Page 55 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
It’s not crude, not the way some guys would stare.
Just... honest. It’s screaming, despite seeing her for the first time, the appreciation for her is hitting him square in the chest. Something about it twists in me, sharp and unwelcome.
Jealousy? No, that can’t be.
“Everyone is talking about her,” he mutters under his breath, eyes still pinned to her. “You should’ve given a guy a heads-up.”
The easy appreciation in his voice sparks jealousy, sharp and unwelcome. He’s still watching her with blatant approval, no effort to hide it. I don't need to ask what he's thinking. I already know.
He had the kind of stare that a man gives a woman when his mind’s already ten paces ahead, spinning stories about how it’d feel to touch her. I know it too well because I feel that way myself.
“Hmm,” I reply noncommittally.
“Anything going on there? You like her?” he asks, tone casual, like it’s no big deal. Just a question. Just a friend making conversation.
My lie scrapes against my throat. “No. Just friends.”
The words leave a bitter aftertaste, sharp enough to sting. Liam nods, no judgment, just a slow, thoughtful look like he’s filing the answer away. He claps me on the back, a silent thanks for the green light I never meant to give, and peels away.
Weaving through the crowd and straight to her.
I watch him slip into the circle like he belongs there, effortless charm and an easy smile. Kate turns to him, curious and polite, and when she laughs at something he says, her hand grazes his arm.
They speak for several seconds, and Liam offers his hand to her. Open. Casual. Waiting.
She hesitates. It’s only a second, maybe less, just a flicker in her smile, the barest catch of uncertainty in her eyes. But then her fingers slip into his, light and easy as if it costs her nothing at all.
And he leads her away. My hand tightens around the glass as blood roars in my ear. How dare he?
The sway of her dress follows behind them; soft, fluid, that beige fabric clinging to her curves with every step, hips rolling to the lazy rhythm the band’s playing.
The light hits her hair as she moves, blond and gold at once, loose strands catching the warm glow like they were spun for this exact moment. As if the universe conspired to make her look untouchable.
My gut twists-tight, bitter, wrong. Something I want to ignore but can't.
Each step she takes away from me hits like a silent blow, hollowing something out inside me I didn’t know was still tender.
I watch them slip onto the dance floor, watch her turn to face Liam - her head tilting, that easy smile still painted across her mouth. It should be harmless. Friendly. But the sight burns straight through me.
And before my brain can catch up, my body’s already moving.
The crowd blurs, a smear of voices and faces I don’t register, my focus honed to one single point:her. The heat crawling up the back of my neck spreads, wild and hot, tightening my jaw until my teeth ache.
I reach them before my thoughts catch up. Before the pulse hammering in my ears gives me a second to think.
“Move on, Liam.” Liam looks confused.
The words come out harsh and gruff, stripped down to something primal. It’s not a request. Hell, it’s not even anger, not really. It’s jealousy. Plain and simple. And the second it’s out there, the air shifts.
Liam freezes. His hand drops from hers as if she scorched him. His head jerks toward me, confusion flickering across his face, but it doesn’t last long. He reads me fast; the tight line of my shoulders, the weight behind those three words, the warning written all over me.
“Yeah. Sure, man.” His voice lacks its usual charm, and he backs off, hands raised, no fight in him.
The space he leaves behind is raw and wide open, and she’s standing in the middle of it, still turned toward me.
Her hand lingers midair, fingers curled as if she hasn’t decided whether to drop them or reach for me instead.
And her eyes.
