by Cassie Cole
“Are you trying to get her to wash out?” I asked. “Berate her as much as you can until she finally quits?”
“Hey, fuck you. It was a joke. People laughed.”
But there was a hint of the truth in those eyes. I’d worked with Sparks long enough to know. Trying to get her to quit was exactly his plan.
“Even if she quits,” I said, “Brady won’t get in.”
He looked out the side window. “You don’t know that.”
“I do. He’s not an elite firefighter.”
“He’s as good as any of us,” he spat, although he and I both knew it was a lie. He gestured at Amy as she came out the door with Christian. “He’s as good as her.”
“You haven’t seen her work yet. Aside from the quick work she made of that hydrant.”
“Somehow I doubt she’ll impress me,” he said.
I wanted to tell him he was being unreasonable, but Christian came over to my driver window. “We’re packing it up,” he said. “Back to the station.”
He turned and followed Amy to the hose to help her fold it back up.
“You should give her a chance,” I said.
Sparks answered by hopping out the passenger seat and slamming the door closed.
“Guess I should have expected that answer,” I said, grabbing the dispatch radio. “This is Station 47. False alarm on the office fire on 10th Avenue East. Heading back to the station.”
10
Amy
I trudged over to the hydrant and tried to ignore all the stares from the office workers. They probably didn’t care about anything except that it was a false alarm, but I felt self-conscious after Sparks’s joke. It didn’t help that I was wound-up after the false alarm. It always took me a while to relax after one of those, even though deep down I knew it was a good thing.
I almost jumped when I realized Christian was next to me. “Need some help?”
“I’m a big girl,” I said.
He picked up the hydrant wrench and held it out. I took it and loosened the hose.
“You moved pretty fast,” he said.
“I’m sure it was hilarious,” I muttered.
“It was a compliment.”
“Come on,” I said. “I made a fool of myself.”
“Then we’ll pretend it was a practice run. It was harmless. Better to forget to turn your radio on than something really important. Nobody ever died from someone giving 100%.”
His words actually calmed me a little bit, even though I still felt embarrassed. At least the office workers who had laughed were all back inside now.
“Hope they find the smoker,” I said. “Even if the trash can was immediately put out, that shit’s dangerous.”
“That makes two of us.”
Sparks had a smug look on his face, but didn’t say anything to me the entire way back to the station. Somehow that was worse than anything he could have said.
Back at the station I took my anger out on the weights as I finished my workout. I started over from scratch on the squats, doing three working sets with the weights that were still racked. I unloaded the bar, moved it to the ground, then loaded it up for deadlifts. I put two 45 lb plates and a 25 lb plate on each side before clamping them down. 275 was a good deadlift for me, although not near my max. But I knew myself: my form always deteriorated when I was frustrated, so only deadlifting 275 was safer.
I savored the sound of the plates clinking on the rubberized ground with each rep, feeling the familiar tightness in my upper back.
Christian came in while I was on my third set. Whereas I’d enjoyed having Angel stare at my ass, right now I just wanted to be left alone. Yet as I finished my last three reps Christian never stole a glance at my flexed posterior. That annoyed me more than if he had.
“275. Nice.”
“My one rep max is 335,” I said, striding past him to the whiteboard. I wrote my name in one corner and filled in the weights underneath:
Amy
Squat: 5x225
Deadlift: 5x275
Bench: 5x165
“You’re setting the bar pretty high for the rest of us,” he said.
I returned to prepare the bar for my bench press. “Don’t be condescending.” A man with Christian’s upper body could probably bench 200 reps at 165 lbs.
“I’m serious,” he said. “About the squats and deadlifts, at least. You’ve got a strong lower body.”
“Strong for a woman?” I said.
“I didn’t say that. Sparks’s one rep max for deadlift is only something like 350.”
I grunted, but that did make me feel good about myself. Being that close to a guy’s max was impressive. That it was Sparks was icing on the cake. The next time he hit up the gym I was going to have to swing by and give him some well-deserved berating.
“Today was a good dry run,” he said.
“You gunna lift some weights?” I asked. “Or are you just here to cater to my feelings?”
“I’m just saying. We were all on the engine within a minute of the call coming in. You had that hose ready to be wetted before the rest of us even knew you were doing it. That’s a good start to a new station.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I moved the bench under the bar and laid myself flat.
“All I’m saying is we’ve got a good group here,” he went on. “We were all chosen because we’re the best. They want this new peak hours station to succeed.”
Then why did they choose three men from the same unit? I found it extremely unlikely that out of all the firefighters in Miami, three of the four best ones all happened to come from the same group. But I didn’t know why they had been chosen, and why I had been chosen as the odd woman out.
I doubted Christian had the answers, so I said nothing as I began my set. He didn’t speak while I lowered the bar to my collarbone, then pressed it straight back into the air, feeling the tightness in my triceps right before my elbows locked. Unlike the weight I’d squatted and deadlifted, 165 was near my bench press max. I’d loaded it up so high out of vanity since Christian was watching. But although I struggled by the fifth rep, I was able to complete the set and rack the weight without him rushing over to spot me. That was a victory.
“What I’m trying to say is that you shouldn’t take Sparks seriously,” he said. “The joke he made. It’s just that. A joke.”
“You’re making it worse by talking about it,” I snapped. “It was a good dry run, like you said. Now let’s move on.”
“Yeah, sure. You got it,” he said before leaving.
For the rest of my workout I felt guilty for taking my frustration out on him.
Lunch was leftover food from the ceremony. I wolfed down four turkey wraps and more cookies than I cared to count. I ate whatever I wanted on lifting days without guilt. Loading up on calories after lifting was one of the few ways I could put on muscle. It was tough for someone like me. I knew a lot of women who took testosterone to help with that, but I never touched the stuff. These thighs were all natural.
After the excitement of the morning, the afternoon passed surprisingly quiet. Not a single call came in. Normally that was a good problem to have, but after embarrassing myself on our first call I was eager to get back out there and redeem myself. Plus, nothing brought a new unit together faster than actually doing our jobs together. It was tough for a guy like Sparks to roll his eyes at me if I was out there backing him up.
As soon as 8:00pm struck, Sparks went into the engine room and rang the ceremonial bell. The first day was complete. Even though I was eager to get back out there on the engine, it was a relief to have the day over. A firefighter’s nerves were always on edge, waiting for a call to come in. To suddenly need to sprint to the truck and don our turnout gear. The relaxed mood of the shift being over was palpable.
“Pizza?” Sparks asked as he came back in the common room. “I’ve got a pepperoni craving.”
“I was going to make my pasta,” I said.
The redhead winced. “Ehh. I’m not
really in the mood.”
“Then you can have cold leftovers,” Christian said. “We’re having Amy’s pasta tonight.”
“Geez, relax. I’ll eat whatever she makes. No need to go white knighting over pasta.” He flopped down on the couch. Christian shared a look with me and rolled his eyes. It made me smile.
My penne al vodka recipe was simple, so there wasn’t much to do. Even so, Christian insisted on helping. While I got the pasta ready he patted the chicken dry and coated it in a healthy layer of salt, pepper, and Italian seasoning. Then he handed them off to me to cook in the pan with some olive oil, turning once halfway through. I dumped one entire jar of vodka sauce into the pan and let the chicken simmer, then added the pasta to the boiling pot. When it finished cooking I strained it, added the chicken and sauce, and dumped a second jar of sauce into the mix.
“There’s wine in the pantry,” I said.
“How many glasses do I need?” he asked the room.
Angel said, “I’ll pass tonight.”
“Not a wine drinker,” Sparks said. “But get me a beer.”
“Of course the Bud Lite drinker won’t have wine,” I said.
“Fucking right,” he yelled, taking it as a compliment instead of an insult.
We all gathered around the table with the pot of pasta in the middle. Christian uncorked the wine and poured me a glass, then himself, while Angel dolled out a helping to himself. When it got to Sparks he put a small spoonful on his plate… Then two larger ones once he got a good whiff. I smiled behind my wine glass.
The boys all wolfed down the pasta, even Sparks. Especially Sparks. “This is good,” he said, bobbing his head up and down.
“Glad it meets your approval,” I said.
“Very good,” Angel agreed around a mouthful.
“In fact,” Sparks said, “this is so good I think Netty should cook every night. You can be the station mom.”
This time I was ready for a smart-ass comment, so I was able to hide my rage. “I can pack your lunch and juice box, if you’d like,” I said while casually grabbing the bottle of wine to refill my glass. I sneered at him from across the table. “Though I draw the line at changing diapers. You’ll have to put on new ones yourself.”
Angel almost spit out his pasta, while Christian only smirked. “Alright, alright, I had that coming,” Sparks admitted. He spooned himself out another helping of pasta. “Seriously though, this needs to become a weekly meal. But more next time, so we have leftovers.”
I lifted my glass. “I can do that.”
Angel cleaned the dishes while I packed the leftovers into the fridge, though there wasn’t much left. Nobody wanted to play poker (again) so I relaxed on the couch with the rest of my wine. Christian put college football on the TV, which was a good distraction to have on in the background.
Angel went to bed at halftime. Sparks got dressed and announced he was going bowling, and didn’t invite anyone to go with him. Then it was just Christian and I on the couch, staring at the TV as the third quarter began.
He swirled his remaining wine, gulped it down, then looked forlornly at the glass.
“You know,” I said, “We’ve got another bottle of wine. I bought two, but since they didn’t have any…”
“I can’t say no to that,” he said with a grin as he got up and went to the pantry. I watched him walk across the room, a statue of hard muscle with a face just as chiseled. He popped the cork, then brought the entire bottle over to refill my glass.
“Much appreciated,” I said.
He sank back down on the couch—a little bit closer than before. Was that intentional, or was I reading into it too much? He smelled like musk and leather.
“To a solid first day,” he said, clinking his glass to mine.
“More of a half day,” I said. “We started late thanks to the ceremony.”
“Then here’s to a solid first half day,” he said, clinking again. “And an even better full day tomorrow.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
“It was a solid day,” he said, staring intently. “I hope you’re not still embarrassed about our call.”
“I wasn’t until you brought it up again!”
“Oh, shit. Sorry.”
“Seriously, it’s fine.” I put a hand on his arm. It was like touching a warm brick. “I have thick skin.”
“I can see that.”
“You have to in an industry run by big, strong men.” I deepened my voice mockingly at the last part. “Everyone’s afraid of being shown up by a little girl.”
Christian laughed. “You’re not a little girl.”
I feigned offense. “Are you calling me fat?”
“Hah! You and I both know you’re nowhere near fat. You’re…” He shrugged. “You’re the fittest woman I’ve ever met. I could tell you were a capable firefighter before I saw you in action today.”
I sipped my wine to cover my silly grin. Damn, Amy. Is that all it takes to make you blush? A simple compliment?
“Speaking of capable firefighters,” I said, “how long are Angel and Sparky going to give me the cold shoulder?”
Christian gestured with his wine glass. “Don’t worry about Angel. He’s just quiet, but he’s like a cat: he’ll warm up to you if you leave him alone. Sparks…” He shrugged. “Sparks is Sparks. He’s also like a cat, but the feral outdoor kind that will only come up to you if you have food, and even then he won’t like you.”
“I’ll just have to keep feeding him, then.” I took the bottle of wine off the table, topped off both our glasses, and then asked the question I’d been wondering since yesterday. “And you?”
“What about me?”
“You’ve been nice to me.”
“I’ve treated you like a teammate,” he said. “That’s what we are, here. Teammates. We should all do our best to get along.”
I adjusted my leg, which brushed it against his. Oops. “So what you’re saying is I should stop calling him Sparky?”
He laughed. “Nah. He deserves it.”
I’d always kept things professional with my firefighter mates. A lot of girls didn’t, but that was a line I’d always avoided crossing. It would complicate things, ya know? My old unit mates were like brothers. It would have been weird. There was the occasional temptation though, especially with one of the other firefighters in a different unit. It was tough when you were surrounded by muscular hunks. Firefighters were sexy, even to a girl who was a firefighter.
Part of it was the wine, but I couldn’t avoid the hard facts in front of me: Christian was sexy. He was new. Being around him was exciting.
“I’m glad you’re on our team,” he said, putting his hand on mine. He stared at me with that face, that gorgeous face that should be on a firefighter calendar that girls put up in their lockers. I wondered how the rest of him looked underneath.
He kept staring at me, so I had to kiss him.
He seemed surprised at first by my sudden lunge, then leaned into it just as eagerly. An arm wrapped around me and his glass of wine fell to the floor but neither of us cared that it might stain. The world narrowed to our joined lips, and the scrape of his hair against my face, and the way his hand pressed against my back to keep me close.
Fuck, he feels good.
He pulled away first, but kept his face close to mine as he said, “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”
“Maybe not,” I said, then kissed him again. His hand moved to my thigh.
“It’s only kissing,” he said. “Kissing can’t hurt.”
“Good point.”
Our soft, lovely kisses gave way to tongue, which made my entire body tingle against his. I ran my hand up his thigh—his warm, hard, strong thigh—and he did the same on my body, one of his broad hands sliding in between my legs to rub me through my pants.
I broke our kiss with a gasp and whispered, “That’s more than kissing.”
“Touching,” he said. “Touching can’t hurt.”
“Another good
point,” I said, diving back into his lips. He rubbed my pussy through my pants so I reached between us until I felt his own bulge, hard and huge, and I wrapped my fingers around it tight until he moaned.
I pulled away and said, “What if I don’t want to just touch?”
He grinned a boyish grin. It was too beautiful to resist.
Before I knew what I was doing my hands were at his belt, unbuckling and then ripping the belt away so I could get the zipper down. His grey boxers were tight against his thighs, practically painted on thanks to the muscle underneath pressing them tight. That, and the long cylinder of his massive cock. As soon as his pants were down around his ankles I rubbed at his boxers, making him moan even louder.
“What if the other guys wake up?” he whispered.
The fear of them possibly walking in… It actually excited me. It made it that much more dangerous, adding urgency to our lust. Sure we could go into one of our private rooms, but where was the fun in that?
“If they wander out here they’re free to join us,” I said, an off-hand joke.
That seemed to excite Christian. He pushed me back and removed my pants, sliding them down my legs until I felt the cool air on my skin. He pulled his shirt over his head, that sexy motion men did that showed off all the muscles in their chest, and Christian had plenty to show off. An eight pack of dinner rolls, arms long and corded with muscle. He tossed the shirt aside and then took hold of my panties. I raised my butt off the couch so he could slide them off. Once he’d tossed those aside with his shirt, he gripped both of my legs and spread me wide for him to admire.
The hunger on his face turned me on more than the rest of his amazing body.
Christian lowered himself to my pussy like a feeding animal, kissing and licking while keeping my legs spread wide. I let out a long sigh as he worshiped me, a blond head buried in between my legs and moving all around. I bit my lip and enjoyed the sight of him—and the feel of him—until I wanted more.
I grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled him away from my lips. “It’s no fun if I’m the only one.”
He gave me a wet smile. “Is that so?”
