by Mia Watts
“Nope.”
“Keep your personal problems out of the fire. It’s all I ask.”
“I know,” Mark agreed. “I can’t be distracted on call.”
“Right.” Murphy stood up, but leaned on the table to level a serious look on him. “Call him. Fix it. You can’t have mess ups playing with your mind when you need all your wits about you in a flame.”
Murphy rose to leave.
“Hey, Chief? Still need someone to work the Tuesday shift?”
Murphy frowned, but he nodded.
“Put me down for it.”
“As soon as you call him to work things out. You aren’t any good to me unfocused.”
“Yes, sir,” Mark agreed. “I’ll call him now. Tuesday is as good as mine.” He tried for a bright smile, but it felt phony all the way to his toes. His gut twisted anxiously.
“We’ll see.”
The chief left, his heavy tread taking the stairs to the first floor front office. Mark took a steadying breath. Never, in the almost thirty years he’d known Steven, had he been uncomfortable calling him.
What did he say, “Hey, buddy, you were right. I kissed you because you were standing there looking adorable, and I needed to let off steam. And oh, by the way, I really got into it and now you’re all I can think about?”
How the fuck could he explain how kissing him had felt? Like coming home? Like his body finally sighed with relief? That his every neuron cheered that he’d finally gotten a clue? That he felt like he’d been dying of thirst his whole life until that moment and he knew, with every fiber of his being, this is where he belonged?
Mark had been so much saner before he’d crossed the line. Now every moment of their shared existence distilled into the one defining act, like it had all been working toward it, inevitably bringing them together. Except that for the first time in Mark’s life, he wasn’t sure he’d get the guy.
His stomach ached. He felt shaken to his core, and Steven had been completely uninterested and unaffected. Not that it surprised Mark. His closest friend didn’t get surprised easily. His big brown eyes behind black-framed glasses took in a lot of information, analyzed it, and categorized things neatly. He’d always been that way—a trait Mark admired, envied sometimes.
The only chink had been Mark’s offer to do him. The beer spray had been spectacular. He grinned just thinking of it. But Steven hadn’t faltered. He hadn’t given Mark doe-eyes or tried to touch him unobtrusively. He hadn’t done all the little things Mark was used to seeing in a man attracted to him. So that meant one thing. He wasn’t, and Mark had made a colossal mistake by coming on to him. Made even bigger, because now Steven was at the exact center of Mark’s attention. He couldn’t remember wanting anyone as badly.
“I’m a fucking moron. A complete fucking moron,” he muttered under his breath.
He got up and went to the bunkroom to retrieve his cell phone. Steven’s work number was a couple of taps away and suddenly the phone line was ringing.
“Investigations. Garvey speaking.” Steven’s steady, deep voice resonated across the line.
“It’s me,” Mark began. He went outside to the tables set up near the firehouse pit, grateful to find a spot alone.
“What’s up?”
Did he sound cautious? Mark couldn’t be sure. Deciding to take the indirect route, Mark cleared his throat. “Change of plans, Tuesday. The chief needs me to fill a spot.”
His announcement was greeted with silence.
“You know,” Mark continued, pushing through it. “It’s my turn to do overtime, and Pauly’s wife just had her baby, so he’s not working this week.”
“Okay.”
Mark made sure no one had stepped outside without him. He was still alone and the silence between them seemed to drag.
“Saturday night—”
“—Didn’t happen. I know. It’s how you work. You get all hyped on adrenaline and act a little crazy. Forget about it. I have,” Steven said flatly.
Except Mark couldn’t forget about it. He also didn’t like the implication he wasn’t in control of his actions after a fire. He just liked to celebrate making it out of a burning building.
“I’m not like that,” Mark corrected.
“Sure, you are. You get happy. You get loud. You get rambunctious. You get laid. We can talk about this later, but I’m about to have company in the office, and I can’t talk about it here.”
“Steven, shut up and listen to me for a minute,” he said, frustrated.
He heard a long-suffering sigh. “Hurry up. Some of us actually work during a work day.”
Mark let that one go, because it was a familiar jab between the two of them. Only today it didn’t feel funny. “I did what I did, but I’m not sorry for doing it.”
“Can you make that any vaguer for me?” Steven teased dryly.
“The kiss. I want to do that again.”
There was a beat of silence, then Steven’s voice lightened. “I’m sure you would. It was a sad example of your lauded skill. However, Mr. Huffman, further demonstration won’t be necessary.”
“They’re in your office, aren’t they?”
“That is correct.”
“Fine, I’ll make this quick. I won’t be there Tuesday, but when I see you again for dinner, we’re going to have a replay.”
“No, Mr. Huffman, that won’t be necessary. In fact, I’d recommend complete avoidance of that route in the future. I recognize the psychological need for an individual who can’t control their circumstances to attempt to control their environment, but it often leads to catastrophic failure.”
“Put on some lip balm and pucker up, son, because I’m definitely coming in for round two,” Mark told him.
“I’ll take that under advisement, sir. Be warned that regardless of the outcome, you may find such an action would be a mistake.”
That sealed it better than any double-dog dare. Mark had something to prove now, and it had a gasping Steven all over it. He hadn’t met a man he couldn’t seduce yet. He wasn’t about to give up on his friend if there was even a ghost of a chance.
Chapter Three
Thursday night turned out to be the next open evening. It gave Steven three days of panic, ample time to work up a good one until he debated hanging out at the precinct longer than necessary. Unfortunately, he was on top of his caseload. And, also unfortunately, part of him was excited to see what Mark would do.
When he pulled into the driveway, he got a shot of thrilling dread to see Mark’s car already there. Gathering his courage, he turned off the ignition and made it through the front door.
The wafting scent of hot meaty stew greeted him. The television in the next room clicked off, and Mark turned the corner with a wide smile.
“Hey, hope you don’t mind, but I thought maybe I should cook dinner tonight.”
“I’m glad you did. I was thinking I’d have to call for delivery. I’m sacked,” Steven told him.
“The cornbread is ready to go in the oven. I just have to preheat the skillet.”
“I’ve got time to shower?” Steven asked hopefully.
“Definitely.”
“Awesome.” Steven passed the crock-pot, lifted the lid and inhaled. “God, it smells amazing. I haven’t had your beef stew in ages.”
“Go. Get relaxed. It’ll be ready when you get done.” Mark propelled him out of the kitchen.
Steven let himself be directed. It was silly, but he liked the heavy feeling of Mark’s hands on his shoulders. Those hands used to give him back rubs when he got tense.
Steven took his time in the shower, letting the hot water spill over his shoulders. His mind flashed to the image of Mark in the calendar, and he smiled at the wayward connection. Finally, he turned the spigot off and dried himself with a towel before tying it around his waist. He picked up his glasses and fitted them onto his face.
Mark was waiting for him in the bedroom. Not the way Steven would have wanted him to be waiting, but still, there, spr
awled backward and staring up at the ceiling. Steven couldn’t count the number of times his friend had been exactly in this position throughout their years together. It was only the kiss between them that made it awkward now. Although, looking at him, it only seemed to be uncomfortable for Steven.
“Do you think the guy who invented popcorn ceilings is embarrassed? Like maybe the association-of-ceiling guys laugh when he enters the room at a ceiling convention?” Mark mused.
“What?” Steven asked.
Mark turned his head and gestured upward. “Seriously, look at that stuff. It’s nasty. You should see what happens to that shit in a fire.”
“No thanks.” Steven moved to his dresser, pulling out his underwear, a pair of threadbare sweats and an equally faded navy blue precinct t-shirt.
Mark had turned his attention back to the ceiling. Steven pulled his underwear on beneath the towel, then his sweats before he dropped the screen. Compared to his buddy, Steven looked scrawny. Not that he was, just that the comparison to Mark could make any guy feel completely inadequate in the muscle fitness department.
He tugged the t-shirt on, then flopped down beside Mark—also something they’d done for years.
“You really oughta update that.”
“I know. I hate the stuff,” Steven agreed. “Dinner ready?”
“The cornbread’s on a timer. We have another ten or so,” Mark answered. He rolled up on his side, propping his head on his fist as he looked down at Steven. “Are we gonna be weird now?”
Steven blinked, refocusing on his face. “God, I hope not.”
Mark looked thoughtful. “I’m glad, because I’d really miss this.”
Steven cocked an eyebrow. He folded his hands behind his head. “You know, even if you were a complete dick we’d still find a way to be friends.”
“What constitutes being a complete dick?” Mark asked.
“Why? You planning on testing the limits?”
“Maybe.”
“Don’t,” Steven suggested. “I’m still trying to get over the weird.”
“Sorry.”
“No, you aren’t. You’re sold on the success of your charm and good looks. That doesn’t mean you should try to finesse me.”
Mark frowned. “Honestly, I wasn’t.”
“Then what was that?” Steven asked bluntly.
“So we’re talking about it now?”
“We have ten minutes, apparently. I’d rather not let what happened be a thing. Would you?” Steven challenged.
“No.”
“Then we’re talking about it,” Steven informed him. “If you weren’t throwing me into that giant mix of guys-you-get-your-way-with, then what was it?”
Mark’s gaze tracked to the side, like he was embarrassed. That only sharpened Steven’s curiosity.
“No mockery,” Mark warned.
“Of course not.”
“I thought you looked cute. I thought you’d given me that look some guys get when they don’t mind if I get a little closer.” Mark half-shrugged.
“Cute? Like My Little Pony cute?” Steven scoffed. Actually, he hoped Mark elaborated. Cute sounded interesting. If he made him explain the terminology, he could savor the distinction later, when Mark wasn’t watching his every expression.
“Who?” Mark asked.
“The rainbow ponies that prance around on TV.”
“I’m not even going to ask why you know that,” Mark hedged.
“I know lots of shit.”
“Part of what makes you cute. You sell yourself short, Steven. I told you. I know lots of guys that want to get with you. Is it so strange that your best friend sees all those same great attributes in you that strangers would? If anything, you should expect me to think you’re attractive, witty and fun.”
Steven’s stomach gave a little flip. “Do you?”
“Sure.” Mark flopped onto his back again.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So you think I’m cute.” Steven repeated.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Mark laughed. “You’re fishing now?”
“Hey, this is new information for me. I think that you, as my best friend, should tell me everything.” Yeah, Steven thought, that sounded plausible. And because he really wanted to hear all the things Mark liked about him, and found attractive in him, said out loud.
The oven timer sounded. Mark breathed an audible sigh of relief and got up. Steven wanted to pull him back down on the bed and make him finish his thought. Because now there wasn’t a smooth way to reintroduce the subject and get the answer he desperately wanted.
With much less enthusiasm than Mark had, Steven got up and followed him downstairs. Mark handed him a bowl of stew and a wedge of hot cornbread on a small plate. Steven buttered it and picked up Mark’s plate to butter his. He handed Mark a big spoon and took his food to the table. He came back for two glasses of Coke.
They’d fallen into a comfortable routine, and it felt good not to have to ask Mark to do or get something. They each just saw the need and took care of it. Kind of like an old married couple.
His mind came to a screeching halt. He fucking needed to shut that kind of thought right down. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t sane. It wasn’t even close to likely and one day when Mark met his guy, and they all spent time together, thoughts like that would make Steven feel sick and dead on the inside.
One day Mark would be looking down at his husband, sharing idle thoughts about popcorn ceilings and invented ceiling conventions. Instantly, Steven hated that man. Whoever he was.
“Everything okay?” Mark asked.
“Fine,” he choked through the jealousy constricting his throat.
“Is it bad?” Mark hurriedly took a bite of stew, letting it roll around in his mouth. He swallowed. “Tastes fine to me.”
“No, it’s not that. I just had—” Had what? A moment of insanity? “Just an idea. I remembered something.”
“Must’ve sucked. That expression was pretty damning,” Mark said.
“The worst thing I could imagine happening,” Steven admitted. His mind cleared as he realized that would only prompt more questions. “At work,” he added, to head follow-ups off.
“Anything you want to talk about?”
“No.” Steven tucked into his dinner. “Seriously, you need to cook more often. This is really good.”
“I cook at the station all the time. Everyone does.”
“Maybe I should come over there for dinner.”
Mark grinned. “You’d get teased. They know we’re friends, but it always seems like it’s the significant other who shows up to see her guy on the job.”
“That could ruin your reputation as a playboy.”
“Fuck you,” Mark laughed. “Let them think what they want. I’ll even let you hang all over me for good measure.”
“Gee, thanks, but I’m above swooning.”
“I’d catch you,” Mark offered.
“Do I look like the swooning type?”
“No,” Mark said, dropping his smile. “You look stable, dependable, solid.”
Steven pushed the glasses up higher on his nose. “That’s more like it.”
Mark’s lips twisted into a thoughtful grin. “You look exactly like the kind of guy I should be dating.”
Steven stood with his bowl and plate. “But you don’t date types like me. You date club-boys and graduate students and hot little firemen who idolize you. Guys like me are the sideliners. We’re the ones who sit there watching, knowing we aren’t flashy eye-catchers. We’re the ones you come to for home dinners and friendship. We know what’s expected of us, and for the most part, we’re okay with it.”
He turned on his heel abruptly and took his plates in. He didn’t hear Mark follow, but evidently he had. Steven had barely put his dishes in the washer when Mark grabbed his arm and spun him around.
“I take a lot of shit about the way I choose to date. I take it becaus
e I know how it looks, even if no one understands why I do it. But you, of all people, should know me better than to assume the worst in me.”
“I don’t assume the worst. I know your habits and I accept them. It’s why I know I can’t be one of your—crew of boys,” Steven finished.
“You’re not a boy. You’re a man. You’re my best friend, and you’ve known me almost my entire life. You’ve never let anyone talk bad about me, so why are you doing it now?” Mark snapped.
“Because until last week, you hadn’t tried to make me feel like one of your boys. You’ve never made a move on me, never kissed me, flirted with me, or in any way let me feel like less than I am to you,” he snarled back.
“So because I kissed you—completely unthinking about a motive, by the way—you believe I’ve somehow reduced my opinion of you? Am I getting that right?”
“Yes.” Steven crossed his arms.
His glasses slid partly down his nose. He watched Mark track them. Mark’s frown broke into a tired ghost of a smile. Then, he pushed the glasses back up the bridge of Steven’s nose.
“Thanks,” Steven muttered.
“You’re welcome. And for the record, I didn’t kiss you because I thought I could use you in some way. I kissed you spontaneously because I couldn’t think of doing anything else at that moment but kiss you.”
“It was a little rough for spontaneity. Felt a little more like planned seduction than that,” Steven contested.
“Would it have worked?”
Steven huffed. “Was it or wasn’t it planned?”
“It wasn’t planned.”
“If I understood what prompted it, maybe it wouldn’t be such an issue.”
“That’s the investigator in you,” Mark told him fondly. “You always have to know why.”
“And you always think that, because I felt like it, is an answer.”
“It is an answer,” Mark insisted.
“Not an honest one. Why can’t you spell it out for me? Why is that so hard to do?”
“I don’t know, Steven. It just is.”
“Do you think I’ll reject your motive? Do you think I’ll have some kind of weird kissy control over you?” Steven asked, deliberately lightening the interrogation.