Page 13 of Flashpoint Feelings

“And you’re sure this isn’t just some game to him?”

I think about his playful nicknames and how quickly he backed off when I bristled. How he noticed my sore muscles after that double workout but didn’t coddle me. The way his eyes darken when I stand up to him, pride rather than annoyance in his expression.

“Pretty sure games aren’t his style.”

“Well.” Shannon stands, moving to my closet. “If you’re determined to see him tonight totalkabout things, at least let me help you not look like you just rolled off a firetruck.” She eyesme critically. “Though knowing you, that’s probably exactly what turns him on.”

“It’s not—” I sputter. “We’re not—”

“Sure, sure.” She rifles through hangers. “You’re just going to have aconversation. A very professional conversation that required you to shave your legs.”

I grab a pillow and chuck it at her head. She dodges it with a laugh.

“I hate you,” I mutter, but we both know I don’t mean it.

“You love me. Now, what are your thoughts on that hunter green top with the lace neckline?” She holds up a silky sleeveless shirt I’d forgotten I owned. “Since thistotally-not-a-dateis definitely not ending with you taking it off.”

I groan, flopping back on my bed. “What am I doing, Shan?”

“From where I’m standing?” She tosses the top my way. “Finally letting someone in. Someone who must be worth it, based on how much you’re willing to risk.”

Chapter eight

Mack

Icheck my watch for the tenth time in as many minutes, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I scan the block. Maybe, suggesting we meet in neutral territory, away from the station, wasn’t my brightest idea. Maybe, Maya won’t show after what happened in the elevator this morning. Maybe—

Then I spot her through the crowd, and every last hesitation fades away. I thought Maya was a bombshell in uniform, but nothing compares to the way she’s stalking toward me, looking like a goddamn goddess. Her dark hair falls in waves around her shoulders instead of being pulled back in its usual ponytail. Tight jeans hug curves usually hidden by our bulky uniforms, and a silky dark green top shows off her defined shoulders, making my mouth go dry as I remember how perfectly she fit against me in that elevator.

“Worried I wouldn’t show?” The familiar challenge in her ice-blue eyes is tempered with a teasing smile as she approaches.

“Never doubted you for a second.” I grin, falling into step beside her. “Though I was starting to wonder if you got lost.”

“Some of us don’t have legs the length of fire ladders,” she shoots back, sending me a sidelong glance. “And Hudson Yards isn’t exactly down the street from the station.”

“I thought avoiding any potential run-ins with folks we know would be best.”

“Hmm,” she murmurs in agreement. “Where are we going, by the way?”

I dip my chin toward the fancy hotel across the street, enjoying the way her eyes widen. I let her jump to conclusions and assume my intentions for a hot second, because she’s so damn adorable when she’s mad.

“You thought the best place for us to talk is ahotel?” she exclaims, spinning toward me. “I thought we agreed this morning we couldn’t…” She trails off, waving a hand between us, “That it’s a bad idea to…”

Finally, I relent, leaning in close. “Relax, Thorne. It’s not like I booked us a room.”

“You didn’t?” The way she utters the words, the question tripping over her tongue, reveals she was hoping I did. Which is good because the key card I picked up twenty minutes ago is burning a hole in my pocket. But there’s no way I’ll lead with that. Not when I need to see how things go first, before we risk everything.

“Nope,” I lie, not feeling even a teensy bit guilty about it.

“Good,” she insists, straightening her shoulders. “Because my roommate assumed this outfit was coming off when I told her I was going out tonight, but I assured her that was not happening.”

So she talked to her roommate about me. This just keeps getting better and better. Especially the way her jaw drops when I murmur, “Don’t be so sure about that.”

“What?”

I lean down, pitching my voice low. “The spa here offers, hands down, the best sports massage in the city, and no offense, I can tell how tight you are.” Her breath catches, and I can’t help but add, “And giving you a massage myself, as much as I’d like to, definitely wouldn’t help us stay professional, now would it?”

“A sports massage is fine. Sounds good,” she assures me entirely too quickly. Satisfaction curls in my gut for the second time today. Because we’re on exactly the same page about what would happen if I put my hands on her.

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