Pam Spencer drove slowly down the street, searching for a parking space far enough away from the house her friend Erica Shannon shared with her two boyfriends so her car wouldn’t be seen. Erica was throwing one of her men a surprise birthday party and everyone was under strict instructions not to give any clues.
Pam could still hardly believe Erica had two boyfriends, not that you could call either Dale Griffin or Corey Wachawski boys . They were firefighters and just about as manly and buff as you’d expect men who fought fires for a living to be. Although their three-way relationship, which had been going on for eighteen months now, seemed so natural and beautiful, Pam still shook her head on occasion when the reality of it hit her anew. As a striking redhead, Erica had the looks to get a man’s attention, but she was also the shy, quiet type. Pam had no idea how she managed to snag herself two such fine specimens of manhood, let alone how she managed to keep them.
You wish you knew. Then maybe you could get a bit of that kind of action for yourself.
Pam laughed as she found a spot around the corner from the party house and quickly nosed in. Keeping men was not her strong suit, and she wasn’t much better at snagging them. At thirty-two, she was beginning to wonder if a stable, long-term relationship was in the cards for her.
Pam threw her keys in her handbag and climbed out of her Toyota. She started when a voice called, “Hey, Pammy.”
She turned to find Steve Waller walking towards her in the late afternoon light. Pam barely managed to stifle a groan. Figures the only spot on the street would be directly behind his car. Steve was a firefighter too, a friend and colleague of Corey and Griff’s. And he was a giant pain in her behind, a monkey in her wrench, a black fly in her Chardonnay. Pam was sure he only called her Pammy because he knew it annoyed the shit out of her.
Steve flashed her the smile that he thought was killer and gave her appearance the once over. “You’re looking good.”
Pam glanced down at her casual ensemble of blue jeans and a white cami top beneath a loosely buttoned black cardigan. Griff’s surprise birthday party was only a casual evening barbecue, so she hadn’t even bothered with high heels, instead choosing her black patent-leather ballet flats. “Yeah, right.”
Steve, of course, did look fantastic in a pair of jeans and a grey T-shirt he’d probably pulled out of the laundry basket. With his thick brown hair, firm, ultra-fit body and twinkling baby blues, he didn’t have to do a damn thing to look good. Bastard.
Steve rolled his eyes. “You try to give a lady a compliment.”
“It’s not what you say, Waller, but how you say it.”
“And just how did I say it?”
Like you thought one casual compliment would be enough to melt my knees. No way were her knees melting for Steve Waller. Yes, he was good looking and his swagger could be downright sexy if she let herself think about it, but she was not interested in being another notch on Steve’s bedpost. He acted like he could have any woman he wanted, and from what Pam had witnessed at the Sovereign Hotel—the local pub she and Steve both happened to frequent—over the past eighteen months, his confidence was probably justified.
Which made it all the more irritating.
Before Pam could launch into a speech about his attitude towards women, the passenger door of Steve’s car opened and Rob McConnell got out. Pam straightened hurriedly, trying not to look like such a slouchy grouch. With the curly blond hair that gave him his nickname of Curly and his broad, toned body, Rob was a golden god who made her want to display herself in the most attractive way possible. At twenty-five, he was too young for her, but she couldn’t help her reaction. It was pure instinct.
Rob smiled when he saw her, presenting her with his cute dimples. “Hi, Pam. Wow, you look pretty.”
Pam beamed, heat flushing through her. Talk about
Pam could still hardly believe Erica had two boyfriends, not that you could call either Dale Griffin or Corey Wachawski boys . They were firefighters and just about as manly and buff as you’d expect men who fought fires for a living to be. Although their three-way relationship, which had been going on for eighteen months now, seemed so natural and beautiful, Pam still shook her head on occasion when the reality of it hit her anew. As a striking redhead, Erica had the looks to get a man’s attention, but she was also the shy, quiet type. Pam had no idea how she managed to snag herself two such fine specimens of manhood, let alone how she managed to keep them.
You wish you knew. Then maybe you could get a bit of that kind of action for yourself.
Pam laughed as she found a spot around the corner from the party house and quickly nosed in. Keeping men was not her strong suit, and she wasn’t much better at snagging them. At thirty-two, she was beginning to wonder if a stable, long-term relationship was in the cards for her.
Pam threw her keys in her handbag and climbed out of her Toyota. She started when a voice called, “Hey, Pammy.”
She turned to find Steve Waller walking towards her in the late afternoon light. Pam barely managed to stifle a groan. Figures the only spot on the street would be directly behind his car. Steve was a firefighter too, a friend and colleague of Corey and Griff’s. And he was a giant pain in her behind, a monkey in her wrench, a black fly in her Chardonnay. Pam was sure he only called her Pammy because he knew it annoyed the shit out of her.
Steve flashed her the smile that he thought was killer and gave her appearance the once over. “You’re looking good.”
Pam glanced down at her casual ensemble of blue jeans and a white cami top beneath a loosely buttoned black cardigan. Griff’s surprise birthday party was only a casual evening barbecue, so she hadn’t even bothered with high heels, instead choosing her black patent-leather ballet flats. “Yeah, right.”
Steve, of course, did look fantastic in a pair of jeans and a grey T-shirt he’d probably pulled out of the laundry basket. With his thick brown hair, firm, ultra-fit body and twinkling baby blues, he didn’t have to do a damn thing to look good. Bastard.
Steve rolled his eyes. “You try to give a lady a compliment.”
“It’s not what you say, Waller, but how you say it.”
“And just how did I say it?”
Like you thought one casual compliment would be enough to melt my knees. No way were her knees melting for Steve Waller. Yes, he was good looking and his swagger could be downright sexy if she let herself think about it, but she was not interested in being another notch on Steve’s bedpost. He acted like he could have any woman he wanted, and from what Pam had witnessed at the Sovereign Hotel—the local pub she and Steve both happened to frequent—over the past eighteen months, his confidence was probably justified.
Which made it all the more irritating.
Before Pam could launch into a speech about his attitude towards women, the passenger door of Steve’s car opened and Rob McConnell got out. Pam straightened hurriedly, trying not to look like such a slouchy grouch. With the curly blond hair that gave him his nickname of Curly and his broad, toned body, Rob was a golden god who made her want to display herself in the most attractive way possible. At twenty-five, he was too young for her, but she couldn’t help her reaction. It was pure instinct.
Rob smiled when he saw her, presenting her with his cute dimples. “Hi, Pam. Wow, you look pretty.”
Pam beamed, heat flushing through her. Talk about
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