that I can do something else.
~ Dolly Parton
"Okay, everyone!" Captain shouts as we're finishing equipment checks. "Weight room in five."
All eyes flick to me.
The room goes still. One unspoken question sits on each tongue.
Dustin finally breaks the silence. “So, we're all working out—together?”
Cody’s face remains neutral. “We always work out together.”
Dustin chuckles, looking at me and raising his brows, “Yeah.” He nods. “Yeah. We do. Okay, Captain. Whatever you say. We’ll just work out. Like usual.”
I stand a little straighter, turn and walk to my bunk tochange into shorts and a T-shirt, determined not to make this weird. Normally, I’d exercise in yoga pants and a form-fitting spandex top. That’s definitely not what the moment calls for. Then I do some preliminary stretches and warm-ups—ones I’m not yet comfortable doing in front of the guys.
The sound of male laughter filters through the bay as I walk toward the weight room, which is about the size of a small master bedroom filled with weight racks, machines, a bench, a TRX and some stands holding bands and ropes.
When I open the door, the laughter dies as if I flicked a switch. Every eye lands on me—again. The silence stretches. I stare at the men—four of them, all dressed in shorts or sweatpants and T-shirts.
Greyson’s wearing a tank top. My eyes stutter on his biceps and the cording of his forearms, the way his muscles are defined across his shoulders—all lines and dips and swells. He’s a sculpture. He’s almost unreal, with the stoic expression of stone to match his physique. My gaze travels across his body to meet his stare. Heat rises up my cheeks and I make the mistake of glancing in the mirror. I’m turning as red as the truck in the bay.
I didn’t mean to check Greyson out—he’s justthere. It’s kind of hard to ignore all that rippling muscle. I wasn’t prepared. I should have been, but now I’m practically a walking siren, wailing “hot man, hot man!” while my red skin flashes my embarrassment throughout the room.
Cody saves me—saves all of us. “Dustin, could you put your guns away? I don’t want anyone getting hurt on my watch.”
“These guns?” Dustin asks, flexing his arms in a way that’s so exaggerated I snort-laugh. He checks his reflection, admiring his own arms. “I can see why you’d be nervous, Captain.” He aims both fists outward and pops one bicep and then the other.
“Are we having a shoot-out?” I ask, lifting my arms and flexing one bicep and then the other in a mirror of Dustin’s display.
“Okay, then,” Patrick says with a smile and a low whistle. “Looks like you’ve met your match, Dustin.”
“I’ll see you at sundown, partner,” Dustin says in a fake Western drawl, tipping his invisible cowboy hat in my direction.
“Not if I see you first,” I say, making a finger gun and blowing across the tips of my fingers.
Greyson chuckles softly. Our eyes meet again.
I look away. This room is way too small, but I’m here, so I’m going to fit in and make it work.
I walk to the weight bench, set my plates, and ask Dustin, “Could you spot me?”
“Um. That’s one hundred thirty-five pounds, Rookie,” Dustin doesn’t step in my direction. He squints his eyes and his lips thin into a flat line.
“I know,” I tell him.
I’ve trained for just this moment. It’s one of those key times when all eyes will be on me. I’ll either earn their trust or their doubt.
In the academy, I had to prove myself—until I didn’t. I went through CrossFit and lifted three times a week to get into the shape I’m in. I had to pass agility testing—the hardest test a firefighter endures—to make it onto a crew. I paid my dues so I could not only show the men I’d work alongside that I was capable, but that they could rely on me in any crisis.
“Okay, Brownie, I’ll spot you,” Dustin says, taking his place behind the bench, but still leaving me all the space I need.
I glance over at Greyson. His brow is furrowed with concern.
“I’m only doing three reps,” I tell Dustin.
He nods solemnly. “One would be impressive. Don’t hurt yourself on our account.”
