Page 55 of Set on You

I nod, handing the glassware to him. “Kale salad and turkey wraps.”

His lips curl upward as he steps forward to pull me into a one-armed hug. “You’re amazing. Thank you.”

An involuntary shiver ripples down my spine from the tingle of his voice in my ear. “It’s no trouble. I had extras.” I glance at Trevor and Kevin, who are shoulder to shoulder, observing our exchange in amusement. “Anyway, I better get going. Tara and I are supposed to have Mel over tonight for a movie.” I really should turn to leave, but I don’t. I rock backward on the balls of my feet, loitering, because I want to soak up his magnetic presence for a little while longer.

Scott hesitantly chews his bottom lip. “Hey, let me give you the grand tour.”

“You don’t have to. You look like you were pretty busy there,” I tease.

He bumps my shoulder. “Hush. I’ll even let you sit in the fire truck.”

Kevin whistles. “Only special ladies get to go in the fire truck.”

Scott’s cheeks flush. “It’s true.”

I hold back a massive grin. “Okay, sold.”

Scott leads me through the building, introducing me to everyone who walks by. All the guys are easygoing, friendly, and highly interested in my presence. One of them asks me if I liked the flowers yesterday, which warms my heart, because now I know Scott talked about me at work.

After we razz Scott about his love for the Blackhawks, he shows me where they store their gear and tools. He even lets me hold his fire jacket and pants, which must weigh a good fifty pounds.

“How long do you have to put on all your gear?” I ask.

“About thirty seconds, ideally.” He smiles when he sets his helmet onto my head. “You look cute in that.”

My cheeks burn instantly as the helmet falls forward, shielding my eyes. “Don’t call me cute.”

“Sorry, I just speak the truth.” He lifts the helmet back off with a cheeky smile and nods toward yet another narrow doorway.

When we return to the garage area, he gestures at a gleaming fire truck. “Ever been in one of these?”

I inch closer. “When I was eight.”

He points to the handlebars on either side of the metal stairs leading to the entrance. “Hold on to the handles as you go up.”

“You have to promise not to stare at my ass,” I say, one foot on the first stair, fully aware he’s staring. I’m thankful I’m wearing my best leggings, which accentuate my booty.

“I promise nothing.” He methodically makes a point of absorbing my backside from every angle.

I hoist myself into the truck, which doesn’t actually feel that spacious inside given all the screens and gear. I immediately go for the driver’s seat.

“Which is the button for the sirens?” I ask, pointing at the console.

“Don’t touch anything.” He swats my hand away playfully before I have the chance to wreak havoc.

He settles into the passenger seat, my Tupperware in his lap. I hand him a fork from my purse and silently watch in anticipation as he takes his first bite, like a contestant nervously awaiting judgment from a celebrity chef on the Food Network.

“Thanks, Crys. This is really good.”

“Glad you like it.”

He catches my gaze and holds it. “I love it.”

The moment those words come out of his mouth, goose bumps erupt everywhere, most noticeably on my arms. My throat instantly dries. It’s as if he’s told me he loves me, even though he merely loves my salad. I clear my throat, straightening my spine, desperate to change the topic. “So aside from sleeping, what do you guys do when you’re in between calls?”

“Chores, usually. Lots of cleaning, making sure all the gear is good to go. We do training too. Oh, and meetings. But sometimes it’s slow, so we just shoot the shit or watch TV, depending on who’s supervising.”

“And you love it?”

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