by Dizzy Hooper
Walker and Jaquan and Sal are already seated, their huge bodies crammed in at tiny tables on tiny chairs, and my heart beats hard behind my ribs. They're so…cute, honestly.
I take a seat beside Cory and dig in, and yeah. The food is exactly as good as it looks and smells. Even if I weren't half in love and totally in lust with these guys, I might stick with them just for the chance to do this with them again next year.
And yeah, I hear that in my head. My comfort with the idea of a longer term arrangement is weirding me out—nearly as much as my comfort with my growing feelings.
But it's Christmas, for fuck's sake. I'm not going to go getting overly introspective right now.
As we eat, a few other twenty- or thirty-something year-olds filter in and join us. I'm introduced to Sal's brother and sister and two of his favorite cousins. They come bearing pie and conversation; I gobble down the former and let the latter drift by me.
Unable to eat another bite, I push my plate away and lean back in my pint-sized chair. I look around at the room, and a tightness builds in my throat.
This really, honestly is a normal Christmas. The people who matter most to me in the world have surrounded me and introduced me to their family. They've welcomed me and fed me, and I just—
I—
I never thought I'd have this. Never in a million years. This warmth and kindness, this happiness…it can't be meant for me.
Can it?
My eyes prickle, the room blurring around the edges.
Street nudges my elbow with his. He puts his hand on my knee beneath the table. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I choke out. I look at him through my dampened eyes. He looks so soft around the edges.
They all do. Prickly Street and flirty Jaquan. Stoic Walker and innocent Cory. Sal, who's sharing so much with us.
Street smiles, crooked and open. He clinks his plastic cup of sparkling cider against mine. "Merry fucking Christmas, Chapman."
Jaquan picks up on it and joins in. He raises his glass high and pitches his voice even higher. "Merry fucking Christmas."
I laugh, grateful that the last of the kids are already gone.
I'm even more grateful for the men surrounding me.
"Merry fucking Christmas," I echo.
Who knows if anything will be the same next year. If I'll stick with them or if they'll stick with me. Either way, this is a moment I get to keep. Even if this all falls apart tomorrow.
This I get to hold onto.
My first Christmas feeling like I'm a part of something.
So far, the very best Christmas of my life.
41
A few weeks later, during my hand-off to A-shift, Bob leans against the engine. "So," he starts. That's always an ominous start. It implies small talk. "Doing anything fun with your next couple of days?"
That's a pretty innocuous question, as small talk goes.
I shrug, signing the last line on the inspection log before handing it over. "Nah, not really."
It's a dirty, dirty like of course. But Bob really doesn't need to know about what—or who—I'm planning to do on my days off.
In the weeks that have passed since Christmas, despite all of my misgivings, things with my five hot firefighters have gone…shockingly well?
On some level, it feels like nothing has changed. When we're on-shift, we get the job done. We haven't fucked at the firehouse again, and I've slept every night since that first one in my own bunk. Yeah, there have been a few PDAs and cuddles, but for the most part, we keep things professional.
Off duty, I still stay at my apartment as often as not. I watch crap on Netflix and waste time on the internet. I've started volunteering at a local shelter.
But I also go on romantic dates with Corey. I eat dinner with Walker and watch awful horror movies with Street. Sal and Jaquan have taken me back to Sal's grandma's place a few times for the most incredible Mexican food I've ever had.
All five of them have taken turns fucking me up, down, left, right and sideways, filling me in ways I never dreamed possible and making me come more times than I probably have in my entire life.
And it's…good. Really, really good.
Part of me still can't stop waiting for the bottom to fall out or for jealousy to rear its ugly head among the guys. But they all seem cool, so I'm trying to relax and enjoy. For however long it manages to last.
Officially finished with my hand-off, I hop down off the back of the engine and head toward the door.
Bob stops me, calling, "Chapman?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm happy for you."
I stop cold. "What?"
Shit. Jesus. What does he know? The guys and I have all been so careful. Did he find out?
Is he actually okay with it?
I turn around, trying like hell to seem cool, to not give anything away.
But he just smiles. "Nothing. Just. You seem happy—like you're settling in. And I'm glad. Just thought you should know."
"Oh." My lungs can fill with air again. He doesn't have a clue.
Or at least he doesn't know the specifics.
Have I really been that obvious, otherwise, though? I feel like I'm the same person overall. I still prefer my space, most of the time. I'm no-nonsense at work. I dress the same, act the same.
And yet this random dude who sees me for all of ten minutes every three days can tell that something in my life has changed.
Worse, he's not wrong. I am happier. How could I be anything but? I'm getting laid on the regular by five hot guys who don't mind sharing. My crewmates are my friends, my lovers, my family. I'm more settled in here than I ever have been anywhere in my life. That's a good thing.
So why does it freak me out so much to have anybody know?
Bob crinkles his brow. "Sorry. Was that too much?"
"No, not at all." Another lie. "Thanks. You're right. I am a lot happier here, now." I gesture around vaguely. "Must be all the fresh air."
Ha. Because firefighters get a ton of that.
He seems to take me at my word, though.
With a tight smile, I turn again and head into the station. I pass Jaquan and Sal, who wave and tell me to text them later about meeting up tomorrow, which I absolutely will. For now, though, I keep walking. I grab my coat from my locker, then point myself at Walker's office.
The feeling of unease after that weird exchange with Bob sticks with me, but I try to push it away.
I approach Walker's open door to find him sitting at his desk, his eyes tired after a long shift, his normally neat hair adorably mussed. When I see he's on the phone, I hang back.
"Yeah, you heard me," he says to whoever's on the other end of the line. "Everything she said." A pause. "I don't care. Just get it done."
I don't mean to, but I cough.
Walker looks up, like he hadn't realized I was there. His throat bobs, and I am I imagining things, or does a guilty look pass across his eyes?
If so, it's there and gone in a second. He holds up a finger at me, then refocuses on the phone. "Look, I gotta go. Just do it, okay? And let me know when you have something."
He hangs up and stands, closing a folder and shoving it in his desk.
The squirmy feeling inside me deepens. "Am I interrupting something?"
"Not at all." He steps out from behind the desk, and just like that, it really is as if nothing happened. "We still on for today?"
"I haven't got any other plans."
"Good." His voice rumbles, his blue eyes filling with heat.
And I'm not going to say I forget about my uneasiness, or the weird way that call just ended. But it is awfully hard to focus on any of it, with him looking at me like that.
For now, I file it all away and allow him to lead me out the back toward the parking lot. He walks me to my truck. Once we're on the far side of it, away from the door and any prying eyes, he reels me in.
The cold air around us is nothing to the crush of his hot mouth to mine, the warmth of his hands where he
grips my hips. My nipples tingle where they press against his chest, and between my legs, I go hot and slick.
For a minute, I get lost in his kiss. It's been a few days since I've had any alone time with him—or with any of the guys—and I've been craving it.
The sound of a car door slamming elsewhere in the parking lot snaps me out of my horny haze. I pull back, but Walker refuses to let me go.
I push at him half-heartedly. "Someone's going to see."
"Let them."
"You can't be serious."
He loosens his grip enough for me to lean back and see his face. There's no joke in his eyes. "I mean, I'm not going to take out an ad in the paper. But I'm not going to hide the way I feel about you forever."
Yeah, right.
There's a reason we've been keeping our relationship on the down-low.
There's a reason I haven't been making small talk about it to Bob.
"What about all that 'abusing your authority' stuff?" I jab, my lung tight. "And everybody getting fired if we have an inspection?"
"We're not on duty."
"Like that matters."
"It does, actually. A lot." His throat bobs. With his hand at my waist, he dips beneath my coat, beneath the hem of my top to rub his thumb against bare skin. The heat of that touch sinks into my bones. "Contractually speaking."
"Wait." I furrow my brow. My heart hammers. "You really are serious."
"You doubted me?"
"No, no, just—"
Well, yeah, honestly.
Still holding me by the waist, he moves his free hand to brush my hair back from my face. His knuckles graze my cheek, almost too tenderly. "I am abusing my authority. Getting involved with a subordinate…"
I nod. "It's pretty frowned on."
"For good reason. I could use our relationship against you. In the field or with promotions. I could ask things of you I shouldn't be asking, pressure you into doing what I wanted…"
"But you never would."
"I could." He curls his big hand around the side of my face, caressing the point of my jaw. "I want to make sure what you're doing with me doesn't hurt you, Heidi."
I bite my tongue for a moment. I don't want to answer flippantly. Turning my head to the side, I kiss his thumb. "I get that. But, I—"
I waver for a second. It feels like the plates of the earth shifting underneath me.
But I have to say it. The truth is welling up in me, shaking the ground.
"I trust you," I admit.
His eyes shine, and he clutches onto me harder. "You don't know how much that means to me."
He leans forward, pressing his brow to mine. For a minute, we stand there just like that, breathing each other in.
And I may pay for my confession—dearly. Trusting people has never worked out well for me before. This man, though…he's proved himself at every turn. How can I help but let him in?
Happiness threatens to burst out of me. I dig my nails into the back of his neck and bite at the fullness of my bottom lip.
"So you don't want to abuse your power. I get it. But can we get back to the 'contractually speaking' part?"
His mouth curls up into a slow, proud smile. "I did some digging."
"Yeah?"
"And there's nothing illegal about any of this. When we're on shift, we really shouldn't fuck around—"
"—Or straight-up fuck."
He rolls his eyes. "Right. But what we do on our own time is ours, okay? So I don't want to hide. I refuse to." Conviction shines in the depths of his gaze, taking my breath away. "You deserve better than that, okay?"
God, he really believes that, doesn't he?
Maybe someday I will, too.
I nod. "Okay."
"Good."
With that, he rubs his nose against mine, then leans in for a quick but still toe-curling kiss. "Meet you back at my place?"
"Yeah. Sounds good."
"Good."
Reaching past me, he opens the door to my truck, then holds it for me as I get in. But when he moves to close it, I stop him.
"So is that what you were talking about?" I ask. "On the phone? When you got all weird?"
Confusion mars his brow for a split second, and then, again, I'd swear I see guilt in those bright blue eyes. But he blinks, and it's gone.
If only the dip in my stomach could be dispelled so fast.
"No," he says, and I believe him. "I told you. It was nothing."
Now that part? I'm finding it harder to buy.
I frown. I just told this guy that I trust him, and I meant it. But in this particular moment, he's making me question myself, and God, I hate it.
He leans in, though, past the frame of the door. "It was nothing you need to worry about," he repeats.
His lips meet mine, and I let him in.
And I swear I trust him. I do.
But I wish he wouldn't tell me what I do and don't need to worry about.
God knows I'm going to worry about it anyway.
I'd like to say that Walker and I do something exciting with our day together, but the truth is that we're both exhausted. We head to his place and make pancakes in his kitchen, barefoot. We feed them to each other, dripping with syrup, stealing sticky kisses between bites.
After, we take a steamy shower together, hot skin pressed to hot skin, and I'm wet and swollen between my legs. He's hard against my back, his hands rough on my piqued nipples, his lips sweet against my ear.
But we keep the sweet hum of arousal at a low burn. Once we're clean, Walker turns off the spray and pulls back the curtain. We towel each other off with only the occasional caress against sensitive parts.
And then he leads me to his bedroom.
Naked in that big bed, we kiss and kiss, but the shades are drawn, the room dark. Between one stroke of his hands over my skin and the next, unconsciousness takes me. I fall into a warm, perfect, dreamless sleep.
Only to be awoken to bright afternoon light spilling past the edges of the shades. To the slow, steady motion of Walker's chest beneath mine.
To the sound of his front door slamming shut.
I startle the rest of the way awake, sitting up and grabbing at the sheets to cover my naked body. Walker lets out a little snuffling noise, then blinks his eyes open. "Hmm?"
Keys jangle and floorboards creak in the living room. There's a light tapping on Walker's bedroom door before it swings open.
Dark hair comes into view, followed by darker eyes as Street peers through the gap.
I flop backward, letting out my breath all at once. "Oh, it's just you."
Walker chuckles beside me, while Street puts his hand over his heart.
"Just me?"
"Oh, you know what I mean." I flap a hand at him ineffectually. "I thought it was a home invader or something."
Turning onto his side, Walker wraps me up in his arms. "And what? You didn't think I'd protect you?"
"The way you were snoring? I thought you'd sleep through it."
"Please. I don't snore."
"You kinda do, sometimes." Street pushes the door the rest of the way open. His cheeks and nose are red from the cold outside. He's dressed in jeans and a leather jacket and boots, a cardboard drink holder in his hand, three cups tucked inside.
That has me sitting up again, shoving at Walker. "Did you bring coffee?"
"A little more excited to see me now, huh?"
"I'm always excited to see you," I vow, reaching for a cup.
He hands it over easily enough, then sets the holder down on the nightstand before peeling off his jacket, and it all feels so…normal. Like we've done this a thousand times, although it's literally never happened before.
I scrunch up my brow, taking in the set of keys Street shoves in his jacket pocket. "Since when do you have a key?"
Street shrugs, kicking off his boots and nudging me toward the center of the bed. I scoot over, making room for him to plunk himself down beside me.
"A while."
A pul
se of liquid heat courses through me. I dart my gaze back to Street, and then between the two of them a couple of times. "Wait. So. Have you guys been…"
I manage to restrain myself from miming butt-sex with my hands, but only just
"Nah." Street shrugs. "I mean, we hang out."
Walker chuffs, sitting up. "If by hang out you mean make out and occasionally jerk each other off."
There's that flare of heat again. Fuck. I want to see that.
Maybe the idea of them being intimate should make me jealous or squick me out, but for some reason, it just turns me on.
Street rolls his eyes. "It's not like we're fucking or anything."
"No?" I ask.
Walker reaches past me for his coffee. His warm, sleep-soaked scent washes over me, his chest grazing my arm. "Thought about it. But it never seemed right."
"Not without you here," Street admits.
And…
Oh.
Oh.
Okay, yeah, the idea of them touching each other makes me hot, but their confession that they don't go any farther than that without me…
Uh-huh. I like that even more.
My nipples are shooting sparks in the cool air. I rub my thighs together against the ache there.
Licking my lips, I flick my gaze at Street, looking up at him through my lashes. "Well, just your luck. I'm here now."
"Yeah." His breath catches. "Damn right you are."
Without a moment's hesitation, he leans in, covering my mouth with his. He tastes like snow and warmth, like the bitter coffee he loves to drink. He tastes like sex, and in an instant, the banked heat that Walker and I had been saving all morning, through our shower and all through our pre-sleep make-out session…it comes to a head.
I whine into Street's kiss, reaching up to slide my fingers through his long hair. I'm still holding my fucking coffee, and why am I doing that? Fuck coffee. I have two gorgeous men in this bed with me. What other kind of wake-up call do I need?
I hold my hand out, and Walker, saint that he is, takes the cup from me. As soon as I'm unburdened, I grab onto Street's shoulder, feeling the firm heat of his muscles through his T-shirt.