Page 5 of The Spark Between Us

Is his sister some kind of insane vegan hippie? She does live in Berkeley, so it’s possible.

Finn cleared his throat in his professor-serious way, but the laugh didn’t leave his voice. “I find it awesome. And truth be told, I’m a little jealous. We always said we’d room together after college—too bad it never worked out. Just be nice to her and show her around town. After that, you probably won’t see her much. She pretty much lives at work.” A fruity, robotic nun.

He thanked me a few more times, which somehow made me feel more indebted to him, and we hung up.

I raked a hand over the few days’ worth of scruff on my face. I hadn’t decided yet whether to let it grow back into a full beard. The guys at the fire station had been giving me shit since I’d shaved my beard a month ago, constantly touching my face like it was a miracle that I had actual skin under there. If I heard “like a baby’s butt” one more time, I’d hand down a week of kitchen duty to the nearest asshole.

By my calculation, Sarah wouldn’t arrive for at least an hour, which gave me time to get out of the house for a bit. I’d been crammed inside cleaning the place up for most of the day because I didn’t want Finn’s sister to bolt before she knew me well enough to embrace my clutter.

My bike sat basking in the sun, begging me to ride. I couldn’t turn that pretty thing down when I had a free hour, so I grabbed my helmet and leather jacket and headed outside.

“You’re as pretty as ever, Dolores,” I said, rubbing a hand over her shiny red gas tank. No one was around to hear me talking to a motorcycle, but who cared if they did? A man’s relationship with a beautiful machine was his own business.

I wasn’t a Harley Davidson kind of guy, and I didn’t belong to a pack or a club. When I needed to escape or clear my head, I went for a ride. A couple years ago, I bought a used Ducati with all the speed I wanted without the flash. No two-wheeled swinging dick to prove anything to anyone.

I pulled on my gloves and straddled the bike. Firing up the engine, I felt the seductive purr that always ratcheted up my heartrate a few notches. Perfect day to ride the winding roads past the vineyards outside of town.

I eased the bike out onto the road, keeping the speed down on the residential streets and into town. No one liked a loud, crazy motorcycle scaring the life out of people when they were out walking around. Once I got onto the road, I’d open her up.

It surprised me to find a string of cars idling for a couple blocks on Second Street. Traffic wasn’t a thing in Carolwood. The place was too small. Had to be construction.

Splitting the lane on the bike, I passed most of the cars, planning to high-five the crew as I rode by. Probably guys I knew.

But I didn’t see construction guys.

“Shit. That ain’t good.” I winced, watching the guys from my unit, Engine 97, circle a white Prius that had rammed into the back of their truck.

From the looks of things, it had just happened. The hood sat uselessly crumpled like an empty TV dinner tray. I could see someone in the car behind the cloud of airbag. “So much for the ride,” I muttered, pulling my bike off the road, locking my helmet, and jogging over to the rig.

“What the hell happened?” I asked Logan, our driver-engineer who’d never gotten as much as a scratch on the paint in seven years. As he took photos of the scene, he made notes on a small pad. I knew he’d be stressing over getting the truck back into spit-shine condition, no doubt mentally polishing every inch of chrome while he grimly surveyed the damage.

“Just what it looks like. We were stopped, and next thing I know, there’s a car glued to the back of the truck.”

While he wrote his report, two of my other guys climbed through the backseat to try to get the driver out. I could only see them from the waist down.

“Objects in mirror may be closer than they appear,” I grumbled.

“Way closer.” He shook his head, his close-clipped yellow-blond hair not moving an inch. “I didn’t even see her. She must’ve been following so close I didn’t pick her up in the mirrors. Then, three, two, one, contact.”

“For real, did you back into her?” I loved giving him shit.

He glared at me. Logan was the guy you wanted behind the wheel, but he had no sense of humor about his driving, which meant no one would pass up a chance to get in a dig—it was the culture of our unit. “Nope. Parked at the light. I dunno what the hell she was doing. Probably on her phone.”

Probably. Distracted drivers caused nine rear-ends out of ten these days.

“You need to break out the jaws?” I’d have felt a little jealous if they ended up using the jaws of life without me, not gonna lie. There wasn’t a guy in the department who didn’t secretly love it when we could cut a car in half.

“Driver door’s jammed. They’re hoping to get her out through the back,” Logan said.

Then, as if noticing me for the first time, he looked me over from head to toe. “You trying to pick up women in that?”

I looked down at my motorcycle boots, jeans, gloves, and leather jacket, which must’ve looked a warm on a nice day and a little odd without the accompanying motorcycle. “Hilarious. I was headed out for a ride when I pulled up on your mess.”

“When are you going to get rid of that death machine, man? Seriously, if I have to peel one more case of roadkill off the asphalt, I’m gonna hurl.”

I huffed out an annoyed breath. “I’m careful.”

“No, you’re not, and we both know it. Been two years of this shit.” He was right, and I didn’t care. Riding the bike was the one place I acted irresponsibly, and I loved the rush.

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