Page 8 of Keep Me Safe

I exhale sharply, stepping back, severing the moment. Jared stumbles into the kitchen, wearing only his plaid pajama pants. Did he see that? No—he’s too hungover to notice. He looks like hell and probably feels worse. Not that anything was happening anyway.

“Have too much fun last night?” I ask.

“Oh, shut up.”

“I’d watch that tone if I were you,” I warn.

He drags himself over to the medicine cabinet, grabs two Tylenol, and pops them into his mouth.

I take my plate and sit on one of the barstools away from Kira, “Food is ready if you want some.”

Jared ignores me and moves over to her, leaning into her embrace. She wraps her arms around him, holding him where I was moments ago. Turning her head, she faces me as her eyes meet mine. I glance at where her leg is touching his bare torso. He doesn’t know how lucky he is to have someone like her.

“Okay, I need to get going now. I’m sure you’ll survive the rest of the day without me,” she says, lightly pushing Jared off her.

“Fine,”he groans.

Kira goes to the guest room to collect her stuff, leaving Jared and me alone in the kitchen.

“Listen,” I turn to look at him. “I don’t appreciate you inviting half of the town over to my house without even giving me a heads-up last night.”

“I can’t do this right now. It wasn’t even that big of a deal,” he says as he picks up his plate and turns to head for his room.

“Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you,” I scold.

He keeps walking anyway, a door slamming down the hall. I could go yell at him, but it won’t do anything. Not when he’s like this.

I sigh and gather the plates, dumping them in the sink. As I start loading the dishwasher, Kira strolls back in, her bag slung over her shoulder.

“Good luck with that one,” she tells me, a smile appearing on her face before she walks out the front door. My thoughts drift back to her on the counter, me between her legs. I wanted to touch her, wanted to run my fingers over her thighs.

No, that’s wrong, and it’s never happening.

But the way she looked at me.

I need air.

I haul open the garage door, greeted by my black’70 Nova SS. It doesn’t run yet, but it will. I’ve had this car since Jared was little—it’s my pride and joy. When he was growing up, I never had the time to work on it. Now, with him older, I can finally devote the attention it deserves.

Popping the hood, I get to work, losing myself in the familiarity of the task. Hours slip by. The clock on the wall reminds me I have an actual shift at the station today.

When I arrive at the station, I toss my bag into my locker, settling in for what’s likely to be a long night.

“Noah,” the commissioner greets.

“Hey, Al, long time no see,” I joke.

“Dinner ready yet?” he asks.

Rolling my eyes, I head for the kitchen. I’ve been a firefighter for fifteen years. Al’s been the fire commissioner even longer. He’s a no-bullshit kind of guy, which makes him damn good at his job. He’s retiring this year. I don’t know what we’ll do without him.

I usually handle the cooking when I’m on shift—none of the other guys can manage much beyond frozen pizza. Tonight, it’s sloppy joes. When the food’s ready, I let everyone know, and we settle in to eat.

“Thanks for being willing to cover my shift yesterday. Sorry, I didn’t end up needing it,” Dave tells me, his mouth full of sloppy Joe.

“That’s fine, I don’t mind.”

“How’s your boy doing?” Jeff asks.

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