Page 14 of Off-Limits Daddy
Small towns chewed stories up and spit them out faster than we could clear a fireline. Everyone knew about Cael’s kitchen before today’s breakfast.
I’d been nearby when the alarm started blaring. I’d been dropping off groceries for the Santanas—Mr. and Mrs. Santana both taught at the high school when I was there. Spanish and PE. Good people. Rising housing costs had them downsizing to an apartment. They didn’t get out much now, not with Mrs. Santana’s knee acting up, so I swung by once a week with their order.
I happened to be at the right place, at the right time.
“He didn’t cause the fire.”
“Trouble’s not always chaos,” Marco said, leaning his head back against the frame. “Sometimes it’s the way someone looks at you, knowing you’re gonna cave eventually.”
I didn’t dignify that with an answer.
He didn’t push it, just let the words hang there between us like a dare.
When we pulled into the station, the usual sounds greeted us—the low hum of the radios, boots hitting concrete. The place smelled like old leather, sweat, engine grease. Like work. Like home.
None of us bothered to head for the showers yet. Water came first. Hydration trumped hygiene every time, especially after hours in wildland gear with ash in your teeth. Someone went for the coffee, too—probably Boone, judging by the clatter from the kitchen.
I stayed in the bay, peeling out of my gear, careful of sore muscles that had already started to lock up. Boots hit the concrete with a thud. Gloves were stuffed in a crate for cleaning later. Wildland pants and shirt stayed on for now, stiff with dried sweat and soot.
I took a long breath, rolling my shoulders. But I couldn’t shake the thought of Ari—not really. His voice, his grin, the way he looked at me like I was already his problem.
Maybe Marco’s right, I admitted to myself. Maybe Ari’s trouble.
But I wanted it anyway.
It wasn’t just the age thing, though. Yeah, his twenty-two to my thirty-six was a stretch. And I couldn’t forget he was the kid who used to follow me around with scraped knees and a mouth full of questions.
Except now he wasn’t a kid. Now he was tall, and lean. Perfect height, really. Just tall enough to grab, turn, press against something solid and?—
Cut that shit out.
The warning didn’t stop the picture from rising anyway. The flash of Ari’s flirty grin last night, mouth soft, eyes brighter. All of it aimed at me like a challenge he knew I wouldn’t refuse.
I discreetly adjusted my dick. The thick, stiff fabric was no help at all. It would’ve been easier if I didn’t keep imagining how Ari’d look on his knees. Or worse—flat on his stomach, legs spread?—
I didn’t even need to know what he looked like. The wanting painted in all the blanks, vivid and reckless.
Heat flushed under the collar of my wildland shirt, sweat prickling beneath it, shame and want tangled so tight I didn’t know where one ended and the other began.
But worse—Ari wasSage’slittle brother.Sage, who’d been my best friend since middle school.
Thirst finally shoved me toward the kitchen. Thirst finally won. I rolled my shoulders, worked out the worst of the stiffness, and headed for the kitchen.
The hall carried the acrid scent of coffee before I even got there. Figures—Boone was already banging around. Theoverhead lights in the kitchen hit hard after hours outside, but I blinked through it, crossing to the fridge first. Coffee could wait. Water came first.
I grabbed a bottle, twisted off the cap, and drank half of it before I even took a breath. It helped, but that grit from smoke and ash clung to the back of my throat, stubborn as hell.
Boone stood by the counter, filling a mug one-handed, and scrolling on his phone with the other. “Megan’s been texting. Think the morning sickness might be winning today.”
“Yeah?” I screwed the cap back on the bottle. “She got that appointment this week, right?”
“Day after tomorrow. She’s tough, but... you know how it is.”
I nodded. Meganwastough. So was Boone, in his quiet way. Like a house that wouldn’t fall down no matter how bad the storm got. They’d make it work. Always did.
I used to have that too—or thought I did.
Me and Tessa had been the kind of couple everyone expected to go the distance. High school sweethearts, matching letterman jackets, the works. We lasted longer than most. Married young. I spent so much time holding back parts of myself that by the time I looked up, there was nothing left to hold onto. She wanted someone all-in. I wanted someone too. I just hadn’t figured out who yet.
