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Cold Hearted Bastard (Cold Hearted #2)
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Five Things. That’s the title of the video I’m watching. Each day, a social media coordinator picks a fireman from the Hightower Hills Fire Rescue Station 99 to interview, and she asks him ‘five things’ about himself that the community may not know. I keep rewinding back to the man of my desire—Corbin Carmack.
In my defense, I never meant for there to be so much smoke. And I never meant to pass out before my firefighter hero could save me.
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Five Things. That’s the title of tonight’s video I’m watching. More like salivating over. Each day, a social media coordinator picks a fireman from the Hightower Hills Fire Department to interview and she asks him ‘five things’ about himself that the community may not know. There are nine other videos of different men on the playlist, but I keep rewinding back to the man of my desire—Corbin Carmack.
I’m watching these videos like he might let a secret slip out. Something special that could get me closer to him. Something that would whisper into my ears the key to unlocking his heart. Silly, right?
If you asked me five things about myself that people may not know, it would go a little something like this:
1. I love a man with brown eyes.
2. I’ve never wanted a stranger as much as I do him.
3. I’m going to extremes that could get me tossed in jail just to steal glimpses of him.
4. For the last two months I’ve blown off friends, family, and everything in between to stay up late at night and watch this video as I pleasure myself to sleep.
5. I set my house on fire to meet him.
Well wait, let me explain…
I first saw Corbin when he made national news, rescuing my neighbor’s baby boy from their burning house in the Cedar Crest subdivision where I live. Charlotte—said baby boy’s mom— screamed from their front lawn, while her husband, Thomas, clutched her in his arms as she begged for him to let her go, because their son was still trapped inside.
With the heat threatening to scorch my skin from where I stood behind the safety of the barricades, I watched in awe as Corbin leapt from the blaring fire engine and charged right into the flames of Hell without a second thought. Even with the protective gear he was wearing, I couldn’t imagine being that fearless, that daring. But he was.
After a few heart-stopping moments, Corbin emerged from the burning house with Benjamin clutched to him. His mask covered the baby’s face to give him oxygen, while he sucked smoke, and the selfless act hit me right in the heart. And the vagina.
Everyone stood in their pajamas and robes applauding his rescue, and I’m sure, afterward, like normal people, went back to sleep. Went back to living their lives.
I must be strange, or deranged, because the first thing I did that night was look up the heroic rescuer to find out his name. All the information was right there online. His name, phone number, address—hell, even his email address. The internet also told me his family member’s names, and while I had a lot of trouble finding anyyyyything about Corbin on Facebook, his mom has a penchant for posting every single thing about herself. Her name is Greta, and she loves cooking, fishing, and Jesus. From her numerous posts, it would appear in that exact order.
But then, I looked up the Hightower Hills Instagram account and was bombarded with videos, live feeds, and pictures galore. It was like my very own personal oasis of Corbin-candy. I devoured every video, deciding on the ‘five things’ one as my favorite, and saved every picture of Corbin to my phone. The word stalker has nothing on me.
And this is why I’m beginning to unravel. This is why I’m going to drastic measures to get close to him. I can’t take it anymore. He’s consuming my every single thought.
I wake with him on my brain. I go to sleep with him still there. On my fingertips that wander down into the hem of my panties when I should be getting a full night’s sleep so I can wake in the morning fully refreshed and ready to teach a classroom full of kindergarteners.
Ugh. See? Deranged. I’m supposed to set an example for the next generation, and here I am breaking laws and moral codes. I’m hunting this person down and trying to dig into their life because I have a sick need to get closer to a total stranger.
I know that we’ll never be together—in love—or any kind of real relationship. In reality, when I step back and think about what I’ve done, I know it’s wrong. But when I study him on the screen, all I see is a man that I want to be his everything. I want him to look into my eyes and fuck me raw. I want his sweet nothings in the morning. I want him holding me in bed with his strong tattooed arms, smelling like smoke and fire.
Ah shit, the smoke alarm is going off. My lungs are starting to fight. Oh god, what have I done?
I can’t just walk up to the firehouse, introduce myself, and offer me up as some kind of prize. So, I’ve done all my research and I know what he likes. I’ve sat and watched from across the street, parked at the post office, as he picks up an order from Rosario’s Italian Delicatessen every Friday. I know every morning at five-thirty he’s at the gym. He runs treadmill first, then weights, then back to the treadmill. At eight forty-five, he likes to stop at JoJo Juice and order a mix of pomegranate, cherry, kale, and pineapple after his workout.