“Lucky, what are you doing here?” It was a ridiculous question because of course Lucky couldn’t answer it, but it was something to say, as she knew his owner wasn’t far behind. Clearly he was the vet in question.
Which meant he knew that she was a firefighter. Which meant he was pissed, though he hardly had a right to be. She was a grown woman. She could do what she wanted. Didn’t stop her stomach from clenching in anticipation of seeing him.
Riya swallowed hard as black sneakers entered her view.
“I could ask you the same thing.” A deep, soft rumble that was foreign and familiar all at the same time. She had known that voice before it had gained the smoothness and timbre that made it so irresistible now.
Riya cleared her throat and stood to face the man behind that knee-melting voice.
Dhillon Vora.
He stood a few feet from her, his hands in his pockets, his dark-eyed gaze raking over her and hardening as he took in the gear she still had on. The scruff on his jaw that she’d seen last month was now a trim beard. It suited him. At the sound of a newcomer, Scout wiggled out of her arms to go to him. She released the puppy. Without taking his eyes off Riya, Dhillon bent down and scooped Scout up, muscles stretching his dark T-shirt. He called to Lucky, but the older dog stayed at Riya’s feet.
His hand shook slightly as he stroked the fur on Scout’s back. He was holding the puppy to calm himself. Clearly, even standing in the parking lot of the fire station was challenging for him.
“Dhillon Vora.” She used his full name because she hoped it would irritate him. Her reward was an eye roll so minute she’d have missed it if she blinked.
“What the hell are you doing?” He stepped closer to her and laid into her as if he had the right to barge in and demand these answers when they never even really talked anymore. Even when she checked in on Lucky when she visited her parents every week, they barely did more than exchange pleasantries. Which Riya tried to avoid at all costs.
“I’m working.” She fixed her eyes on his. They watered in the blinding sun.
“As afirefighter? Seriously?” He said the word like he couldn’t stand having it in his mouth.
She inhaled, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin to fill every bit of her full five feet six inches. Dhillon still towered over her, even more so when he stepped forward and crowded her space. She didn’t move back. Simply tilted her head and raised her eyes in as bored a fashion as she could muster. “Yes.”
God, he smelled good. Like soap and disinfectant and cologne. And she probably stank of sweat and more sweat.
“How can you possibly have anything to do—to do—with—with—” In his anger or disbelief or both, the usually calm, steady Dhillon Vora was sputtering. And he didn’t bother to lower his voice.
“Fire?” she offered, unable to keep the smirk from her voice or her face. Ruffling Dhillon’s feathers had once been a favorite pastime of hers. Nice to see she still had it.
“Yes. How can you possibly be fighting fires?” Dhillon regained some composure, but not enough to hide his anger.
“How could I not?” She pressed her lips together, narrowing her eyes. It took no small amount of discipline to ignore the soft shuffle of feet and the murmur of men’s voices behind her. Her colleagues had conveniently finished showering just in time for the show and were clearly trying not to be seen or heard so they could eavesdrop.
Surprise or shock at her response played on his face for just a split second before he masked it again with anger. Or was that pain? Riya couldn’t tell anymore.
“Don’t tell me I have to remind you of what was lost—”
“No!” she snapped, cutting him off. “No, you do not need to remind me of anything.” In a motion that revealed more than she was willing to share, she reflexively clutched at her neck. But the necklace wasn’t there. She couldn’t wear it on duty.
“Then what the fuck are you doing?” He was nearly shouting now, which was so not Dhillon. Well, maybe it was. She had no idea what was typical of her former best friend anymore.
“I’m doing a job that needs to be done.” She clenched her jaw. She would not reduce herself to yelling back at him in front of her colleagues. No matter how badly she wanted to scream at him that it was her life to do with whatever she damn well pleased.
“Riya,” he said, his voice softening on her name, “you’re runningintofires.”
“I’mfightingfires.”
She could have sworn she heard a derisive noise from behind her. She’d deal with the guys later.
“What about your parents? How could you put them through this? After they lost Samir?” he growled.
At this, her gaze faltered. She had lost Samir, too. He’d been the perfect older brother.
“You haven’t told them?” He shook his head at her. “Un-fucking-believable!”
“Lucky, come,” Riya commanded, her eyes never leaving Dhillon’s. The dog came to her, and she rested her hand on his head. “Go with Dhillon.” Lucky whimpered, but he went. “I’ll take Scout.”
