Page 85 of Protecting What's Mine
“BFD crew, please report to the second floor for physicals.”
She could hear the groans from all corners of the building.
It was going to be a hell of a day.
LINC,Mack noted, purposely got into Freida’s line for his blood draw. But he was too polite to completely avoid her.
“Nice to see you, doc,” he said. His tone was light, friendly even. But it was missing that undercurrent of “you know you want me.” The intimacy that had been there since the first conversation had been snuffed out. By something she’d done.
“Ow!” The short, stocky firefighter with what looked like a well-waxed handlebar mustache whimpered when she jabbed the needle into the vein.
“Don’t be such a wuss,” Skyler, Russell’s daughter, snorted at him from the other end of the table.
“I’m not a wuss! You’re a wuss.” He pouted, then twirled the end of his mustache.
“Children,” Mack threatened calmly.
“Sorry, doc.”
Linc disappeared shortly after his needle stick, and Mack moved on to the physical exams. “I hope you all are wearing underwear today because I’ll need to you to strip down once you’re behind the screens. Got it?”
“Why wait?” One of the burly, potentially farty firefighters yanked his t-shirt over his head and whirled it around with the enthusiasm, if not the skill, of an exotic dancer. Catcalls and cheers rang out. Within thirty seconds, the first dozen patients had stripped down to their unmentionables. Some smartass started blaring “Pony” by Ginuwine. It was raining articles of clothing.
Zane and Skyler were bumping butts to the beat. One of the larger, older firefighters was using his discarded pants as butt floss. A younger volunteer jumped onto the pool table and started doing push-ups while a couple other guys and Freida threw dollar bills at him.
It was the most ridiculous, entertaining thing she’d ever witnessed on the clock.
“Try not to get your heart rates too jacked up,” Mack yelled over the music. A firefighter with half a mustache and only one eyebrow sauntered her way, crooking his finger at her.
She shook her head, but he was insistent, pulling her into a gimpy tango.
“I love firefighter physical day,” Freida shouted, switching over to five-dollar bills.
MACK WASgood and tired by the time Chief Reed strolled into her exam room. They’d thoughtfully provided one of the mechanic’s wheeled stools for her to scoot around, saving her from gimping back and forth between exam spaces. But after thirty-two physicals, she was burnt, hungry, and grumpy.
“We don’t have any green tea, but you’re welcome to the coffee,” he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the kitchen.
Even cool and detached, Linc was still polite. And it made her feel like a steaming shit sandwich.
“Thanks. I’m almost done,” she said. “Have a seat.”
He pulled his t-shirt over his head in that one-handed move that hot guys all seemed to have mastered and took the chair next to her.
Her mouth went dry. And her carefully crafted apology vanished from her brain.
She was muscle drunk.
“We’ll start with temperature and blood pressure,” she croaked, then cleared her throat. He held out an arm for the cuff. She secured it around his bicep, trying hard not to touch bare skin or stare too long at his naked torso.
When the thermometer was in place between his delicious lips, she swallowed back nerves and took the plunge.
“I owe you an apology.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” he muttered around the thermometer.
“No talking. Last night I was frustrated with…well, a lot of things. I took it out on you, and that was unfair. I’m sorry. I deliberately pushed your buttons and tried to make you feel bad. And that’s embarrassingly immature.”
She took the reading from the BP monitor and recorded it on her laptop.
