Yes, I want to say. Yes, it fucking does.Be the bad guy for once, Rob. Take a stand.
The kitchen falls into silence, broken only by the buttery sizzle of the mushrooms in the pan and the vent hood’s whir. I feel the weight of Robbie’s gaze as he attempts to peer inside my brain.
Thank fuck he can’t actually read my mind because there’s stuff in there I don’t want him to know about. Pettiness. Lurid fantasies. A catalog of Robbie in Swim Trunks, 2014-2023.
It’s a lot.
Robbie dusts his hands, covers the bread to rise, and levers himself onto the butcher block—a health code violation I’d murder anyone for downstairs, but up here, best friend privilege applies. It doesn’t hurt that his position puts his thick thighs directly in my line of sight.
“This is nice, huh? Just us, hanging.” Robbie rubs his knee, getting traces of flour on his jeans. “We haven’t gotten to do this in a while. You’ve been so busy spending time with your new?—”
“Hold up. Is your knee bugging you?” I demand. “Why didn’t you say? I still have that bottle of arnica gel in the bathroom. And I’ll run drill tomorrow—” I’m already setting down my spoon and taking a step toward the bathroom when Robbie grabs my arm and pulls me back.
“Bullshit, you will. New volunteers starting this week, remember? You’ll scare ’em off.”
“Pfft.” I shrug off his arm for… reasons. “I’m a fucking delight.”
He laughs.
“Been trying to scare you off for, what, sixteen years? And hereyoustill are,” I mutter.
“Terrified the whole time.” He winks. “Anyway, I’ll be curious for you to meet the probies. Herzog’s a solid guy. Greene…” He hesitates.
“Uh-oh.”
“No. Not that serious. Just… thinks he’s god’s gift to firefighting because he did well on his SCBA course. You know the kind?”
I snort as I garnish the mushrooms with chopped rosemary. “He’ll get that knocked out of him pretty quick.”
Or he’ll leave, I think but don’t say.
I’ve been part of Winsome’s mostly volunteer fire crew for eleven years, just like Rob. He went full-time almost right away, made it his career, and became chief, so I guesstechnically, he has more training than I do and maybe atinybit more experience. But I’ve worked with enough guys to know that the ones who stick aren’t the ones who joined for the ego stroke.
“Could be probie nerves,” Robbie says, ever the optimist. “I’m thinking eventually I’ll pair you up with him?—”
I turn and glare. “Why do I get the mouthy one? Is this how we treatour friends, Robert?”
He grins. “It is when your friend’s favorite hobby is chewing up mouthy probies and spitting them out as team players.” He grips the front edge of the countertop and adds solemnly, “This is agiftI’m giving you, Ames.”
“Hard pass. Last time you had me buddy up to a probie, he thought I was interested in him, remember?”
Robbie laughs, deep and long. “Poor Delphi didn’t get to grow up hearing Professor Ames Axford’s lectures on allyship. Rule One: Sorry, Straight Boy, Not Every Gay Man Is In Love With You.”
I feel my face heat. “Yeah. Well. It’s true.”
Though perhaps not in every case.
“He caught on pretty quick.”
“He did.” I chuckle and admit, “He still calls me ‘sir.’”
Robbie laughs. “And you get off on it. See? Agift,” he repeats. “You should say, ‘Thank you, Robbie.’ You should say, ‘You’re the best boss ever, Robbie.’”
“Boss. Ha.” I turn back to the stove. “Dream on.”
I never see it coming when he wraps both beefy arms around my waist and hauls me against his broad chest so my feet dangle two inches off the ground.
Listen, I’m five ten and a hundred seventy-five pounds—not a tiny person, compared to anyone but Robbie. No matter how many times he manhandles me like this, it’s always a shock. One that goes right to my balls.
