Chapter 9
“You need to help me choose what to wear for tomorrow night,” I say to Jared.
It’s the Hero Awards banquet, which honors acts of bravery.
And my amazing…friend with benefits…has been nominated to receive an award for talking down a man who was threatening to jump from the Harbor Bridge.
Jared spent three hours on that bridge in the wind and rain, and the man’s alive today because Jared refused to give up.
“I’d really like you there,” he’d said when he invited me. Not “I need a plus-one.” I’d immediately said yes, but that was before I realized I’d have to meet his colleagues.
Now I’m panicking about meeting people who save lives every day, who probably all look like they stepped out of an emergency services calendar. Compared to me, the guy with the fucked-up face who Jared’s screwing on the side.
And then I start stressing about exactly how he’s going to introduce me?
“This is Felix. We bone sometimes, but it’s totally casual,” or “This is my friend Felix. Don’t mind his face.
He’s actually a decent person.” Will they ask about how I got my scars?
I mean, from a group of paramedics and firefighters, it’ll probably just be professional curiosity, won’t it? My stomach churns at the thought.
“It’s suit and tie,” Jared says now, and I drag my attention away from my nerves back to his not very helpful answer.
“Well, duh. The question is, what suit and tie?”
Jared raises his eyebrows. “You have multiple suits?”
“Of course I have multiple suits. I used to work in fashion, remember?”
I grab his hand and drag him toward my bedroom.
“I normally like it when you drag me into your bedroom, but I’m not sure I’m going to like this,” Jared says, and I laugh before turning to my walk-in closet.
“I need you to be my fashion consultant.”
“I’m not sure if I’m particularly qualified for that position, but I’ll try,” he says.
The first suit is my safety option. Navy blue, classic cut, the kind of thing you wear when you want to disappear into a crowd of other men in navy suits.
“It’s nice,” Jared says from where he’s sprawled on my bed, Patches already claiming his lap.
“Nice?” I turn to look at him. “That’s what you say about your aunt’s potato salad when you don’t want to hurt her feelings.”
“Okay, it’s boring. You look like you’re going to audit my taxes.”
I retreat to my closet and emerge in option two: charcoal gray with a subtle pinstripe.
“Better,” Jared says. “Now you look like you’re going to audit my taxes but feel bad about it.”
“You’re terrible at this.” But I’m grinning as I disappear again.
The third suit is one I haven’t worn since before the accident. It’s a deep purple velvet that catches the light, paired with a black shirt. It’s the kind of thing Old Felix would have worn without thinking twice.
I hesitate before stepping out. “This one might be too much.”
“Let me see.”
I walk out, and Jared sits up so fast he nearly launches Patches across the room. His eyes travel slowly from my feet to my face, lingering on the way the jacket fits across my shoulders.
“Felix.” His voice comes out rougher than usual.
“Too much?” I start to turn back, but he’s on his feet, crossing to me.
“No. God, no. You look…” He reaches out, running his hand down the velvet sleeve. “This is who you are, not those other suits.”
“People will stare.” I hate how small my voice sounds.
“People will stare because you look incredible.” His fingers find mine. “Let them stare.”
My chest goes tight at the look on his face. “You really think I should wear this?”
“I think you should wear whatever you want. But if you’re asking my opinion…” His eyes do another slow sweep that makes my skin heat. “The purple. Definitely the purple.”
I look at myself in the mirror, at this ridiculous, gorgeous suit that I never thought I’d be brave enough to wear again. Jared’s behind me, looking at me like I’m something spectacular.
“The purple it is.”
“Come here,” Jared says, pulling me against him to kiss me. His tongue slides against mine, and I forget about the suit, about tomorrow, about everything except his hands sliding down my sides.
“This needs to come off,” he murmurs, fingers working at my jacket buttons.
“Careful!” I catch his wrists. “You can’t just manhandle velvet.”
“I’m trying to manhandle you, not the velvet.”
“The velvet is attached to me.” I ease the jacket off slowly. “It needs to be hung immediately, or it’ll crease.”
Jared flops back on my bed with a groan. “You’re seriously doing garment care right now?”
“Would you rather I think about wrinkles the entire time we’re having sex?” I find the padded hanger and hang up the jacket. “Because I will. I’ll be lying there thinking about permanent creases.”
“I take offense that you don’t think I could distract you from contemplating wrinkles.” Jared props himself up on his elbows, watching me as I remove my trousers and fuss to make sure they’re hung correctly. “You’re taking forever on purpose.”
“Quality clothing deserves quality treatment.” I brush imaginary lint off the pants before placing them carefully in the closet. “Besides, anticipation is supposed to be sexy.”
“You know what else is sexy? You, up against me, naked.” He’s already removed his shirt and pants and is lying sprawled against my pillows like he owns the place—which, honestly, he might as well with how often he’s here—looking unfairly gorgeous in just his boxers.
“Patience is a virtue.” But I’m grinning as I start unbuttoning my shirt, deliberately going slower than necessary just to watch him suffer.
I take my sweet time with each button, watching his eyes track my fingers. By button three, he’s making impatient noises. By button five, he’s threatening to rip it off me. By the last button, he’s already sitting up and reaching for me.
“Finally,” he mutters, pulling me down onto the bed with him. His grip on my waist is firm enough that I half-fall, laughing, onto the mattress. “You’re a menace.”
“You love it.”
I’m straddling him now, my hands braced on either side of his head. His hair is already messed up from the pillows, sticking up at angles, making him look younger. I love seeing Jared like this, boyish and relaxed and laughing, without the weight of all the things that usually burden him.
“I’m just happy you’re finally done with the buttons.” He grabs my wrists. His thumbs press into my pulse points where I know he can feel my heart racing. “No more clothing that requires careful handling. From now on, you only wear tearaway pants like strippers.”
“Very classy. That suggestion really fits with the whole paramedic hero vibe you’ve got going.” I shift my weight slightly so I brush against his cock, just enough to make him inhale sharply.
“Heroes can appreciate convenient clothing removal. It’s practical.”
His fingers are already working their way down my stomach, making it hard for me to concentrate.
“Nothing about this is practical,” I manage to say. “We were supposed to be picking out an outfit, and now look where we are.”
“Exactly where we always end up when you drag me into your bedroom.” His hands continue to slide farther south. “Which means this was your plan all along.”
“My plan was a fashion consultation. You’re the one who got all hot and bothered by the purple suit.”
“You had to know what seeing you in that suit would do to me. This is entrapment.”
“That’s a serious accusation.” I lean toward him, close enough that our noses almost touch. “Do you have any evidence?”
“Tons. But I’m willing to be bribed to keep quiet.”
“What kind of bribe are we talking about?” I let my lips brush against his jaw, barely a touch.
He flips us over in one smooth motion that reminds me he’s got actual upper-body strength from his job. I end up on my back with his body encasing me. “I’ll show you.”
And then there’s no more talking, just his mouth on mine and his hands everywhere, my leg hooking around his waist for leverage, his weight pressing me into the mattress in the best way.
The purple suit watches from its hanger in the closet, probably judging us for our complete lack of sophistication, but that’s okay. Sophistication is overrated.
Walking into the awards ceremony the following evening, I can’t help noticing people’s stares. Their eyes seem to drift from my suit to my face, then snag there for a few seconds before returning to my suit.
But honestly, every glance, every double-take, is worth it for how Jared’s looking at me right now.
He keeps finding excuses to touch me, his hand on my lower back, and it makes me stand taller. For the first time since my accident, I feel powerful in my own skin.
We stop by the display showing photos of all the award recipients alongside descriptions of their acts of bravery. Jared’s photo shows him looking professional in his paramedic uniform, nothing like the man who sang Disney songs in the shower this morning.
“Jared!” A voice booms across the room. A tall guy with sandy hair and an infectious grin bounds over to us like an enthusiastic golden retriever. When he sees me, his smile only broadens. “This must be the famous Felix.”
Jared has told his colleagues about me? I try not to look too pleased about this revelation.
“Famous?” I raise an eyebrow at Jared, who looks slightly sheepish.
“This is Ryan,” Jared says quickly. “We work together. Ryan, Felix.”
Ryan gives me a wink. “Nice to finally meet the reason for all of Jared’s mysterious smiles.”
Before I can fully process that, a slender man with dark curls appears at Ryan’s elbow. “I’m Cody,” he says, offering me a handshake. “I apologize in advance for my husband.”
“Hey! I’m delightful,” Ryan protests.
“You’re definitely something,” Cody agrees fondly.
We make our way over to a table where someone has already placed name cards.
“So, I don’t think you’ve ever told me how you two met,” Ryan says to Jared as we sit down.