Tropes

Spicy and Sweet

Practice dating

Hurt/comfort

Friends to lovers

First time

All the feels

Former bully (or was he?)

BLURB

A nerdy virgin professor wants a little dirty talk… but am I the right person to give it to him?

James assumed I was his bully in high school. In my drunken haze, I thought he was mine. We were both wrong. Starting over as tentative friends, I offer to help James with his dating techniques up until Valentine’s Day. I figure it can’t hurt. I’m sober and a proud firefighter, too busy to worry about romance. And James claims he only needs my help until he finds a real relationship. I don’t want to make a mistake or hurt him.

As February approaches, I find my long-buried crush on James resurfacing again. Only this time, I’m determined to do something about it. Will I have to let James go by Valentine’s Day or follow the feelings in my heart?

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“Hey.” He gave me a crooked smile. “Thanks for coming out to talk to me.”

“How did you find me?”

“You told me your engine number.”

“Oh, right. And who’s this handsome fella?” I held out my hand.

His basset hound gave me the stink-eye.

“Sorry. Ginsberg is older and a rescue, so he’s got attitude.” James cleared his throat. “And so do I, at times. Sorry, I feel like a total dick. I’m sure you think so. I should have been nicer when you offered to be friends. Put the past behind me. I spent time thinking about everything, and I was wrong. High school was a long time ago, and—”

“No worries.” I cut off his rushing apology. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters because I usually have better manners,” James insisted, taking a deep breath. “And afterwards, I couldn’t sleep and kept seeing your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

“All sad and dark when I said no…”

“I’m fine.” I bristled. “And my eyes are brown but not sad.”

James studied me. “Sure… of course. Sorry, I spend my days with overly emotional college students and reading between the lines of stories, so I sometimes connect things that aren’t even there. And, um, anyhow. Here.” He thrust a coffee my way. “Hope you like a mocha latte in the late afternoon.”

He seemed so anxious for me to accept it, holding his whole body stiff like if I refused, he’d crumple at my feet or something. So I let go of the eye thing, which bothered me, and tried not to look into his sharp blue gaze as I took the coffee.

“Do you take sugar? I have some and creamers, but it’s already mocha flavored, so the chocolate might be enough.”

“I like all coffee. Black or creamed. All day. Any kind. Although a little sweet is my favorite.” I matched his serious tone. The normal me would have flirted, adding something cliché about taking coffee like my men and smirking. But James’ remark about my “sad” eyes stopped me.

I finally met his eyes again, and something swooped low in my belly. Oh, shit. No, this had to be ignored.

“Noted. All coffee.” James smiled in relief and dragged a hand through his blond hair, messing it into tiny spikes.

“Why don’t we take Ginsberg on a walk around the block? My shift isn’t starting for a little while.” Anything to move. I wasn’t one to stand around and just… talk.

“Sure!” James instantly chirped, nearly tripping over his feet to match my strides.

“Do you like teaching?” I asked after a moment.

He bopped his head up and down. “Love it! Helping bring a book to life for somebody else is the best imaginable job. Although my parents worried when I went to graduate school for literature—they wanted me to follow them into mathematics and become actuaries. I’m good at math, but I couldn’t imagine it.” He shook his head.

“And that was an issue for them?”

“A little. It’s one of the reasons I moved to California and attended Stanford for graduate school and then came to Phoenix for my first job. I’ve been promoted—no, more an adjunct—but my parents still question my income and all, but I’m doing fine.” He lifted his chin.

“Better to do what you love than just what pays the bills,” I offered as we turned the corner of the block.

“Yes! That’s it exactly. I need to be surrounded by Whitman and Dickens—” He broke off with a flush. “Oh, sorry, I’m not even asking you anything, just babbling on. Get me started on teaching literature and I just… sorry. I’m so bad socially, if the diner didn’t make that obvious.”

“Don’t be sorry.” I smiled. I liked his excited babble and the way he hurled out words in a chaotic hurry. “And as far as dating, well, just keep in mind that guys like to talk about themselves. Ask them questions.”

“Right.” James pinched the bridge of his nose. “So, um, how do you feel about current politics? I’m worried about the increasing hostility toward free speech in academia.”

I groaned. “Not politics. Something less personal?”

“The freedom to speak or read should worry us all,” James muttered. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair until it stood up. “Favorite color?”

“Blue.” I stared a moment into his vivid eyes. “You?”

“Green… Um, how did you end up in Phoenix?”

We paused while Ginsberg sniffed at a tiny patch of grass.

“We moved around all the time after my dad passed. I must have gone to five or so schools, some before we met, some after. The last one was in Scottsdale. Anyhow, I liked the area and stayed in Phoenix. My mother is still in Scottsdale, far as I know.”

“Far as you know?”

“We don’t see each other much.”

James bit his lip. “I’m sorry about that. And here I was complaining about my parents, who I must talk to like twice a week…”

“It’s fine, that’s good. You should be allowed to complain and still be close to them.”

James stopped walking and stared at me. “Thank you. That’s more than I deserved for always inserting my foot into my mouth.” He gave a crooked smile. “You’re a lovely person. You know that? I sure misjudged you in high school.”

“We misjudged each other.” I shrugged. Hell, was I about to blush? Good thing I had a tan that hid it. People normally call me “sexy” or “strong.”

Never lovely.

“Anyhow, we should get moving.”

We started to go again, only Ginsberg wasn’t having it. He rolled to his stomach.

“Come on.” James tugged his leash. “Oh, shoot. I gave him water in the car, but he gets stubborn like this in the heat. He’s not meant for the desert.” James stroked his fur. “Come on, boy. I have water for you and treats. Just a few more steps.”

Grunting, Ginsberg still refused to move.

“Poor little guy.”

“It’s my fault. I got excited to talk with you and—damn. Can you wait here with him? I’ll run back for his water.”

“No need.” I scooped Ginsberg into my arms.

“Oh. At least let me carry him.” James trotted alongside me.

“I got him.”

“But, Phin…”

“He’s heavy for a small dog. He share dinner with you last night or something?”

“Since I had spicy tamales, no.”

“You like spicy food?”

“Love it. One of the best things about moving to Arizona.”

I smiled. My dad would approve.

“But Ginsberg has a sensitive stomach.”

“I bet he could handle it.” I juggled Ginsberg a little.

“You don’t sleep with him,” James said. “He couldn’t handle it. Spicy gives him flatulence.”

Ginsberg’s tush was near my chest. I lowered him slightly. “Good thing he didn’t have any tamales.”

I carried Ginsberg all the way to the firehouse, with James nervously checking the dog. Once he was hydrated and in the back seat, however, Ginsberg suddenly had the energy to put his paws on the window and bark.

“Thank goodness,” James exclaimed.

“Yeah, he seems fine.”

“Just lazy and thirsty. Still, I’m calling my vet.”

I patted his head. “Bye, Ginsberg. Keep cool in that AC.”

Ginsberg opened his mouth wide in what looked like a goofy smile.

“Wow, no more stink eye. He likes me now. All it took was carrying him in my arms. Maybe I’ll do it each time we meet.”

“He wouldn’t fight that idea.” James grinned.

He settled Ginsberg and then came around the car and offered his hand. “Thanks for seeing me, and this time, I’ll ask you if we could be friends. After all, how can I not be friends with a guy who carried my dog?”