Page 4 of Flashpoint Feelings

He backs down a step, adjusting before we resume our climb.

“Just making sure whatever’s making you wince didn’t get aggravated,” he says.

He noticed that?

“It’s nothing,” I shoot over my shoulder, focusing on the next rung instead of how his voice seems to resonate through my entire body. Only a few more steps to go. Just keep climbing.

“You know you could tell me,” he says, amusement coloring his tone. “It wouldn’t kill you, I swear.”

“You know you could keep quiet,” I retort. “I swear it wouldn’t kill you.”

His unexpected laugh, deep and genuine, catches me off guard. I risk a glance down under my arm and catch myself almost smiling at his obvious amusement. Damn.

“Fine,” I relent, wondering why I’m even telling him. “Double workout two days ago still has me tight. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.” His grin is deliberately obnoxious, and I narrow my eyes at him even as something warm and unfamiliar unfurls in my chest. He pauses, then adds, “If it makes you feel better, your skills seem to be unaffected by the tenderness.”

For a moment, I’m tempted to snap at him again, to maintain the professional wall I’ve worked so hard to build. But there’s something disarmingly genuine in his praise that makes my defenses waver.

“Thanks,” I say grudgingly as we reach the top. “I think.”

I shouldn’t enjoy his attention, shouldn’t like how he seems to see past my carefully constructed armor. But his playful persistence makes it hard to keep my guard up.

We fall back into the drill, and I try to focus on the job instead of how naturally we move together, but his presence distracts me in a way I’ve never experienced. Every accidental brush of contact sends unwanted shivers across my skin. Every shared glance that holds a heartbeat too long adds to the dangerous energy building between us. I’m hyperaware of his presence, the effortless strength in his movements, the way he anticipates my needs before I signal them, and the perfect synchronization we’ve somehow fallen into.

By the time we’ve successfully extracted the ‘victim’ and Chief calls it, my shirt is soaked through and my muscles tremble with a tension that has nothing to do with exertion. I head for the shower, feeling Mack’s gaze on my back with every step. Even exhausted and disheveled, I force myself to move with purpose and maintain the professional demeanor I’ve worked so hard to perfect.

I tell myself the shakiness in my legs is just from the workout. The heat under my skin just from the humidity. And the lingering awareness of the burly redhead is just…temporary insanity.

And if I keep repeating that over and over, maybe I’ll eventually believe it. But as I disappear inside my new station, I know I’m fighting a losing battle. This infuriating giant of a man is already getting past my defenses, and that’s a complication I absolutely cannot afford. Not when I’ve worked so hard to get here. Not when I still have so much to prove.

Chapter four

Maya

Two days and five response calls later, I slide into the truck with more excitement than I’ve felt in years. Jake, in the crew seat on my left, shoots me a questioning look. “Is that a hint of a smile, Thorne?”

It is, but I can’t help it. “I’m sitting here today because of a visit like this one when I was little.”

Elementary school fire safety presentations always take me back to when I was seven, sitting cross-legged on the cafeteria floor while a firefighter demonstrated his gear. That day planted the seed that grew into my career choice, and though the path hasn’t been easy, I wouldn’t change it for the world.

He nods. “Tracks.”

I can’t help the edge in my tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you seem like the type to make a decision and stick to it.” He holds up two hands. “No judgement. I mean, I can’t commit to anything past next week.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Mack says over his shoulder from the front seat.

“Especially a woman,” Brock adds as he pulls out onto Columbus Avenue.

Mack shoots a look over his shoulder at Jake, his eyebrows wiggling, but it must be an inside joke because Jake doesn’t toss out a comeback. Rather, he looks as if he wants to murder Mack.

Minutes later, we pull up to the school and grab our gear and the box of Safety Squad Challenge pamphlets to hand out for students to take home and play with their family. Two administrators greet us, and as they escort us through the office, I notice more than a few interested glances at my crew members. Jake shoots a look at a pretty blonde, wearing a “Teaching is a work of Heart” T-shirt, jeans, and a wide smile, while Mack only stares straight ahead.

The cafeteria buzzes with unbridled energy when we step inside. I make a mental note to tell Shannon all about it later. Dozens of second-graders in navy and khaki uniforms squirm on the floor in what, at some point, were probably straight rows. As we head to the stage, Mack drops to one knee next to a girl with braids in a wheelchair, who is set off to the side. His massive frame should be intimidating, but he’s got this gentle giant thing going that has her smiling at him as if he’s some kind of ginger-haired Pied Piper.

I slow my pace to watch him chat with her. He spots me and, with a smile, beckons me over.

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