“I’ll call 911 if I need to, okay? Please. Please just take off. I’m so embar—” Peter bit his lower lip, hard.
Damian made a soft sound, and then the hand on Peter’s knee moved up, and Damian was touching his mouth again, carefully pulling his lip out from between his teeth and soothing it with a fingertip. Oh, that didn’t feel impersonal at all. Thank God he moved it before Peter could do something stupid, like suck on it.
A shudder went through him at the thought.
“I have an idea,” Damian said, his tone so gentle it almost became offensive. Like Peter was a pathetic freak one second from falling on Damian’s manly chest and sobbing, or something? He didn’t need to be coddled. So he was a fulltwoseconds from that. Whatever. “How about a do-over? You know, like…like an alternate universe.”
“But that wouldn’t be us-us, it’d be another version of us,” Peter argued automatically. No amount of clumsiness, injury, or embarrassment could turn off his inner nerd.
“Dude, not if it’s a time-branching alternate universe instead of a parallel dimension!”
Peter looked up sharply. He detected no trace at all of Damian making fun of him, just straight-up indignation. Like he honestly took the difference between the two that seriously.
Heat bloomed low in Peter’s stomach, something stronger and sweeter than simple arousal.
“Come on,” Damian said, his tone coaxing. “I ran you over. With afire truck. The least I can do is get you some lunch, plant that lemon tree, and help you veg out on the couch for a few hours. We could watch that sci-fi movie that came out last year, the one with Tom Cruise going to that alternate world. Critique the logic.”
The warmth in Peter’s belly curdled like milk left out in the summer sun. “No,” Peter forced out. “You should go.” Because the longer Damian stayed, the more Peter would wish he wanted to hang out for more than to make sure Peter didn’t sue him or the Santa Rafaela Fire Department.
“Peter,” Damian started, his brows furrowed and concern in his eyes—concern for his career, no doubt. “You shouldn’t be here by yourself after you fell—”
“I’ll call Mar.” Peter took a deep breath. “Seriously, you need to leave. Right now.”
He got his right hand under him and shoved off the floor, managing to stagger up to his feet and dodge Damian’s outstretched helping hand all at once. Anger and hurt gave him coordination, so awesome to know for future occasions when hot-like-the-sun firemen were trying to get him into bed out of pity and self-interest.
Peter met Damian’s wide eyes, trying to ignore the way he looked like a puppy that had gotten its nose whacked with a newspaper. And the way he loomed, all broad-shouldered and tall and gorgeous and perfect, like Peter’s fantasy top come to life.
“Out. Now.” His voice only shook slightly, another small victory.
Slowly, Damian backed away, his hands held palm-out in front of him like he was trying to calm Peter down. “Okay. I’m going.” He let out a long sigh and shook his head. “I’m going.”
And a second later, the front door shut behind him.
Peter dropped down on his bed, wincing as his knee and wrist both jolted with the movement.
Mar was going to be so pissed. Peter fell back onto the bed and turned off his phone.
Chapter Six
The firehousewasunusually quiet for a Saturday night. Damian winced. The rest of the company would pants him and hang him upside-down from the ceiling with a hose if they knew he’d even let that thought rush through his stupid head. No better way to get a series of difficult, dangerous call-outs than to marvel at how fucking peaceful it all was.
So he knew he’d cursed himself, and all of them, but he expected it to come in the form of a five-car pile-up on the freeway, or an electrical fire in a not-up-to-code apartment building full of disabled elderly people, or something.
Damian did not expect Mary Jane.
Then again, that wasn’t the only way she resembled the Spanish Inquisition.
When Bubbles unfolded his tall, rangy frame from behind the desk at the front of the station and beckoned him over, he thought maybe some random high-school buddy of his, or a cousin, had dropped by to get a tour. Wouldn’t have been the first time.
Instead, a five-foot-five bundle of fury stood waiting for him, dark eyes flashing. Even though she had a really nice curvy figure and was rocking some kind of high-heeled boots, she managed to make her head-to-toe-black T-shirt and jeans look like a uniform for some super dangerous branch of the military. Damian didn’t think she could be packing heat, or even a knife, with clothes that tight, but fuck, he wouldn’t bet on it.
It didn’t matter. She was here, and she was Peter’s sister, which meant—which meant what? Damian hadn’t heard a thing from Peter for nearly two weeks, ever since Peter threw him out of his house. Not like he’d been expecting to. Or been sitting by his phone sadly, or anything, except maybe on his days off. Anyway, he’d definitely thought about Peter a time or two. Or fifty.
Bubbles stood staring at Mary Jane in awe. Damian knew he had to get her the hell outside, or every guy in the station—except maybe closeted Larry—would be standing around with their tongues hanging out.
“Hey, Mary Jane,” Damian said, trying for casual. It sounded a little like he was being strangled. Maybe she could Force-choke? That tracked, honestly.
Mary Jane’s eyes narrowed. “Rosetti,” she hissed. “Youasshole.”
