She’s not looking for Mr. Forever – just Mr. Right Now. He’s playing for the city’s first football championship in forty years. Neither were betting on love.

If you’re craving a night with the biggest baddest NFL player, this book is what you need!!!

Every page of Wildcat is electric and interesting, I can’t wait to see what the author puts out next!

-Amazon Reviewer Allyn

Only jerks tell women they would get ahead if they acted more feminine.

This advice, given to her by her fire captain, Eric Cordova, was particularly galling. Leslie McClunis had not survived her probie year at Firehouse 21 to be told by her new captain that acting more feminine would solve her problems.

As if any of those mouth-breathers knew what ‘feminine’ meant. To the guys at Firehouse 15, it meant women cooked, cleaned, and were brainless. It meant the only woman brave enough to enter their sacred masculine space was subject to misogynistic tricks. Since assigned to Firehouse 15 in June, she’d had four flat tires and a broken windshield. When she started walking to work, they peed in her locker. They’d even tried to trap her in the bathroom.

But she didn’t quit, and they didn’t like it.

That was their problem, not hers.

Yet here she was, trying to prove to them that she had some other feminine skill by attending an eight o’clock Bob Ross art class on a July Friday night. Why they believed painting was a feminine skill was beyond her. It might have been Bob Ross, who appeared to have been a gentle, thoughtful guy, all characteristics Leslie lacked. The artist himself had recently died, but his legacy lived on.

She flicked a hand over her short red curls. Two years ago, she’d had long flowing locks. Not anymore. They didn’t fit in a fire helmet, and short hair was harder to pull.

Another person walked by and set up an easel next to her. This someone was huge. By Leslie’s estimation, he was about six foot five and a solid 260 pounds huge. The type that could bench press Leslie’s five foot one and 105 pounds with three fingers huge.

The man moved with a surprising amount of grace while removing his leather vest, which revealed a board expanse of muscle. He took skull cap out of his pocket and used it to tie back his dreadlocks.

Leslie was staring unashamedly. She could hear people tittering around her at this man. He looked vaguely familiar, but it most likely had more to do with his size than anything else.

And she liked big men. Despite her male teammates’ constant innuendos otherwise, Leslie was not a lesbian. Her men need to be huge, hung, and not associated with the firehouse. There were only two women in her class of twenty, and she had no intention of ruining her hard work by sleeping with someone in the department. Firefighters were gossipy little chickens worse than high school girls.

The man noticed her gaze and tried to stare her down.

She bared her teeth back at him.

His eyes flashed with a spark of interest. Unfortunately for Leslie, their connection was interrupted by their instructor coming out to begin the lesson. He showed whatever ‘wet on wet’ painting meant and droned on about the wonders of happy little trees and happy accidents.

Supposedly a monkey could paint beautiful landscapes with the Bob Ross method. However, Leslie spent a lot of the class imaging what ‘wet on wet’ would mean with that man next to her. Therefore, her non-beautiful landscape ended up being a landscape of a bunch of blobs.

Mr. Too-Attractive-Next-Canvas-Over seemed to be doing a much better job. He successfully painted an entire mountain scene.

The class ended, and people started carrying away their canvases.  Leslie, never one to be shy, decided to be bold.

“Hey, you!” She got the attention the man who was putting his vest back on.

“Yeah?”

“Want to go get a drink?” She did her best not to leer. He had to be concealing some heft behind those jeans and beat-up white T-shirt.

“You want to have a drink with me?”

“Why not? I promise I have much better skills than my painting.” Most guys rarely asked questions when she wanted to invite one out for a drink. The reasons should have been obvious. He was hot, and she was horny.

“I need to put my picture away.”

“I’m putting mine in the circular file.” She dropped hers in the trash can. “There’s a dive bar two doors down. I’m gonna order two drinks. One for me, and one for you. If you don’t come by in fifteen minutes, it will be two drinks for me, and I’ll find my own fun without you.”

His mouth dropped open like a fish. “Do you even know my name?”

“Do I need to? See you at the bar, stud.”

Some people who weren’t firefighters would argue Leslie was overdoing it. From her perspective, if she was going to fight fires like a man, she was going to screw like a man too.

It took him under five minutes to meet her at the bar. Leslie was sitting there with the promised two shots, a red concoction the barkeep had named after her. The man picked up the first. “I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

Leslie drank hers down in a single swallow. “Because I’m cute, loud, and more exciting than Bob Ross.”

“And tiny.” He put one hand on top of hers. He absolutely dwarfed her, letting his palm warm almost her entire forearm. This man could easily take her however he wanted, but he seemed slightly bowled over by her attitude.

“I’m short? I had no idea,” she said sarcastically. She ran her other hand up his immense forearm. “I’m also very flexible.”

He loomed over her, tucking her head underneath his chin. “Careful. I could break you. I outweigh you by-”

“About 150 pounds and fourteen inches,” she guessed, leaning into his body.

“You’re, what, 100 pounds?”

“My fighting weight is 105.”

“I’m almost three of you.”

“Yeah, that happens a lot,” she said. The average 200-pound man was already two of her. But once they were in her bed, they usually forgot about the size thing.

“I could be a terrible, evil mo-fo.” He placed one hand on her back.

“You could be, but you aren’t.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I’ve seen assholes, and you’re not it. You don’t have needle tracks up your arm, and you raised your hand during class. Your vest is nice leather, not fake, and the watch on your wrist isn’t cheap.”

“I could be a criminal,” he offered.

“A criminal who spends an excessive amount of time at the gym.” She rested her back on his chest. His pecs were most impressive, almost warm steel. A metal she wanted to test up close. She was getting wet in anticipation. His body had to be remarkable.

“What do you think I do, Columbo?”

“Nothing at a desk, for sure. Bodybuilder or personal trainer. You might have a day job in something physical—construction at the Rock Hall. But when you get home, you work your ass off for that body. Only fair to reward your efforts.” She trailed a hand down his jeans.

He picked her up and set her on the bar, making her eye level with him. “You’ve got me figured out?”

She bent forward far enough to touch her lips with his. “Is there something wrong with wanting to use your body? Letting you fill me up in every which way?”

“Are you objectifying me?”

“Yes. Are you objecting?” Leslie skimmed a foot over his jean-covered thigh.

“You didn’t ask my name yet.”

“Must I?” She moved her foot toward his fly, which had a growing bulge. She hoped the barkeep wouldn’t toss her, again.

“Yeah. Because I like it when my women say it as I give it to them. It’s Trevor.” He leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “And if I’m gonna be inside your tight little body, I want to know your name, too.”

“I’m Leslie, and I’m leaving. Get your ass in gear.” She hopped down, dropped a twenty on the bar, and headed out. She didn’t even check to see if he was following her.

She didn’t need to because his enormous presence shadowed her the four blocks to her studio apartment. She lived on the first floor of a house chopped up into apartments. It was right next to some new condo construction which kept her rent cheap.

As she opened the door, he asked, “I’m not going to find out I need to pay for this, am I?”

She snorted. “If your body is anything like what I imagine, you shouldn’t need to pay for it. Women should be beating down the door.”

Leslie waved him in, and he entered without hesitation.