I’m staring at the message that was waiting for me when I opened the app a few minutes ago, wondering what to say—or if I should say anything at all—because no, I am not freaking out, but I am a little taken aback by how turned on I was. I have nobody to blame but myself. It’s not like anything he said wasn’t one hundred percent instigated by me in the first place. It wasmewho took the conversation there, so why am I being so damn weird about it now?
It’s not a big deal. So what? He painted a—very graphic—picture in my mind of him giving me a blow job. Big deal. No reason to get weird about it. It’s not like he even knows who he was saying that to.
My thumb hovers over the reply button, pulse erratic as I contemplate what to say. I could go with the truth… Finally tell him who I am. Or I could lie. Tell him I’m perfectly fine. Itwaslate when we were messaging last night. It wouldn’t be all that unbelievable if I claimed to have fallen asleep? Although, who in their right mind would’ve read what he sent and been able to go to sleep immediately after?
There’s no way.
Sure, Ididpass out—andslept like a fucking baby, which is rare these days—but only after I jacked off to the scene he laid out for me. I came so damn hard, my vision went black. It’s been years since I’ve felt a burning need so strong I couldn’t think about anything other than giving in to the fantasy. It was…intense.
Besides, I’m not ready to reveal my identity. This can’t get back to the station.
FireInMyVeins: Maybe a little.
“Mornin’, Cap.”
At the sound of Remi’s voice, my heart jumps to my throat as I fumble with the phone in my hand. He slaps a hand against my back a moment before the screen goes black, and as I turn my head, meeting his bright-eyed, cheerful gaze, I toss it on the counter in front of me and take a step back.
“Oh, hey, Remi.” I wince at the way my voice cracks on his name.Real smooth.Clearing my throat and ignoring my racing pulse, I ask, “You just get here?”
“Yeah.” He nods, grabbing an everything bagel and a plastic knife from the table where I’ve got a breakfast spread laid out. “My phone updated last night and turned off my alarm. Thought I was gonna be late.”
I hum and check my watch. “Not late.”
“No, sir,” he drawls, flashing me a dimply grin as he spreads a layer of cream cheese on his bagel. “Do anythin’ fun the last coupla days?”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “Ran some errands, did somelaundry.”Sexted with your best friend on the dating app you suggested I download.Clearing my throat, I say,“That’s ’bout it.”
“How’re you likin’ things at the cabin?”
“Pretty good,” I say as an image of Hollis unloading barrels of hay from the back of his truck, shirtless, the other night as I was driving home, flashes in my mind. Sun beating down on him, sweat glistening all over his chest. It was like the start of some cowboy porno, and I was practically drooling. “Yeah, the views are nice.” It wasn’t just him; his brother and a couple of other guys were helping, but they all paled in comparison to the way Hollis made my blood pump hotter.
“And you’re settlin’ in okay?”
Like Remi can read my mind, my pulse kicks up speed as my cheeks heat. Fuck, all of this is so wrong. “Mmhmm.”
My stomach flips as my phone buzzes with a new notification on the counter. Then it goes off for a second time. A thin layer of sweat lines the back of my neck, the sound deafening as my gaze darts from the device to Remi across the room.
The corner of his lip twitches as he arches a brow and asks, “Gonna get that, Cap?”
Thankfully, before I’m forced to respond, the station’s alarm system goes off, dispatching us to a priority one call for an adult patient reporting chest pain. Remi quickly shovels the rest of the bagel in his mouth while we shuffle out of the kitchen, heading toward the lockers with the rest of my crew. Having been a firefighter since I was twenty-one, all of this is muscle memory. The steps we take—changing into our protective gear, climbing in the engine, and flying out of the station in under ninety seconds—is second nature to me. I could do it in my sleep.
No two calls are ever the same, but the process we follow to get on sceneis. It has to be. We’re the first responders, the ones people’s lives depend on, and taking even half a minute longer to respond to a call could quite literally be the difference between life and death in some instances. Especially with calls like this one, where there’s a possible cardiac emergency. Being ready and on scene rapidly allows us to assess the situation and administer life-saving interventions, like CPR and defibrillation, if needed, within those first few crucial minutes, significantly increasing the patient’s chance of survival. In the event the patient is experiencing a heart attack, every second counts.
Arriving in just under four minutes, we jump out of the engine, equipment in hand, and bound up the steps of the older, brick, two-story complex. After we find the appropriate unit number, I bring my fist up and pound on the door. “Wolf Creek Fire Department.”
It’s not but a few seconds later when we hear a muffled, “Come in,” from a man inside the house.
I step inside, my crew following behind, and we’re immediately hit with a strong, unpleasant odor—musty and stale, but also sour too, like maybe milk’s been left out. The narrow entryway is made even tighter by the row of cardboard boxes stacked four high against either wall, and as we walk farther into the house, more clutter fills each room. Dishes are piled high in the sink and empty containers take up most of the counter space in the kitchen. The dining room is nearly inaccessible. More boxes, three and four high, and black trash bags filled and tied off occupy the small space around the table covered in stacks of unopened mail and loose papers.
A frantic voice leads us to the living room, where a gentleman who looks to be in his late seventies sits on the edge of a teal, well-worn, floral recliner. Face red and slick with sweat,the man clutches his chest, seemingly unable to catch his breath. Similar to the rest of the house, this room is just as cluttered, but there’s a path carved out I follow to get to the patient.
“Hi there, I’m Captain Wesley. Myself and the firefighters behind me are from the Wolf Creek Fire Department,” I state, kneeling in front of the man, meeting his wide, panicked gaze. James, one of the guys on my crew, comes to the left of me, placing the medic bag on the table beside the recliner as I continue. “This is Firefighter Brown. He’s goin’ to be takin’ your vitals while I get some information from you. Is that okay?” The gentleman looks over at James for a moment before he nods, bringing his attention back to me. “Great. Can you tell me your name, sir?”
“Larry,” he croaks as James secures a blood pressure cuff around his bicep. “Larry Pickens.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Larry.” I offer him a smile. “I’m told you’re experiencin’ some chest pain this mornin’, is that correct?” He nods. “Okay, well, we’re here to help, and I can assure you, you’re in great hands. Aside from chest pain, what other symptoms are you experiencin’?”
“It feels like…” Larry swallows harshly before blowing out a ragged breath. “Feels like I’m p-paralyzed. Like a weight is sittin’ right here…” He brings his hand to his chest again. “Makin’ it h-hard to breathe.”
