“That was fun, guys,” Ember says once her clothes are back on her body.

My breath is still stuck somewhere down past my throat, high from that hot as hell hookup. And she’s put back together, calm and relaxed, like this isn’t her first random Club M rodeo.

But she said it was, and deep down, I believe her.

She steps between the middle row seats and opens the passenger door, hopping out into the ice-cold air.

“Well, safe travels,” she chirps, and gets into her van. Less than a minute later, she drives off.

Not only was the brunette sexy as fuck, but she wore that bracelet and pendant with pride. It’s only known to members of an ultra-private, very secretive, national ménage sex club called Club M.

As I catch my breath, my hand passes over my wrist and brushes my pendant.

The bracelet is made of a delicate sterling silver chain with a lobster clasp. The cap pendant with a round, flat hoop is also sterling silver. It has the capital letters ‘PLAY’ etched into the flat surface. What makes it unique and discernible only to members is a decorative line that joins the tail of the Y to the tail of the P at the bottom, and a similar line above, connecting the top of L to the top left arm of the Y. The pendant’s circular shape and joined lettering are a symbol of the lifestyle we’re in.

By ‘we’, I mean Hammer and me.

We’ve shared women since we met in Firefighter’s Academy.

The woman who just let us rock her world has demonstrated that there are people in every walk of life who are also into casual ménage hookups. It’s become the first thing I look for on a woman. To find someone wearing this piece of jewelry out here in the middle of nowhere, like Ember said herself, it’s rare.

And fucking awesome.

I just wish one of us had the presence of mind to get her phone number. Hell yes, we’d hook up with her again.

We put ourselves back together and do some cleanup in the car with a wad of baby wipes. “You go on in,” I tell Hammer as I drive back to the front parking spot. “I’ll wait here. Keep an eye on things.”

“Twenty bucks says the kids aren’t done eating yet,” he replies with a chuckle.

I find a spot and stop the car. “I don’t even need to bet on that one. All three of them like to pick at their food. If we don’t cut them off, they’ll be in that diner all day long.”

“You got that right.”

“I think I can drive the rest of the way,” I tell him.

“Okay. I’ll navigate.” Hammer pushes open his car door and goes inside. He and the rest of our party step outside ten minutes later. Everyone piles into their respective vehicles for the short rest of the trip. The kids are full and quieter now, so we settle into a comfortable silence as we drive along the highway with the snow-covered Houghton Mountains hovering nearby. The ranch is a bit southeast of Reno, between the city and Lake Tahoe, but Hammer tells me to drive past the Reno Fire Department station where we’ll soon start our new jobs. We cruise by. As I’m driving, I’m focused on the road until Hammer clears his throat next to me.

“Whoa. Check out your two o’clock.”

“What?” I ask.

“It’s the van.”

“What van?” I have to ask because he’s being mysterious as fuck.

“The van. Do I have to spell it out? The bakery van we just saw at the diner.”

My neck flicks to my right so I can take a quick glance. Shit, he’s right. That white van is just like the one Ember was driving, with the same Baker’s Buns logo on the side. It has to be a coincidence. She must be dropping off an order at the fire station. Or it can be another Baker’s Buns worker for all we know.

“Do you want me to stop so you can check it out?”

“No. We can’t show up at my new job looking like this. Just get back on the highway. We’ll find out soon enough.”

Maybe we’ll see Ember again after all. I suddenly get the sense that Hammer may not miss Austin as much.

* * *

Hammer and his family have their work cut out for them. Not just with the ranch, but the house too. It’s the first of three large homes on the farmstead. Hammer hasn’t been back here for years, so he has no idea which one his great-grandfather lived in. Jameson shows us this house when we arrive. Outside is rundown, but anyone can see the potential for this large, white, two-story brick and lumber farmhouse with a wooden wraparound porch.

Inside is a fucking nightmare. The place isn’t safe for children. There’s a mountain of clutter that probably predates the nineteen fifties, a fuck ton of dust on everything, and probably mold too. We end up telling Connie to drive the kids to my parents’ place in Truckee. They have lots of room, and love the idea of spending time spoiling their granddaughter and Hammer’s twins while we get the place in order. Connie likes the idea too.

Carter, Cody, Hammer and I get down to work.

An afternoon, night and full day, two shop vacs, three dozen garbage bags, and four sore backs later, we’ve completely emptied everything that can be moved out of the main floor of the house.

The second floor is worse, and there’s an attic full of crap too.

Fuck.

Going all night and day is the only way to put the week we have off to good use. We start our new jobs then, so every second counts.

At about seven the next evening, the guys send me on a coffee run. I cruise past a playground, and as the kids are on my mind, I make a mental note to pick up something special for them so I can drop off later tonight. The closest coffee shop I spot happens to be a Baker’s Buns. Ember must work there. Unless it’s a chain of stores. For a split second, I debate whether to find somewhere else, but this is a small town. I’ll probably have to get on the interstate to find another coffee shop. Time is a luxury this week, so I turn into the parking lot, park the SUV, and head inside.

The swinging wooden sign advertising ‘We Have Great Coffee’ with a slew of exclamation points at the end tells me I made the right decision coming here. They must need my business just as much as we need the coffee. It’s a small shop. Dark wooden paneling lines two of the interior walls. Shelves of baking and coffee antiques run across the third wall. Close to the back, a plexiglass display case sits under the long customer counter and cash register area, filled with cakes, cookies, cupcakes, and pastries.

In the patron seating area, a couple of college-aged kids are relaxed on a dark brown paisley couch in one corner, clicking away on their laptops. I assume it means the place offers free Wi-Fi. An older man sits at one of the four small, square eating tables in the corner, his nose in a book, even though a TV is mounted on the wall in his line of sight. The news is on with the volume turned up. It’s probably this quiet here a lot.

I step up to the counter and tap on the customer bell to get a staff person’s attention. They’re probably multi-tasking in the kitchen in between serving the few customers who come in at this time of the evening.

“Welcome to Baker’s Buns. How can I help you this evening?” It’s Ember, but she doesn’t notice that it’s me yet. Her light gray eyes are focused down on the apron strings she’s busy tying around her waist.

I smile and wait for her to look up.

When she does, she freezes. All the color drains from her stunned face. She is not pleased to see me. I’d take it personally, except her displeasure and surprise have nothing to do with my performance yesterday. It has to be something else.

“Good evening,” I greet her.

“You…but I thought…what exactly are you doing here?” she finally asks after stammering through her shock.

“Ordering some coffees, maybe a few pastries, if you’d let me.”

Ember drags on the drawstrings of the same apron she just tied, loosening it and placing it on a narrow counter near the kitchen double doors. She comes around to the customer side and takes my parka-covered elbow, using all her weight to pull me through the shop and out through the front entrance.

“Why are you here? How did you find me?” she demands outside, staring up at me with her pale gray eyes, a stunning contrast to her jet-black hair. Fuck, she’s still smoking hot. Ember crosses her arms over her breasts, rubbing her hands down her bare upper arms.

Because it’s winter.

And cold as fuck outside.

“It’s like I said in there,” I tell her. “I’m ordering a few coffees. You do have coffee for sale here, right?”

“Yes, of course, but I thought you and your friend were passing through.”

“What the hell gave you that idea?”

“So… you’re not? You live in the area? Why is it I haven’t seen you before?”

“Are you going to keep asking questions, or do you plan on letting me answer one or two?”

“Sorry. Go on.”

“You know, I’m perfectly capable of having this conversation in a calm, quiet inside voice. Inside, where it’s warm, and where you won’t freeze your ass off. Unless you don’t plan on serving me coffee.”

“Fine. Okay,” she says, waving me inside, still staring at me with suspicion.

“After you,” I tell her as I hold the door open for her to enter first.

Ember strides quickly through the shop and around to the other side of the counter. “I’ll take care of your order while you explain yourself. What can I get you?”

“Let’s see. Four large dark roasts.” And are these M and M cookies pretty fresh?”

“Definitely. I just baked up a batch a couple of hours ago.”

“Great. Make it an even half-dozen.”

“Coming right up.” She checks the commercial coffee carafe and starts a fresh batch, then returns to the counter and opens the display case for the cookies. “You live in the area, don’t you?”

“Yes and no. We just moved to Reno. I grew up in Truckee, though, so I’m not a complete outsider.”

“Oh my God,” she mutters under her breath, but it’s loud enough for me to hear. “And from this order, I take it that one of you have kids…and maybe a few sister-wives?”

I lean in as close to her as the counter between us will allow. “Whatever happened to the part about discretion and privacy in the Club M code?” I ask more quietly. She gets the point really quickly, struggling for an answer as she slips the cookies into a small box with the store logo stamped on the side. I raise a hand to stop her. “It’s all right. There aren’t any sister-wives in the picture,” I start off with a chuckle. “Hammer has siblings. And we’re both single dads. I have a girl, Sandy. Hammer has twins, Logan and Lacy. They’re all four-year-olds.”

“I, uh… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.” She grabs the carton of milk for our coffee from the fridge in one corner, placing it on the counter beside the box of cookies. “I’ll ring you up now.”

I can tell she has more questions, so I wait silently as she steps behind the cash register. I pay her with cash, and let my fingertips trail across the inside of her palm. Her pink lips part, and color stains her cheeks. It’s good to know I still have an effect on her.

The fresh brew is ready behind her as she hands over my change.

“And neither of you drive truck?” she asks with her back now turned to fill the four coffee cups, reaching for lids as each one is filled.

“No.”

“Oh… I…it’s mostly truck drivers who stop in Lockwood, is all.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

She puts four of the coffee cups into a tray. “No, it’s not that.”

“I think I get it.” The truth is I don’t, but it’s not my place or my style to bark up the wrong tree. I pick up my order. “Don’t stress. We’ll stay out of your way…and your secret’s safe with us.”

“That’s not what I—”

“See you around…Ember. Or not.” I turn to leave, but as she’s had the benefit of grilling me, I figure I’ll return the favor with one burning question.

“Oh, I meant to ask…are there more than one Baker’s Buns delivery van in town?”

“Huh? No, just one. Why do you ask?”

I surmise from her answer that it was her yesterday, up at the fire station. It means that even if we never frequent this coffee spot, we’ll probably see her again. I don’t want a repeat of her reaction if she bumps into us at the fire hall. Telling her now will hopefully avoid further discomfort. Maybe.

“Don’t be too alarmed if you see Hammer and me on your delivery route.”

Her head tilts to one side. “What do you mean?”

“We noticed your van was outside the building where we’ll start work next week.”

“I don’t understand. What building?”

“Reno Fire Department. Station Eleven, if you need an exact location.”

Her mouth drops open.

She turns pale as a ghost.

“No, no, no…that’s not possible…this can’t be happening. Oh my God. Oh my freaking God,” she rambles on in a state of panic, hands up to her temples as though the information has caused an instant migraine.

“What’s the big deal? We don’t kiss and tell. Look, there’s more than enough room in this town for us to keep out of each other’s way.”

“No. You don’t understand.”

“You got that right.”

“Jesus. Deuce, what I’m trying to tell you is that I…I work at Station Eleven too.”

“What? You work for the Reno Fire Department?”

She nods, eyes vacant and as wide as saucers. “In administration, but that’s not as important as something else you should probably know. No, you definitely need to know this.”

“What?”

“My name is Ember Robertson…as in the daughter of Chief Denton Robertson. My dad is—”

“The Chief, our new boss, is your father.” I utter the words as a statement but have to repeat it for the meaning to sink in. “We’re starting a new job. For your dad. The Fire Chief. Our new boss. Our new boss is your father?”

Hammer and I haven’t started the job, and we’ve already nailed the boss’s daughter.

In a threesome.

Awww hell.

We’re fucking screwed.