3
Linc was still grouchy as he walked into the station. He hadn’t gotten to sleep,andJordan and Chelsea’s orgasm Olympics only reminded him how long his own sexual drought had become. He’d been halfway to redownloading Grindr when fear got hold of his libido, and he’d canceled the app. Again.
And then his shift started outreallywell.
“Scott!” Vasquez threw a rag at him. It hit his chest with a wet splat, the water seeping through his SFD T-shirt. He growled. The bay doors were open, as they always were during the day. As he peeled the rag off, a stray breeze caught the wet spot on his shirt, making him shiver.
“What’s this for?” He squeezed the rag in his fist.
“Chief wants you to wash the trucks.” Vasquez’s eye sparked with mischief.
“Again?” He’d washed them at the end of last week. By hand. With a bucket. And a ladder.
She shrugged, dark eyes twinkling. “The chief wants what the chief wants.”
As if on cue, the man himself appeared in the open bay doorway, an insulated lunch bag in one hand. “Good morning.”
“Chief,” Vasquez said.
“What’s the plan for today?”
“Scott’s going to wash the trucks, sir.”
The chief pulled his aviators off, glancing between them, then over to the gleaming red fire truck behind them. “Sounds good. They could use it.”
They waited until he disappeared in the direction of his office.
“Chief wants me to wash the trucks, huh?” Linc said on a growl. “That’s pretty convenient, considering he only just got here.”
Vasquez’s brows danced as she winked at him. “You heard him. They could use it.” She squeezed his arm. “If you need any training on the proper procedure, I’ll be in the gym.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Firefighting wasn’t the worst job in the world. Theworstjob was serving pizza to drunk college students, who either had struck out at the bar and wanted to take anyone with a pulse home or wanted to pick a fight with anyone who looked at them funny. Linc had broken up more fights and fended off more horny girls (and guys) in the six weeks he’d worked there a few years ago than he ever had tending bar. By comparison, hosing down a fire truck in a sleepy town because he was still in the “how high?” part of the chain of command was practically relaxing.
And messy. Washing a fire truck by hand was tricky. Despite what the salad dressing ads said, the chore wasn’t done with sponges and no shirts while the locals drooled. Usually, it involved high-powered washers and rubber boots. Shirts stayed on.
But Vasquez was entitled to her fun. No doubt the guys pulled the same on her when she signed on with the department.
Which was all well and good, except all but the most ancient of the department’s stepladders hadconvenientlydisappeared. The remaining one was warped on one side, and the feet wouldn’t sit level on the ground, so Linc set it up next to the truck. He put the bucket on the paint tray for access while he wiped down the cab’s roof.
Except he didn’t get that far. The second he set the bucket down, the tray collapsed, and the whole thing tumbled, dumping cold, foamy water on his head and his shoulders.
“Goddammit!” As water soaked through his pants and boxers, the wet spot on his chest didn’t seem like such a big deal anymore.
“Oh. Um. Hi.”
Linc froze, water dripping down his neck and along his spine. A pair of brown oxfords stood at the edge of the bay. Linc followed them to the cuffs of a pair of pressed khakis. Above the khakis was a striped button-down—equally well-pressed—and above that was a freckled neck, face, and the reddest hair Linc had ever seen.
“Can I help you?” It came out flatter than it should have.
Linc’s visitor took a small step back. “Oh, um. Sorry. I’m not sure if I’m in the right place.”
“It’s the fire station. Are you trying to get to the fire station?” Linc’s balls were shriveling in his shorts, even as something warm settled low in his belly when Red Hair swallowed.
His throat bobbed up and down over the collar of his shirt. “Yeah. The fire station. That’s it.”
Linc spread his dripping hands. “Then you’ve come to the right place.”
Red Hair stood up straighter. “Oh right. I mean. I was—” He cocked his head to one side. “Were you at my apartment yesterday?”
