GirlNextDoor

  Girl Next Door

  Lyra Marlowe

  Nolan and John are paramedics, partners, best friends—and complete opposites. Nolan is a true romantic with a broken heart, and he’s gay. John is straight, a relationship-dodging cocksman who’s growing bored with casual sex. But Nolan’s having sex dreams about John, and John’s having fantasies about Nolan. They could be moving toward a relationship, though they’re both afraid of destroying their friendship.

  Then Nolan’s one and only ex-girlfriend comes to visit and changes everything. With Nolan’s blessing, Lucy does her best to ease John’s boredom, playing out his deepest sexual fantasies—and hers. But when Lucy learns of John’s secret desire for Nolan, she’s determined to see them happily together. She won’t take no for an answer, even if she has to drag the two of them into bed with her.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Girl Next Door

  ISBN 9781419936968

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Girl Next Door Copyright © 2011 Lyra Marlowe

  Edited by Grace Bradley

  Cover design by Dar Albert

  Photography: Artix Studio; Olly/Shutterstock.com

  Electronic book publication November 2011

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.

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  Girl Next Door

  Lyra Marlowe

  Chapter One

  The Spot was a straight-up meat market—a bar where people went to meet for nostrings-attached sex. The music was loud. The drinks were cheap. There was no cover charge for ladies. The furniture was old and the carpet was filthy, but the lights were dim enough to disguise cosmetic flaws, in the club and in the patrons.

  John Krulak was a regular.

  He was tall and trim and good-looking, and he could generally hook a woman and have her out of the tank for the price of two rounds of drinks. Sometimes it took less than that.

  Wednesday night, he slid up to the crowded bar just as happy hour ended and drinks went back to full price. Jake, the regular bartender, waved, then finished making a tray of Cosmopolitans for the waitress. He came down with a bourbon on the rocks, John’s usual order. “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey, Jake,” Krulak returned. “Busy tonight.”

  “Yeah. Happy hour special packs ’em in after work.” The bartender shrugged. “You been kinda scarce lately. Find a new playground?”

  “No, just working my ass off.”

  Jake grunted. “Least you got a job.”

  “Hard to outsource paramedics.”

  “Yeah, ’til the Japanese build a medtech robot.”

  “Thanks, Jake.”

  The bartender grinned. “Happy hunting.”

  John sipped his drink and turned to look over the dance floor. Everyone there had come from the office; they still wore their suits and their sensible shoes. But they’d all had a couple cheap drinks too. Ties were loosened, blouses unbuttoned to show a little cleavage. Everybody looking to have a good time after work.

  John Krulak didn’t have to wear a tie to work, and his workday rarely ended when it was supposed to. But that wouldn’t matter to any of the half-dozen women he spotted checking him out. They didn’t care what he did during the day. They were just interested in what he was doing tonight.

  And that, he told himself firmly, was just the way he liked it.

  When he was younger, he would have eased onto the dance floor and chatted up one of the prospects. These days, he just waited. He turned back around, watching casually in the mirror behind the back bar. Very soon, a tall blonde slipped out of the crowd and moved to join him.

  “Hey there,” she purred.

  John smiled and turned. “Hello.”

  There was a ten-second pause while they checked each other out at close range. The woman was probably a little north of thirty years old. Her makeup was fresh. She had a little too much blush on, and wore four or five different colors of eye shadow, skillfully blended. Her mascara was a little clumpy. Her hair was dyed and the dark roots were just beginning to show. It looked sculpted, stiff.

  Her body said she went to the gym and actually worked out. She had fine, prominent breasts, probably assisted by serious Victoria’s Secret support, but her waist and arms were slim. Her legs, almost entirely displayed under a black miniskirt, were magnificent. Strong and long. Just the way John liked them.

  He finished his drink. The liquor warmed down to his stomach, and the warmth just kept going lower as he studied the woman.

  She tilted her head a little, and John could see in her eyes that he’d passed inspection too.

  He said, “I’m John. Can I buy you a drink?”

  She said, “I’m Sherry. Yes, you can.”

  John nodded, and Jake brought them a round of drinks. Hers was another Cosmopolitan. John felt his lip curl and fought to conceal it. A Cosmo was the perfect drink for a girl who wanted to get hammered without the inconvenience of tasting alcohol. Or one who watched too many chick shows on basic cable.

  Still, she had great legs.

  Sherry took a long sip of her drink and said, “So, John, what do you do?”

  “I’m a paramedic.”

  She lit up. “Oooh, I’ve always wanted to fuck a fireman.”

  John sighed. Usually that kind of talk would make him certain of his catch. Tonight it just annoyed him. “I’m a paramedic, not a fireman. There’s a difference.”

  Sherry leaned closer. “Okay.”

  She didn’t ask what the difference was. John knew she didn’t care. But he cared, very much. If I was a fireman, Nolan wouldn’t be my partner. Because firemen live together, you see, in twenty-four-hour shifts. They sleep together in a dorm. So there are no gay firemen, because it might be contagious or something. My partner couldn’t be a fireman even if he was the most qualified person in the world. Because he’s gay and he won’t hide it. And I’m glad, actually, because this way I get to work with him, and he’s the best paramedic I’ve ever known.

  But it’s still not fair.

  He glanced around the bar, spotted a table of firefighters over by the back door. They weren’t from his station, but he knew most of them. One of the guys nodded to him, an acknowledgement that Krulak had once again hooked a hottie without getting off his bar stool.

  In the department, they knew all about him. He had a reputation as a famous cocksman, and he li
ved up to it. Been proud of it too. Until lately.

  Lately, it all felt fake.

  John shook his head. No. That wasn’t true. It was the same easy casual sex he’d scored since he was in college. He wasn’t losing his touch, or his desire. He wanted this beautiful woman next to him, and he was going to have her.

  There didn’t seem to be much need for small talk. She was halfway through her drink. “You live around here?” he asked.

  She raised one eyebrow. “About four blocks.”

  “Good.”

  “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

  John drained his bourbon. “Do you want me to?”

  “No.” Sherry grinned. “That’s what I like about firemen. They’re always so direct.”

  She leaned forward and gave him a full view down her ample cleavage. She was ready to go. On most nights, John Krulak would have been ready to go with her. But tonight it was just too easy. Too cheap. Too stupid.

  When, he asked himself seriously, did you start wanting the women you bed to be smart? It’s not like you plan some kind of relationship with them. It’s just sex. Holy shit, you’re turning into Nolan.

  He stopped that thought firmly. He looked at the woman again. Beautiful and not too drunk and very willing. What more did he want?

  He wanted someone he could have a conversation with in the morning.

  Someone like…

  No.

  He was out of condoms, anyhow. He always carried one in his wallet and another in his car, but he’d used them both last weekend with Candy—which wasn’t her real name, and he didn’t care. Well, Sherry probably had one. Or he could get one in the men’s room, or there was a convenience store right across the street. He was sure she wouldn’t mind a brief detour in the name of protection.

  It suddenly just seemed like too much trouble.

  “You know what?” John asked. He pulled out his wallet, slid two tens across the bar for Jake, waved off his change. “I’m really tired. All that firefighting.”

  Sherry’s expression wavered in confusion. “What?”

  “Tired,” John repeated. “But if you’ve really got your heart set on fucking a firefighter,” he gestured to the table by the back door, “you go over there and tell them Krulak sent you. Believe me, they’ll take care of you.”

  “What? What kind of girl do you think I am?” she demanded. “You think I just go from one man to the next?”

  That was exactly what kind of girl John thought she was, actually. But it seemed unkind to say so. “I don’t mean anything,” he said in the soothing tone he used for strung-out addicts at work. “I just— I’m getting over something and I really just want to be alone tonight.”

  Sherry slammed back the rest of her pink drink, slid to her feet and put one defiant hand on her hip. “Then what the fuck are you doing here?” she demanded. She didn’t wait for an answer. She just spun expertly on her stiletto heels and walked away, with a definite see what you’re missing sway to her hips.

  Krulak watched her go, then finished his own drink. “Strike out?” Jake asked sympathetically.

  “Not in the mood,” John answered.

  “For that? Really?”

  “Really.”

  Jake shook his head. “I don’t think I’d ever not be in the mood for a piece like that.”

  A piece. That’s exactly what she’d be. A piece. Not a person, not anyone I cared about. And that’s what I’d be to her too.

  It had never bothered him before.

  He put his glass down. “Tell her you’re a fireman, Jake.”

  *

  It was early, by John’s standards, when he pulled into the parking lot outside his apartment building. He was restless, unsettled. It had been a long, long time since he’d taken a pass on a sure thing. In a way he was proud of himself. And in another, he was shaken. He was thinking of things he’d tried not to think about.

  A walk, he decided. He was still out of condoms anyhow. And milk.

  There was a drugstore two blocks down. He threw his jacket back in the car; it was too warm for it. Then he walked briskly down to the bright store. He got the milk and noticed that they had Sam Adams beer on sale. He was on his last razor blade too, he remembered. And then there were the condoms.

  He snagged a three-pack of his regular brand, got his razor blades and went to check out.

  The cashier looked as if she were still in her teens. She had teenage skin, anyhow. Her hair was straight, short and dyed dead black, and she had a silver stud in each nostril. As a paramedic, John almost recommended that she remove them and swab her nose down with hydrogen peroxide immediately. But he remembered that he was off-duty, so he kept his mouth shut. She didn’t look as if she’d be receptive to free medical advice, anyhow.

  “These are on special,” she said, cracking her gum. “Buy one, get one half off.”

  “The beer?” John asked hopefully.

  “The rubbers.”

  “Oh.” He tried to ignore the fact that he was buying condoms—and beer—from someone young enough to have serious acne. “Well, the way my luck’s been lately, I don’t need any more than this.”

  The clerk looked him up and down with brutal frankness. “I’d do you.”

  He could feel his face heating up. With as many women as he’d had, he should not be flustered by a wayward child. “Thanks,” he said, “but I’m afraid of nose studs.”

  She shrugged. “Suit yourself. But take the half-price ones. You don’t want to get a jinx.”

  “A jinx?”

  “You pass up cheap condoms, you might never need ’em again.”

  John sighed. He just wanted to be gone. The fastest way to that goal seemed to be to go along with her. “Don’t want that,” he agreed. He ducked back into the aisle and picked up another three-pack.

  Holy crap. I just turned down an easy lay in a bar, and I’m going to have six condoms in my stash. What’s wrong with this picture?

  The cashier smiled, a tight, smart-ass smile, when he got back to her. “You get a specialty free when you buy two.”

  “A what?”

  “Specialty.” She rolled her eyes, obviously bored with explaining things to this old fart, even if he was, in her words, do-able. “On the top row, in the single packs. Specialties. You know, spikes, studs, glow-in-the-dark. The freak stuff.”

  John Krulak had had enough. He straightened up and looked the teen with the soon-to-be-infected nose squarely in the eye. “What do you recommend, angel?”

  She blinked, and her cheeks turned just a little pink under her very white makeup. “The spikes hurt. The ridges are pretty cool.”

  “Not glow-in-the-dark?” John asked sweetly.

  “Kid stuff.” She smirked.

  “God forbid.” He strolled back to the condom aisle yet again and made a show of considering the options. They were, in fact, a little frightening. He took the ridges.

  The cashier nodded when he got back. “Good choice.” She took his money, letting her black-lacquered fingernails scrape over his palm. “I get off at ten.”

  John shook his head. “I bet you do. But that’s past my bedtime.”

  He picked up his bag and fled.

  Seven condoms. I’m turning down sex and I have seven condoms. If this keeps up, I’m going to have to start checking expiration dates.

  John had never been a good Scout, or even a bad Scout, but he did believe in preparation. Before he went inside his apartment building, he stopped at his car, tore off one of the foil packets and put it in the console. He put another in his wallet before he went to bed.

  Chapter Two

  For a change, John got a good night’s sleep before his next shift. He got to the medic shed a little before seven. Night shift still had the squad out.

  Originally the rescue squad had been housed in the main fire station. But the firemen had acquired new trucks, and pushed the paramedics out to an old two-car outbuilding at the back of the courtyard. One garage bay had been remodeled�
�badly—into a ready room. There was a full-sized refrigerator and a sink, a coffee pot and an ancient microwave. Someone had brought in an old dining room table and some chairs. Someone else had donated a battered couch. There was a decent TV, one of the old bulky kind that wasn’t worth stealing.

  At the back of the room was a very small office with an ancient desk and chair. They kept their extra forms there, but not much else. There was a tiny locker room and a tinier bathroom.

  The fire station was much more elegant, with bunks and recliners, a full kitchen, showers and a large-screen TV. The paramedics were welcome to wait for calls there, but they rarely had that much spare time.

  There was half a pot of coffee on the burner. Krulak sniffed it suspiciously. It looked like mud and smelled like an old sneaker on a coffee plantation. Clearly it had been made the night before and left on the hot burner for hours. He dumped it out and started a fresh pot.

  Before it was done, Garcia and Lawson came in from the firehouse across the courtyard. Garcia was red-faced with excitement, which was normal for him. “Krulak, I heard a rumor, a terrible, terrible rumor. You have to tell me it’s not true, John! You have to tell me you didn’t turn down a willing woman!”

  John shook his head. He should have known the guys in the bar would blab. There were damn few secrets in the department. “I turned down a willing woman, Garcia.”

  Lawson grabbed at his chest. “Say it ain’t so!” he gasped weakly. “We all heard the story, but we knew it couldn’t be true.”

  Krulak shrugged. “It’s true.”

  “She was a dog,” Garcia suggested. “Please tell me she was a dog.”

  “She was okay.”

  “Too drunk?” Lawson offered. “Underage?”

  “Worse,” John told them. “She was determined to bang a fireman.”

  Both of the firefighters looked temporarily affronted, but it passed. “You could have lied to her,” Lawson said.

  “I thought about it,” John admitted. “But then she bent over and showed me her breasts and I just couldn’t.”

  Garcia was panting for breath in mock panic. “Why, John? In the name of all that’s holy to men, why?”

  John made a show of looking around to be sure they were alone. “It’s like this. We’re in this bar, and over by the door there’s a whole table of these guys from Twenty-One. And they’re, well, you know, they got no chance. Because they’re all, you know…firemen.”