Page 5 of Flashpoint Feelings

“This is my friend, Maya. She’s one of the strongest firefighters I know.”

I do my best to ignore how Mack’s praise makes my cheeks warm, and I pray he doesn’t notice, despite the fact our faces are nearly the same height. The girl’s eyes go wide as she glances from Mack to me and back.

“But you’re so little!” she exclaims.

“Being little means I’m faster,” I tell her with a wink. “Want to see something cool?”

She nods eagerly, and because it’s heavy, I set the fire hose nozzle I’m holding into her lap. She grabs it, and I reach down to adjust the placement of her small fingers. “See? It’s all about technique, not size.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Mack drawls, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Sometimes, size matters, don’t you think, Maya?”

I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard a variation of that exact phrase in the past few years, but something about the way Mack says it to me heats the back of my neck.

“Depends on how you handle your equipment,” I shoot back with a casual lift of my shoulder.

A slow grin spreads across his face. “I’ve never had any complaints about my…technique.”

Somehow, I have the feeling that’s true. Not that I’ll ever find out.

The next hour flies by as we describe a day in the life of a firefighter and call a few students on stage to help with demonstrations. I enjoy the time immensely. All the guys are great with the students, but especially Mack. He’s completely in his element, his effortless charm drawing them in as he explains fire safety with just the right mix of serious and silly.

Toward the end of our time, we open the floor for questions. A freckled girl in the second row asks how I can save lives since I’m so small. I could jump onto my soapbox and launch into a twenty-minute lecture about strength and determination, equality and inclusivity, but I know I’d lose most of them within ten seconds.

Instead, I say, “Would you like to see how any of you, even though you’re small, too, could save the life of an adult?”

The room erupts, and Mack seems to sense where I’m going with this and joins me, coming to my side.

“I’ll be your victim,” he offers with that damn easy grin, adding quietly, “Unless you’re worried you can’t handle me, Thorne?”

“Please,” I scoff, though my pulse kicks up a notch. “I could save your life in my sleep.”

I’m rewarded with a wide smile, and I bite back my own. For the next few minutes, I demonstrate the Heimlich maneuver as well as an underarm drag, narrating as I go to distract myself from being so hyperaware of every point of contact as I position Mack’s huge muscular frame against mine.

Then, before I think better of it, I say, “There’s also cardiopulmonary resuscitation, also known as CPR. Have any of you heard of CPR?”

A bunch of hands shoot up into the air, and I nod. “Good, although you shouldn’t perform CPR unless you know how. As firefighters, we’re trained to use it when necessary to save lives.”

Mack, damn him, lies down at my feet, near the front of the stage, the hint of a challenge in his gaze as his green eyes find mine. I’ve only known him a couple of days, but there’s no doubt in my mind he’s fully aware I’m not the type to back down from a challenge. I kneel next to him, laying my palms flat on his broad chest. Even through his T-shirt, I feel his solid warmth under my fingertips.

“First, check for responsiveness,” I explain, my voice steady, despite the electricity dancing across my skin. Mack is as alert as ever, but I pretend he isn’t. “Then check for breathing by listening and feeling for air across your cheek.”

I lean over him to check, my face mere inches from his. Mack’s jaw is shadowed with a day’s worth of reddish stubble, the coarse hairs forming a pattern my fingers itch to trace. The end of my ponytail brushes his cheek, and his eyes lock with mine. For a moment, everything else fades away. Until reality sets in.

Rising abruptly, I force myself to concentrate. “You want to start with thirty compressions to the sternum. Do you knowwhere your sternum is?” After inviting the students to feel their own, I link my fingers and rise on my knees to get into position, explaining how having straight arms and height helps me have enough power to deliver powerful thrusts.

“Powerful thrusts, hmm?” Mack murmurs.

I’m determined not to imagine this hulk of a man in an even more intimate setting, but of course, that’s the first thought that springs to mind. Damn him.

Rather than take the bait, I pretend to perform a few compressions then continue. “If that’s all you do, it’s better than nothing, but if you’re trained like we are, you’d then do two rescue breaths, directly from your mouth into theirs with as tight a seal as possible.”

A chorus of “ewww’s” from the students drown out Mack’s next words, which is good because he says, “You don’t actually have to demonstrate that, though I wouldn’t complain if you did.”

Heat floods my face.

“In your dreams,” I reply through clenched teeth.

“Every night, sweetheart—er, I mean, Thorne.”

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