckett’s going to owe me big for this one.

When he called in the favor last night, he conveniently left out the part where I'd be in the hot seat at Career Day, sharing "valuable insights" with a bunch of ankle-biters and their teachers.

The last thing I need is an audience watching me stumble through work stories while I try to figure out how I got suckered into this gig.

I squeeze the truck into a space that feels like it's meant for a bike, then sit for a moment, building up the courage to actually open the door. Kids stream past, their shouts and laughter an unending chorus of chaos, and I take a deep breath. It's now or never.

As soon as I step out, the hot afternoon air assaults me. The concrete path up to the entrance stretches long, too bright, too busy, and entirely too full of potential humiliation.

Every step I take, I'm flanked by chattering parents and sprinting munchkins. One kid shoots by, his arms flailing and I bet he's on a sugar bender.

Why did I let my older brother drag me into this?

Oh, right. He’s my boss. Being the youngest of four brothers means I'm accustomed to taking orders, and joining the fire department hasn't changed that.

My oldest brother, Beckett, is the Deputy Fire Chief.

Dawson, the next in line, is the Fire Inspector.

Then there's Atlas, a Fire Captain, and finally, there's me—the humble Lieutenant on the team.

An emergency call to the station would be a welcome relief right about now. I could always fake a pager buzz, but I can practically hear Beckett's teasing already. "Big bad firefighter scared of a few kids?"

The front entrance looms. I'm about to cross into no man's land. The urge to bail is real, but I soldier on, repeating Beckett's promise of free beer for a month like a mantra.

Once inside, I'm hit by a wall of noise that rivals a five-alarm blaze. The place is total bedlam, even by school standards. Kids’ voices echo off the linoleum and concrete, all weirdly distorted like a bad karaoke machine.

The telephone rings incessantly at the front office, where two women scurry around with paperwork.

I almost turn heel right there, make a run for it, but I know there’s no escaping once you're spotted.

A huge banner reads "Career Day!" in glittery letters.

Classrooms are already alive with frantic, colored projects.

Teachers weave through the halls with boxes of craft supplies, while kids swap stickers and noise complaints.

The air smells like glue sticks and construction paper, childhood and terror.

I steady my nerves and take long strides to the front desk, pretending the boldness I don't feel.

And there she is, as unavoidable as always. Ms. Betty. She's ancient but ageless. It seems like she’s been here since the beginning of time itself. Her eyes squint through rhinestone-studded glasses, and the second she recognizes me, they light up with happiness.

“Ian!” she exclaims, eyes wide with recognition as if she just spotted a rare bird. The smile she wears is warm, but I can sense the familiar undertone of caution in her voice. “How have you been?”

“Great.” I give her the smile that’s been getting me out of deep water my entire life. “You’re as beautiful as ever, I see.”

“Still the schmoozer, aren’t you.” She laughs and holds out a visitor pass for me. “I think you’ve gotten even better at it since the last time I saw you.”

“I’ve been working on it.” I wink at her.

“Be good.” She gives me her most stern look.

I hold my hands up in mock surrender. “No promises, Ms. Betty.”

“You remember where the third-grade hallway is, right?” A line starts to form behind me as other professionals come into the office. She points in the direction I need to go. “Straight down the hall. Last room on the right. And Ian… behave.”

“Who, me?” I give her my most charming, innocent smile. The smile that’s gotten me out of countless jams. “I always behave.” I turn and walk down the hall.

As I move past classrooms adorned with colorful student work, I’m filled with a strange mix of nostalgia and dread. Sweat breaks out on my brow. Fuck. I’d rather be just about anywhere but here right now.

I move past faded bulletin boards and ancient school photos and long forgotten memories come out of nowhere to remind me of things best forgotten.

The chatter and chaos spin around me, a dizzying mix of noise and color, until it's all I can do to keep my feet moving. If I just keep going, one step at a time, telling myself it’ll be over before I know it.

The building's way bigger than I remember.

As I navigate the fluorescent maze, the sensory overload dredges up more childhood nostalgia than I bargained for.

Even the weird, metallic tang in the air is familiar enough to knock me off balance.

But the fun and games aren't as fun when you’re the one on the hot seat.

My mouth goes dry in anticipation of impending awkwardness.

I never did like giving presentations. That was Atlas’ specialty.

I'm halfway down the corridor when a rogue soccer ball careens past my feet, nearly taking me out. A gaggle of kids swarms after it, nearly as quick and twice as loud. One kid barrels into my leg, and I brace against the wall. "Careful, buddy."

"Sorry!" He’s already halfway down the hall by the time my words reach him. I’m not used to feeling like a fish out of water, but this career day is definitely out of my element.

The signs outside classrooms list each victim for the day: Doctor Hernandez, Coach Steve, Detective W., Chef Terri, Fireman Ian Hot. My job for the day, courtesy of my dear brother, the dickhead.

I turn a corner and the echo of my footsteps ricochets against the shiny floors, only slightly drowned out by my pulse hammering in my ears. I can see the door to Ms. Higgins' classroom now. It taunts me with the promise of awkward public speaking.

Outside her door, I pause for a moment to collect myself, running a hand through my hair and feeling more like a fidgety third grader than I did when I actually was one.

The sign taped to her door reads "3rd Grade: Ms. Sage Higgins.

" It's in colorful letters, cheery and damning, and I breathe out slowly.

Beckett owes me a year’s worth of beer for this.

I’m about to knock when a crash echoes from down the hall. Someone dropped a crate of supplies, flooding the hallway with finger paints and pipe cleaners. Perfect distraction. I think I see an opening, a chance to ditch before I'm trapped in there. But I know I’m already this far in.

One deep breath. One more. Then, without giving myself the chance to think too much, I grip the handle. Just a half hour, maybe an hour tops. I can survive this.

Then I push the door open, a little too quickly for my own good, and step into the unknown.

The door swings open, and I’m ambushed by an untamed herd of third graders let loose in Ms. Higgins' classroom. Laughter, glue sticks, and paper scraps collide midair, a melee of kid energy with the teacher at its calm center.

I swallow, or try to, but my throat is dry as fuck.

Kids are all over the place, swarming with the intensity of a fire ant pile that’s been kicked.

Every art project known to man scatters across the room, creating barely controlled chaos that feels ten times more unpredictable than any emergency call I've been on.

Standing right in the middle of the chaos is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

Her long, curly blonde hair is up in a way that I can only describe as stylishly tangled, and she has intense blue eyes that remind me of clear summer skies.

She's bending over a group of kids, totally at ease, you’d never know she’s surrounded by the madness that’s closing in around me.

I freeze, all firefighter instincts failing me.

She hasn’t even noticed me yet, but I'm standing here like a deer caught in headlights and my usual confidence is nowhere to be found.

Her voice floats above the din, steady and warm, giving directions for the project they're doing. It’s meant to be about careers, I guess, but right now, it looks like the only thing most of them will be qualified for is demolition.

A kid zooms past with a pair of safety scissors, and it jolts me back to life. My entrance hasn't drawn any attention yet, so I hover awkwardly in the doorway, half of me tempted to retreat and regroup.

But then the stunning woman looks up, and our eyes meet, and suddenly there's no chance in hell I'm going anywhere. Her smile is bright and unguarded, hitting me with all the force of a first impression I should have been prepared for. Every goddamn nerve in my body goes on high alert while my cock wakes up. Oh, fuck no. This really isn’t the time to deal with this shit.

"Hi," she calls out, her voice cutting through the bustling noise of the crowded room. Her eyes are fixed on me with a knowing smile. "You must be Ian Hot.”

Her words drag me out of my stupor. As I hear them, memories of how I ended up here flood back, a reminder of the limited choices I had.

Despite the whirlwind of thoughts in my head, all I manage to say is, "Uh, yeah. That’s me.

Ian. I’m here." My voice is almost lost amid the surrounding chatter, but I nod to confirm my presence, feeling even more awkward.

She stands, a little bit flustered herself now that I really look, but a lot more together than I am. My brain and my tongue don’t seem to be on speaking terms, and I'm stuck just staring as she brushes her hands on her skirt and steps toward me.