Sinning with Fire (With Fire #3)

Chapter 1

Jordan

“Killer pussy.”

My head dips at the bartender’s answer, my lips catching between my teeth before a wider grin can spread across them. My gaze is still firmly locked on the man behind the counter. Cocky bastard. That would be his favorite shot to make.

On the black bar, beneath my hand, my phone vibrates, but I don’t tear my eyes from him. Whoever it is can wait.

“Well, I do have one of those, so I’d love to taste it,” I tell the bartender, delighting in the surprise that flares in his eyes, replaced quickly by a flicker of heat. Even if the answer is a lie. I know how I taste, and it isn’t anything to write home about.

This man, while he won’t be the one of my dreams tonight, is the man of my next twenty minutes, or until the rest of my group joins me at the bar at the edge of the casino.

It’s night one of a Vegas vacation, though vacation might be a loose term for the days ahead. Partying, fun in the sun, more partying, and capping it off with my brother’s wedding, sounds more like I’ll need a vacation after the vacation than an actual holiday.

“I can make it happen,” he drawls, half turning towards the bar behind him to grab a bottle of liquor.

My phone buzzes again, and with the bartender’s attention distracted by what he’s doing, I flip my phone over and peer down at the lockscreen. My bottom lip catches between my teeth while I lean into the bar chair beside me, reading the preview.

Hailey: I don’t want to blindside you…

My stomach twists in a foreboding kind of way.

What good could come from a sentence that starts like that?

Hailey is one of my girl gang, and a good friend of mine.

She’s known for her seriousness, even if that’s waned somewhat since her boyfriend, Luke, entered the picture four months ago.

Or re-entered, I suppose. Ten years separated them from a summer romance they had as teenagers, to the love that has blossomed between them.

My eyes flick to the bartender, but his focus is on the liquor bottles, searching for one in particular.

Glancing back to my phone, I unlock the device and pull up Hailey’s full message.

Hailey, Luke, and one of our other friends, Quinn, aren’t scheduled to arrive in Vegas until tomorrow due to their work schedules.

Hailey and Quinn are paramedics at the same firehouse where my brother is a Lieutenant, while Luke is one of his firefighters.

Hailey: I don’t want to blindside you, but I don’t think you know yet, and you need to hear it from someone that loves you… Paul is engaged. Call me.

The phone drops to the counter with a clatter, bouncing off a built-in gaming machine, and I yank my hand back to my chest like the device burned me.

Engaged? Paul? Paul Wallace? Scoundrel, liar, cheater. Ex-boyfriend. The one I wish the pits of hell would open up for and swallow whole? That Paul?

My heart slams violently against my chest as I dare a look back to my phone, screen facing up, the messages staring at me. There’s a second message accompanying the first, one that I didn’t read after my initial surprise.

Hailey: Jor, please call me.

This shouldn’t bother me. It shouldn’t affect me.

We’ve been broken up for months. Seven, to be exact.

Plenty of time for me to work through my issues and get over the jackass that didn’t deserve any of the tears I cried for him—and there were plenty.

They prick my eyes now, and I clench my jaw, breathing deeply through my nose in an effort to contain them.

No. No, no, no. You are not going to cry. Not over him. Screw Paul.

“One killer pussy for the lady in red,” the bartender muses, pulling me out of my quickly spiraling thoughts. “The decadence of pleasure in one little glass.”

He slides the shot in my direction across the bar, the burnt red of the liquid inside sloshing dangerously towards the rim.

A lemon sticks halfway out of the shot, the sight of it making my mouth water with the knowledge of its sour taste.

Alcohol sounds perfect right now, and I grab the glass, throwing it back without another thought.

An eruption of citrus and fruit explodes on my tongue, the smell of the lemon filling my senses, thanks to the piece touching the tip of my nose. The shot slides deliciously down my throat, no burn following it. Oh, this shot could be dangerous. A killer, as it’s named.

“I’ll take another,” I tell the man across from me, shoving the glass back in his direction. “A shot of tequila, too, and a Long Island to sip from after, easy on the ice.”

With my flirting plunging to the depths of nothing, the bartender eyes me for a moment before he turns to the task I gave him.

Throwing my long, dark hair over my shoulder at the same time as I straighten, I pick up my phone and pull up social media.

This is not a road I should be going down.

I’m pretty certain of that. But I don’t care. I need to know.

Seven months and he’s already getting married?

Not just engaged, I realize quickly after unblocking his profile and navigating to it. My stomach churns with something that feels like hot ice, slicing through me and causing trembling fingers as I stare down at the most recent post. His bachelor party is happening this weekend. In Vegas.

The same Vegas that I’m currently in for my brother’s nuptials.

I scroll through Paul’s feed, the shot threatening to come back up as I see picture after picture with a woman who could be my sister. Dark brunette hair, bright blue eyes. Even her coloring is similar to my warm sun kissed skin.

Stopping when I come to a post that has the woman’s hand aimed at the camera, the two of them sharing a passionate kiss, I swallow hard as I read the date. Five months ago. Two months after we’d said our last, final goodbye.

Two. Fucking. Months.

Fresh tears pool in my eyes, and I force myself to take a deep breath, willing them away. “Calm down, Jor,” I mutter to myself. “Just because he’s getting married doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t make you a failure. It doesn’t mean that his relationship is in a good place.”

It doesn’t mean you’re never going to find love.

The bartender, now a forgotten notion of hot muscle, slides both shots across the counter at me.

I grab the one identical to the first and throw it back, reaching for the tequila when my phone buzzes in my hand again.

It pulls my attention away from the drink, and I look at it, Hailey’s name flashing across the top.

Hailey: I’m calling you in five minutes and if you don’t pick up, I’ll call Nate.

She would call my brother. My entire friend group knew what I went through with Paul by the time things were all said and done.

The cheating, the lies, the horrifying way that I took him back time and again, especially at the end.

Each time getting a new promise of him never doing it again; it meant nothing, it wasn’t really cheating—they were only sending pictures back and forth.

An ache in my chest threatens to open up and swallow me whole, the way I wish the pits of hell would open for Paul.

I have ten minutes, fifteen at most, before everyone meets me in this bar to head to the club for the evening.

I need to pull myself together. Need to play the part of the siren who put on this fire engine red dress.

It was my favorite purchase for this trip, after all.

One outfit of many that I knew would turn heads.

I knew the red would draw attention, but the way it sparkles in the Vegas lights commands it.

It hits me mid-thigh and hugs every curve I own, accentuating my favorite parts.

I’m a knockout.

Screw Paul. He has no idea what he’s missing. I don’t need him. Bring on a new man. Even if he’s just for the night. Attention is what I need, and attention is what I’m going to get.

Sucking in a deep breath, I type back to Hailey before she calls me or my brother. This week is about Nate and Savanna, and I’ll be damned if I let anything taint their wedding week. Especially me spiraling.

Me: Paul who? I’ve got my sights set on Vegas this week. Bring on all the dark-haired, muscle-bound men who can light fire to my panties.

She must have been staring at her phone, because her reply is instant.

Hailey: That’s weird considering all the firefighters we know.

Me: Are you saying Luke doesn’t light up your panties?

Hailey: …he disintegrates them.

Me: Point proven.

Hailey: Are you okay?

I sigh, running my free hand through my long tresses.

Saying no would create cause for concern, knowing Hailey.

My mind races as I think about what she would do with that information.

Call Nate. Or Savanna, his fiancée—though, with all the preparations Savanna has been handling, I think Hailey would call my brother first. Then he’d worry about me, and he’d tell Savanna, and she’d worry about me.

Saying yes would be a lie. I’m not okay. I feel blindsided in the worst possible way. Maybe Paul was right all those years. Maybe I just wasn’t good enough for anyone else. Maybe there is something wrong with me.

No. Stop. Fuck Paul. He doesn’t deserve your attention, and you don’t want his. You want someone worthy of your attention. Panties on fire.

“Miss?”

“Hmm?” I respond distractedly, then blink away my thoughts, looking up to find the bartender staring at me.

He rattles off a total to me, and I give a shake of my head, realizing that he’s been standing there waiting for me to pay for my drinks.

Offering him an apologetic smile, I open my clutch. “Right. Sorry.”

Before I can pull money out, however, a hand presses into the small of my back. Warmth from a body close enough to brush my arm seeps into my bare skin. I stiffen, my heart leaping into my throat. One face flashes in my mind.

Paul.

“I’ll have whatever the beautiful lady is having.”