Five Alarm Forever: A Reverse Harem Holiday Romance

by Dizzy Hooper

  Walker nods back to the ladder apparatus behind us. "Well, there it is. You get to be the first one to climb it."

  Groans go up from all around me. I stifle one of my own.

  Only Walker's not quite done. "All the way to the top," he says. His blue eyes gleam. "And then back down from the other side."

  11

  Okay, I got that Walker had a bit of a quietly dominant personality. But especially after all that forced self-care and settling in he insisted on my first day, I really didn't see the sadist part coming.

  The mix of cheers and groans that go up around me confirm that he's not kidding, either, so I take him seriously.

  Cocking my head to the side, I regard the ladder for a second, then turn back to him, and with more confidence than I feel, I nod. "Let's go."

  My acceptance of his challenge just lights the spark in his eyes more brightly. The other guys make noises, egging me on, probably pretty excited for the show.

  This is the kind of drill that doesn't make it in the handbooks, but it's one I've seen done before. Not one I've tried, though.

  I refuse to be intimidated.

  Like I said, dudes tend to underestimate me. Being in full gear lends this some extra difficulty, but climbing is all about your ratio of strength to weight. I'm not as flat out strong as the rest of the guys, but I'm lighter. Chances are, I'm going to be better at lifting my own weight than most of them are.

  Or at least that's what I'm betting on as I approach the ladder.

  Walker climbs up first, hauling a huge length of rope. In casual clothes, in the cold morning air, he doesn't so much as break a sweat. I find myself cursing his leather jacket that keeps me from seeing the bunching and rippling of his muscles as he rises. At least his jeans are fitted, and damn, does his ass ever look fantastic.

  Enlisting Corey and Sal to help from below, he gets the rope set up as a belay. A pulley at the top of the ladder and a clip that I'll attach to myself, then a long, long length of rope hanging down. Sal takes hold of it and clips it to his own gear. He's ready for if—or when—I fall.

  And then I'm up.

  Jaquan stations himself at the base of the ladder, positioned to help me if I need it. I haul myself onto it easily enough, but that doesn't stop him from putting a steadying hand at my waist. A shiver hums through me. I look to him, and our gazes meet. Something hot and inviting burns in his eyes, and it excites me and fills me with dread all at the same time.

  I was the one who broke the space bubble between us earlier, clapping him on the shoulder the way I did. That didn't give him permission to touch me, of course. I wasn't asking for shit. But I broached the possibility of that kind of teasing, and he's stepping right into that opening.

  I don't push him off, but I can’t look at him, either. I can't focus on the heat simmering under my skin or the electricity that crackles in the air when he's around.

  By pure chance, as I swing my gaze around, it connects with Corey's. Another prickle of awareness buzzes through my veins. He's looking at me, and he's looking at Jaquan, and I don't know what he sees, but there's something appraising in his gaze.

  Nothing so concretely appraising as what I find in Walker's, though. He raises a brow and tilts his head toward the top of the ladder.

  Right.

  Not jumping on my teammates' dicks.

  Climbing a ladder. Not falling to my death. Proving myself and probably making a statement for my entire gender, because that's just how this fucking industry works.

  Blocking out the red hot males surrounding me, I suck in a deep breath and settle my gaze on the rung of the ladder in front of me. Jaquan pulls away, thank God.

  So off I go.

  The first half is easy, relatively speaking. I haven't been on active duty in a while, but I've kept in shape while I've been on leave and while I've been job-hunting. Hell, sometimes hitting the gym was the only thing keeping me remotely to sane, back when the situation upstate was at its worst.

  Rung by rung, I make my way up. I'm breathing hard by the time I near the top, my muscles feeling it.

  They're going to feel it worse in a minute.

  Pausing for a second at the apex, I look around. Heights have never been my problem, but it's damn long way down. Jaquan is still at the base of the ladder. Corey and Sal stand by the end of the rope, ready to take up the slack on it the instant I clip in. Walker is a right behind them, expression neutral, hands on his hips.

  Meanwhile, Street is lounging off to the side, kind of like he was when before this whole exercise began, but it's not quite as relaxed as it was earlier. He's coiled, ready to spring.

  To do what, I don't know. I take a tumble now, and it's not going to matter how fast any of them move.

  And that's the thought that has me feeling physically unsteady for the first time all morning.

  Putting your life in the hands of your crew is all part and parcel of this job. I signed on for it.

  Only the last time it really mattered, the last time I really needed to depend on my guys—

  Well.

  I swallow hard, gripping the ladder tighter.

  That was back in Chicago, with a shift I should have known better than to hand my safety over to. These guys are different.

  And if they hired me all the way down to this crappy town just to let me fall to my death on my second day of work, then they have some seriously messed up priorities.

  For now, I have to assume that's not the case, because I have almost literally no other option.

  Keeping my hold on the ladder, I reach for the industrial-strength carabiner at the end of the rope and clip it to my gear. Sal changes his stance below, bracing himself to take my weight in case I fall. I give the rope a tug to test it. It's firm. Corey is right behind him, the long tail of the rope clipped to him, too. I'm as safe as I can be.

  It still feels like I'm going out on more than one kind of ledge as I heave out a harsh breath and flip myself over to the other side of the ladder.

  Shit, the change in gravity shows its effects immediately. I get my feet under me, but it feels all wrong. Instead of resting on solid steel, my weight and the weight of all my gear pulls against me. I have to work against that burden just to hold myself to the inverted slant of the ladder.

  Just like that, I really don't have time to worry about the guys' intentions—or how hot they are.

  My muscles burn as I start to descend. I keep every movement as controlled and efficient as I can, but it doesn't matter. I'm less than a third of the way down when my muscles start to shake. Sweat breaks out all across my body.

  And then my foot slips.

  A shout goes out—I don't know whose. My arms scream, and my head swims for a second. Something in me says to give in. I'm going to fall eventually. Why not now?

  Why fight and fight and fight, why hurt myself to postpone the inevitable, why keep trying…

  I screw up my vision and grit my teeth.

  Yeah, fuck that shit.

  I'm here to do a job, and this is part of it. Maybe I fall, and maybe by some miracle I can keep myself up, but the moral of the story is that you keep going. You go as far as you can, and then you go a little bit farther.

  You don't know who you can depend on.

  You don't know what you still have left to prove.

  Locking my core, I swing my leg back toward the ladder frame. I miss and try again and—yeah. There.

  Holding solidly again, I pause for half a second, but I don't have time or energy to rest.

  I keep climbing down. My eyes cross, and my arms and abs scream at me, but I go.

  I go and go and go until hands are on my body, a voice is in my ear, and I can't hear what it's saying, but I don't need to.

  I made it.

  I did it.

  With a groan, I let go. Jaquan helps me to my feet, and I allow it. For a second, I sink into him, and I could float on his sea for days.

  I want to collapse. My tank is empty. There's nothing left. Bu
t I struggle to bear my own weight again. I can't—I can't—

  Then Walker's there. Pure admiration gleams in his eyes, and it's a shot of adrenaline right to my heart.

  "Nice job, Chapman."

  He holds out a hand, and I take it. I curse my gloves for blocking his heat. I sway, but I stay on my feet. Jaquan pats my back, and I barely flinch.

  Walker is in my face, closer now. "Nice job," he says again, and fuck, it feels too intimate.

  It feels good.

  Then he pulls back. "Sit down. Grab a drink."

  He gestures toward the truck.

  Somehow, in the three seconds I've been on the ground, Sal's gotten himself positioned at the base of the ladder. He nods at me, smirking. "Show off," he mouths.

  I chuckle despite myself. Jaquan is helping him get up there, same way he did me. Corey's got the belay, with Street as backup. I let my gaze cast over each of them, dimly taking in the sparkle to Corey's eyes, the new respect in Street's.

  "Go on," Walker urges me again.

  This time I take his order, stumbling to the cooler someone dragged out at some point and grabbing a sports drink. I guzzle half of it down at once, dropping to sit on the bumper of the engine.

  Walker smirks as he turns his attention to Sal.

  To me, he says, "Now sit back and enjoy the show."

  12

  And what a show it is.

  With all their gear on, none of the guys is showing off their physique as they try the ladder drill, but it doesn't matter. The bunching and rippling of muscles is implied. The hard breaths and heaving chests and sweat are too easy to picture.

  I sit there, drinking my blue sugar water and collecting my breath, my coat open and my helmet removed. The cold December air floats over me, cooling me off, but it can't touch the heat in my blood.

  In the end, Sal makes it about halfway down the backside of the ladder before he drops. Corey lifts a foot off the ground, belaying him, and Street has to help pull them both down. I watch them work, my gaze drawn to Street again. The guy may hold himself apart from the crew, but when he's needed, he dives right in, and the rest of the dudes don't so much as blink, accepting his help, falling right into him. They trust him.

  And that says a hell of a lot, doesn't it?

  As Sal comes down, Jaquan gives him even more shit than Sal gave him over getting dressed the slowest. Their ribbing of each other is practiced and easy, and neither of them seems to mean anything by it.

  "Let's see you try it," Sal says, rolling his eyes.

  "Easy."

  Jaquan is up there, giving it his best a few minutes later. All those muscles of his weren't just for show, either. The effort and strain are obvious, but he does it. When he reaches the ground, he lets out a whoop that's echoed by everyone around him.

  He strips down to his shirt and heavy pants, dropping the rest of his stuff on the ground in front of the engine. As Cory gets ready to take his shot, Jaquan hits the cooler beside me and grabs a drink. With the bottle in hand, his skin shining with clean, hard sweat, he plunks down beside me.

  Instantly, I go back on high alert.

  Shit—I did open the door earlier. But this is him walking through it on another level. He's so close. He smells like rough work and spicy aftershave, and my nerves throw sparks at his presence. I squirm inside. I can't help staring at him as he gulps down his drink. His jawline is insane, his full lips panty-melting as he purses them around the opening of the bottle.

  He drops the bottle and looks over at me, brows rising. I meet his gaze, locked in his stare for a long moment.

  Then he grins, slow and easy. He holds out his hand for a fist bump. "Hey, winner."

  "Hey, yourself."

  Then he settles in, and we're just there. Two firefighters sitting on the bumper of a bright red fire engine. Drowning in sexual tension but otherwise just…people. Hanging out.

  Watching the kid on our team prove he's a beast.

  In hindsight, I should have figured Corey would have all the advantages I do. He's leanly muscled—lighter than the bulkier guys on the squad and clearly in shape. Being young probably doesn't hurt him in this department, either.

  Light and nimble, he ascends the ladder. It looks like child's play as he clips in and does the route in reverse. He doesn't shake, doesn't falter at all, and then before we know it, he's on the ground, triumphant, beaming an eager grin at us.

  Sal glowers at him for his success, but it's good natured. Walker gives him a high five, and he and Jaquan fist bump like this is just routine. He shoots me another smile, and I hold out my fist. His grin deepen as he accepts the gesture, jabbing his knuckles against mine.

  "Whatever." Street harumphs his way over.

  He looks pretty good, too—smooth and confident.

  But he's a big guy.

  The good news is, he's just as nonchalant dangling from a wire fifty feet in the air as he is on the ground. Nobody gives him any shit, except Walker.

  "Starting to look your age, old man," our lieutenant says as he helps Street unclip from the rope.

  The guy seriously can't be more than thirty-five. But he bristles all the same. "Still looking better than you, sir."

  A couple of oohs go up at that.

  "You think I can't do it?" Walker asks.

  "I'd just like to see you try. Handing out this shit is one thing. Doing it's another."

  "What's riding on it?"

  "Your pride."

  Walker shakes his head. "Uh-uh. I'm too smart to fall for that."

  Something is going on between these two. Something I can't quite put my finger on. It smells like history. Like a bond that goes back too far for anyone to see exactly where it's tied.

  Narrowing his eyes, Street crosses his arms over his chest, the padded fabric of his coat bunching up. "Pierogis."

  I frown. Polish dumplings? What do they have to do with anything?

  But Sal perks up at just the word. Jaquan sits a little straighter, too, leaning forward. Even Corey goes silent and still.

  "Pierogis," Walker echoes, voice climbing.

  "Any kind you like."

  "Fried."

  "Is there any other kind?"

  Walker's cool reserve breaks, and he cracks a real, honest, genuine smile. "You're on."

  The rest of the guys whoop and holler. Jaquan leaps off the bumper of the engine, and I stand, too, bewildered as Walker takes off toward the turnout room with Street in tow behind him.

  Jaquan catches on to my confusion. "LT is suiting up to do it, too."

  "Yeah, I got that, but—"

  "Street is a fucking legend, man. The pierogis he made back at the main precinct? Unbelievable." Jaquan rubs his hands together. "I've never rooted harder for LT to not fall on his ass."

  "Okay, so Walker makes it, Street cooks. Is that it?"

  "Yo, dude, she doesn't know," Sal interrupts.

  That shuts Jaquan up fast.

  I glance between the two of them, something hot and uncomfortable turning over in my gut.

  I came this close to really feeling like part of the team this morning.

  One sentence, though, and I feel right back where I was. Odd woman out.

  "What?" I finally ask. "What don't I know?"

  Jaquan looks to Sal before speaking again. "Street—he doesn't cook anymore. Not since—I mean."

  I swallow hard. Right. I have my own tragic backstory, so I understand before. And how sometimes after never, ever looks the same.

  I saw Street's tattoos. I saw his scars and the RIP inked into his flesh.

  I get it.

  Sal smiles tightly. "Put it this way, it's a special occasion, okay?" Seeming to choose his words carefully, not looking at me, he adds, "Not one I'd miss, if I could help it."

  I feel that one right in the gut. Sure. Because I made a big deal of not wanting to join in on group meals.

  Already, my stand on that is wavering, no matter how hard anxiety churns in my gut.

  For now, I just
go along with it, neither committing nor declining. It's not like this special event is a sealed deal or anything yet, anyway.

  The guys return a minute later, with Walker fully suited up. He doesn't so much as hesitate—just gets right up there, easy as can be.

  His big frame is a mix between Street's bulk and Corey wiry build. He might do ok, he might not.

  Considering he was the one to sic this torture on us—and that he knows Street well enough to expect a challenge in return—I certainly wouldn't bet against him.

  As he starts up, Street moves to grab the free end of the rope. He gestures at me and waves me over. "Come on."

  I'm a natural choice; I have yet to belay, and I've had the longest to rest after my climb. I'm also pretty light. If Sal dragged Corey a foot off the ground, Walker would drag me five.

  "You done this before?" he asks.

  "This?"

  He rolls his eyes. "Something like this?"

  "Of course." Rope work and safety lines are part of the job.

  "Cool." He watches me as I attach the rope to my gear. I put back on my gloves and grab a good hold. Street takes the slack behind me, ready to help in case he's needed.

  Walker looks down at us from the top of the ladder. He gives us a questioning thumbs up, and we return the signal. He clips in, pausing for only a moment to check the rope.

  As he shifts his weight, moving to the other side of the ladder, I hold my breath. It was nerve-wracking as hell to be up there. Being down here is almost as bad. Waiting for him to falter, watching to see if I'll be needed.

  I swallow as he starts his slow, controlled descent.

  If I had any questions about them trusting me, I guess that this puts paid to them.

  He's careful but decisive as he makes his way down. At one point, about half way, the effort starts to show.

  "Come on, motherfucker," Street mutters behind me. I glance back for half a second to find his gaze trained, laser-like, at our lieutenant. Which is where I sure as hell need to be looking, too.

  I keep my focus. All around, the other guys cheer Walker on, and I'm pretty sure their interest goes way beyond Street making us supper.