“Looking good.” Diesel dropped down into the chair by the captain’s office window. They’d both stopped in the showers before relieving Troy in the office, and Jack’s skin was red from the hot water. “New shirt?”
The captain grunted, but he didn’t look up from the paperwork he was filling out. Then his fingers stilled on the keyboard. “How’d you know?”
“Magic.” Diesel grinned. No reason to let Jack know that his new white T-shirt still had creases from where he’d pulled it out of the package. That answer got a humph, but Jack didn’t say anything else. He just went back to typing up his report.
Boring.
Out the window the rest of the firefighters had finished refueling the truck and cleaning up after the fire. They’d split up, heading to the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee or the lounge to hang out. The weather outside was decent and a handful of men were standing by the open door, sucking on cigarettes and shooting the shit. No one was anywhere near the equipment lockers.
Diesel shifted in his chair, hooking his feet up on the crossbar under the seat. “Can I call you Jackie?”
“Excuse me?”
“You told the kid that he could call you Jackie.” It was such a small thing, but it warmed Diesel from the inside out. He grinned. “What about me? I like Jackie.” Jack was rough and tough. The captain. Diesel’s boss. He was practically hewn out of living stone. Jackie was someone else, someone who talked to little kids about the difference between brachiosaurus and diplodocus.
“Those were special circumstances.” Jack’s voice was dry. He didn’t stop typing.
“Okay, so I’ll just call you Jackie under special circumstances.” That was an easy enough deal to make. Diesel went back to looking out the window. Nothing was happening. “This would be better with popcorn.”
“Is this fun for you?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not usually this relaxed. Did you jerk off in the shower? Or did you just want to be Encyclopedia Brown when you grew up?”
“Who’s Encyclopedia Brown?”
“He’s like Sherlock Holmes for eleven year olds.”
“I’m not much of a reader.”
“You bought books at the Woolf & Raven the other day.”
“Sure, but—” Diesel didn’t need a mirror to know his cheeks were flushed, he could feel the heat under his skin “—those were romance novels.”
The click-clack of fingers on keys stopped. When Diesel glanced over, Jack was studying him like he was a particularly hard-to-manage fire. His eyes sparked and flared like hard gems. “I thought they were sci-fi. You read bodice rippers?”
“Gay romances,” Diesel corrected hurriedly.
“Codpiece rippers? Is that a thing?”
“Probably. You spend enough time on the internet, and everything’s a thing.”
Outside Lee Juracek had finished his cigarette. He shoved his lighter into his back pocket and headed back into the firehouse. His steps were firm and deliberate. He made it halfway to the equipment locker then stopped and pulled his cell phone out. His fingers started moving. Video games. He was playing video games.
Diesel sighed. “I don’t go for historicals anyway. I like romantic comedies, you know? Two guys meet cute, hijinks ensue, they get a happily ever after.”
“I think the last romance I read was Pride & Prejudice back in college—I’m not big on fiction—but maybe you could loan me a book sometime.”
That was surprising.
Diesel fidgeted in his seat. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to turn away from the window and look Jack straight in the face. At least that way he’d be able to tell if the captain was making fun of him or not. “You wouldn’t mind that the main characters are men?”
“I like hijinks.” The words were said low enough that at first Diesel thought he’d been mistaken.
Diesel’s tennis shoes made a solid thunk against the battered wood floor as he put his feet down. Muscles tensed in his neck. Nothing was happening down below. Maybe dinner had been served. Maybe a parade of Victoria’s Secret models was trooping down the alley behind the firehouse. Whatever the cause, the equipment bay was empty.
He glanced away from the window.
The conversation might not be over from his side, but Jack clearly had a different perspective. He’d gone back to glaring at his computer. There was no outward indication that they’d been talking about anything more important than the weather.
Tension roiled inside him. It would be easier if he asked. At least that way he’d know what the hell was going on, except Jack’s sexuality shouldn’t matter to him one way or the other. Gay, straight, or undecided, Jack was still his boss. Dating him was a quick way to get noticed, and if someone started looking into his background, no amount of good recommendations by Peter or Tito would be able to save him.
They’d find out about Chase.
They’d hear about the things Diesel’d done, and then he’d be out on his ass like so much trash on the sidewalk.
He went back to looking out the window.
It was safer.
A couple of minutes later footsteps thump-thumped on wood floors and then he heard the shh-thud of the office door opening and closing. He was all alone. He shouldn’t have looked.
“Dumb ass,” he could practically hear Chase shouting in one ear, and he had been a dumb ass. Not only because he’d stuck with a man who called him names—they’d been together for so long he hadn’t noticed when Chase’s small barbs turned into tongue lashings—but because he hadn’t noticed what else Chase was doing. One day he’d gone to bed with his long-term boyfriend, a property developer who liked to get his hands dirty at the construction site, and he’d woken up with a criminal mastermind who had fingers in a hundred different pots all up and down the eastern seaboard.
Crunch. He still heard the police bursting through the front door of their small apartment in his nightmares. Damn. He’d loved that apartment with the exposed brickwork and the view of the park. The first time he’d seen it, he’d questioned how they could possibly afford it. “Don’t worry,” Chase said. “I’ve got a buddy who owes me a favor. He’s letting this place go for a song.” And then he’d mentioned a price that was a stretch to Diesel’s small budget but wasn’t completely out of the question.
It wasn’t until the trial was underway that he’d discovered Chase’s buddy was a weasel-dicked politician with a history of taking kickbacks for city contracts.
He couldn’t have known, he told himself. It was the same mantra he’d been holding on to for the past year. He’d met with the prosecutor’s office a dozen times, and they’d never suspected him of anything more than bad taste in men.
Except someone must have assumed Diesel knew more than he was saying because the night before the sentencing hearing he’d been visited by a gang of men in black masks. He couldn’t remember any identifying features, but he’d never forget the feel of his bones breaking under their baseball bats.
The worst part? Diesel might not have recognized their faces, but he couldn’t miss the yellow shield printed on the leader’s shirt. He’d been a member of the Atlantic City Fire Department, someone Diesel worked shoulder to shoulder with every day, someone he should have been able to trust.
Oh, damn. He took a stammering breath, forcing air down into his lungs. He was safe. This was New York, not Atlantic City, and even if Chase’s conviction had been overturned on a technicality—letting him out after less than six months of his ten-year sentence—he’d never be able to find Diesel in a new state.
“Coffee.” Jack shoved a heavy coffee cup into his hand. The captain must have come back in when he was lost in his own mind. Fuck. That was one more thing he needed to work on.
Diesel wrapped his fingers around the mug. It said World’s Greatest Aunt on one side. “I don’t have any siblings.”
Jack stared at him for a long moment, those damn lush lashes shading his skin. “Excuse me?”
“I can’t have any nieces or nephews.” He rotated the mug so Jack could see the words. “Because I don’t have any siblings.”
“I’ve got two brothers and a sister whose life’s mission is to give me a hard time. You can borrow them anytime.” He snagged one of the wooden chairs from in front of his desk and hauled it over to the window. Then he flopped down next to Diesel. Coffee sloshed in his cup.
They both drank some coffee while they watched for anything unusual out the window. Nothing unusual happened. Maybe the saboteur was busy doing something else.
Maybe he had the day off.
Diesel rolled his neck. His shoulders felt tight, but for once it wasn’t nerves. He stretched out his right arm, passed his coffee across to his right hand, then stretched out his left arm. The tension in his muscles didn’t get any better. He leaned back against the wooden slats of his chair and—
“Goddamn it.” Pain radiated out across his shoulders. He almost dropped the half-full coffee cup.
“Something I need to know about?”
“Banged up my shoulder at the car crash.”
“Want me to get Alex to take a look at it?”
“The blond paramedic? The one who’s fucking the lieutenant?”
“Don’t mock. I’m pretty sure they’re the real deal.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll be fine.” Alex and Troy were so damn happy together, just looking at them was enough to give him a cavity.
It was just a little bit of discomfort.
The chair squeaked as he scooted forward, keeping his back away from the slats. He drank some coffee, wincing when he raised the cup to his mouth. He needed to change the subject. “You go to your kid’s teacher conference?”
“It’s tonight,” Jack said. “Mona passed along an email from his English teacher. She thinks he’s not living up to his full potential.”
“Story of my fucking life,” they both said at the exact same time.
“Jinx.” Jack elbowed him in the side. “You owe me a Coke.”
Damn. Pain radiated out from where the captain’s elbow connected with his rib cage. The laughter didn’t help.
The pain wasn’t just a brief flare now. It was hard and intense, wild like a fire that was preparing to leap between buildings. The cup dropped from Diesel’s hand and tumbled to the ground with a thunk. Hot liquid splashed out against his old gray sweatpants. That was going to leave a stain.
“I’m getting Alex,” Jack said.
“Please don’t.”
“Let me look.” Jack placed his mug carefully on the floor. When he wrapped a hand around Diesel’s arms to steady him, his fingers were still hot from the coffee. He stood up and tugged Diesel out of his seat. No orders. No polite requests. All he needed was a hard look and a couple of strategic touches to direct Diesel to turn around.
The touches made the hair stand up on the back of Diesel’s neck. His new position was vulnerable. If Jack decided to attack him, it would be over in a matter of minutes. Diesel would be down on the ground and no one would be able to hear him scream.
Jack tugged the hem of Diesel’s shirt up to expose his back. He was so damn focused. It was something Diesel had seen before when Jack was looking at a fire, working the angles, but it was different when all that crazy bossy energy was directed in his direction.
He sucked in a breath. “Damn.”
Oh, hell. What if he saw something? The beating he’d gotten back in AC had left scars, but most of them were internal. Had there been any on his back? He couldn’t remember. It wasn’t a place he normally looked. “Still pretty?”
Callused fingertips scraped against Diesel’s back. “Something must have hit you when the car exploded. There’s a piece of metal in your back.”
There was another gentle touch. Jack let out a breath. Hot air created a tingle on Diesel’s skin. The pain was beginning to go down, or maybe it was just that Diesel had something else to focus on. Damn. If Jack leaned forward one more inch, his lips would be ghosting across Diesel’s spine.
So freaking intimate, just like when they’d been holding hands in the Mexican restaurant.
“You want to head over to the emergency room?” Jack asked. “You can flirt with the nurses while the doctor takes this out of you.”
“I’m gay.”
“There are male nurses,” Jack said. “I can get Alex to come up here. You can even flirt with him to keep your mind off things, if you’re not worried about pissing Troy off.”
“I don’t want to flirt with Alex.” Diesel took a half step forward, buying himself a little personal space. If Jack wasn’t touching him, maybe he’d be able to think rationally. “Can you do it?”
“It’s not exactly my area of expertise.”
“Please, I really—” He swallowed hard. “I don’t like to be touched.” Jack’s hand disappeared from his back. The rough cotton of his T-shirt dropped back into place. “I had a bad experience not too long ago. I really don’t want to see a doctor.”
“Or Alex.” The floor creaked under Jack’s steps as he moved away. “It’s going to hurt, a lot.”
Diesel didn’t bother sitting back down. Instead, he concentrated on keeping his breathing even. He needed something else to focus on. The captain’s office was big and comfortable. The furniture was sparse, but all that space didn’t mean it wasn’t cluttered. The desk was covered in computer equipment and paperwork. A bookshelf in the corner was packed haphazardly with textbooks and knickknacks.
Even the floor wasn’t immune from the captain’s particular form of horizontal storage. Two gym bags were stacked near the door, a pile of training manuals that was doubling as a foot stool behind the desk, and a stack of free weights against the wall.
The firehouse had a full gym downstairs that anyone could use at any time, so the free weights had to be the captain’s personal property. Maybe he was worried about staying in shape? Diesel’s gaze shifted from the room to the man. Jack didn’t need to worry. His shoulders were wide enough to hold up the sky. His belly might be a little softer than when he was in his twenties, but he still had a solid foundation of muscle underneath.
Diesel certainly wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers.
If he was gay.
If he wasn’t Diesel’s boss.
That was a lot of ifs, but Diesel couldn’t bring himself to look away from the captain’s body. Biceps bulged as he yanked open the top drawer and pulled out a small first aid kit. Next stop was one of the gym bags by the door. He bent and rooted around. Trapezius muscles rippled in his back. His ass was taut and sculpted.
A pair of clean towels landed on top of the first aid kit. Jack looked Diesel straight on, his mouth half open, his eyes dark and unreadable. He nodded slowly, then made another detour back past the desk. This time he went for the bottom drawer. He didn’t need to search to find a half-empty bottle of amber-colored alcohol.
“I thought you weren’t a drinker.”
“I’m not, especially if I’m out with the team. Someone needs to keep an eye on the younger guys. They start making real money for the first time in their lives, sometimes they can be a little excessive.” With all his supplies gathered, he walked back over and placed them carefully on the seat of the chair he’d been using a few minutes earlier. “I might have been a little excessive myself when I was younger, after my first divorce.” Jack’s hands moved quickly and efficiently, opening the bottle of whiskey and dipping some out onto one of the clean towels. “We got married too young. She was my best friend. I thought that would be enough.”
“It wasn’t? I always thought—” Diesel could feel his shoulders bowing in. He felt so damn small and insignificant. “My ex wasn’t my best friend,” he finished up lamely. “He was smart and funny. He liked me. We got along. Maybe if we’d been best friends things would have ended up different.” Maybe he would have realized what Chase was doing faster.
“Trust me, I’ve seen enough relationships end, you don’t want to spend too much time thinking about what you could have done different. You’ll drive yourself crazy. Sometimes people just don’t work out.”
“Is that what happened with wife number two?”
“Probably not what you want to ask the guy about to pull a chunk of debris out of your back,” Jack said, his bossy tone enough to make Diesel squirm, turning around to display his back even though it made him uncomfortable.
His shirt was pulled up. The towel was held firmly against his skin, right where the pain was the sharpest.
“Count down from ten,” Jack ordered. “You get to one, I pull the metal. We hope for the best. You start bleeding out and I’m going to be pissed.” There was a hitch in his breath. He wasn’t quite as steady as he was pretending. “You sure you want me to do this?”
“Ten. Nine,” Diesel forced the words out between clenched teeth. “Eight. Seven. Six.” Rough cotton branded his skin like a hot poker as Jack tightened his grip. His breath caught in his throat. The numbers slowed down as his body tensed, waiting for a fresh burst of discomfort. “Five.” He closed his eyes tight enough to see stars reflected back against his lids. “Four. Three—”
Fire and fury. Hell on earth. The taste of blood filled his mouth like new pennies. He must have bit his lip, but he couldn’t pick out the sting. Not when a tsunami of pain was moving across his body.
Good God almighty. He fumbled for a barely remembered prayer from his childhood. Then gave up and swore instead.
Jack chuckled. “You talk dirty for a firefighter.”
“Fuck you.”
“I know that’s the pain talking, but don’t let any of the other guys hear it.” The towel moved up another few inches on his back, covering the open wound. “I’d hate to have to discipline your ass for not respecting the chain of command.”
“Fuck you, boss,” Diesel corrected as he opened his eyes. He had all kinds of respect for the chain of command.
“That’s what I like to hear,” Jack said with an edge to his voice that wasn’t at all professional.
Damn, Diesel’s breath caught in his throat. Dating his boss was out of the question, a bad move in a long history of bad moves. It could ruin Jack’s retirement and get Diesel transferred to some small town in the ass crack of America, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to hear Jack’s sultry voice one more time.
Out the window he could see movement down on the fire engine floor. A pair of guys shooting the shit while they double-checked their equipment. Diesel knew Lee, but it took him a minute to remember the second man’s name: Julian Paris. They both stuck to their own lockers, making sure their boots were clean and their turnout gear was ready to go.
He waited to see if they did anything else.
They didn’t.
Good. The pain in his back was beginning to numb, but bolting down the stairs and chasing a bad guy might be out of his ability at the moment. The towel on his back shifted.
“You’re a lucky bastard,” Jack said. “It didn’t get too deep. I don’t even think it’ll leave a scar.”
“Good. I’ve already got too many of those.” Diesel held himself perfectly still while Jack finished patching up his back. He used an old-fashioned wide white gauze bandage secured with tape. When he finished, wrappers were scattered on the ground at their feet and his hands were splayed out flat across Diesel’s back.
Something impossibly soft flickered across Diesel’s back.
If Diesel hadn’t been paying attention he would have missed it.
Like butterfly wings.
Like a kiss.