Friends with Baby Benefits (Sycamore Falls #4)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

FINN

The sharp scent of diesel fuel and grease lingers in the air as I walk around the engine truck, running through the same routine I do after every call. Inspect. Reset. Prepare for the next one. The predictability of it soothes me. It’s why I did so well in the army. Why I like this job.

You follow the steps, stay sharp, and keep people safe.

Upstairs, the low murmur of conversation drifts down from the rest of the crew, their voices blending into a steady hum. But I tune it out as I continue checking the truck, shaking my head at how Reggie, our probationary officer, left his turnout gear. Everyone else has their pants lowered onto their boots so when a call comes in, all we have to do is step into it and we’re on our way.

Not Reggie. His pants are lopsided, and I’m pretty sure his boots are swapped.

He’ll learn that lesson soon enough.

A pair of footsteps, light yet deliberate, breaks through the ambient noise. I look up, my eyes tracking a tall, slender brunette as she walks through the open bay doors overlooking the historic downtown area of Sycamore Falls. I can’t help the smile that tugs on my lips at the sight of my best friend.

I try to push down the surge of protectiveness that fills me when I notice her hair is styled and she’s wearing more eyeshadow than usual. She’s also dressed in a pair of slim-fitting jeans that shows off her ass perfectly and her top reveals a bit too much cleavage for my liking. It’s not even a lot. I just don’t like the idea of men ogling Genevieve.

I’ve always felt protective of her. Of everyone, really. It’s in my nature, I suppose.

But after her divorce last year, I want to do everything I can to prevent her from getting hurt again.

“Where are you off to?” I ask, leaning against the engine.

“The brewery with Claire.” She lifts a covered casserole dish. “But I wanted to drop this off first.”

I raise an eyebrow as the familiar aroma of tomatoes and garlic invades my senses. “Is that lasagna?”

“I was in the mood to cook.”

I push off the truck, eyeing her with suspicion. “Is everything okay?”

While Genevieve is a great cook, I know her better than most people. She typically only makes lasagna when she’s had a bad day and needs to feel good.

“I’m fine, Finn,” she assures me. “You mentioned it was John’s night to cook, so I figured I’d be a shitty friend if I didn’t save you from whatever culinary catastrophe he plans to make. Consider this my version of saving lives.”

I blow out a low chuckle. “You’re definitely doing God’s work by saving us from that.”

“Don’t I know it?” She winks. “Just don’t let him reheat this lasagna. He’ll probably ruin it.”

“I’ll take care of it myself,” I assure her, taking the casserole dish from her. “Want to come up for a minute? That way, the guys can personally thank the woman who saved their lives.”

A gentle laugh falls from her throat. “Sure.”

The faint click of her heels on the metal steps mixes with the distant sound of a news anchor on the TV in the lounge as she trails behind me.

At the top of the stairs, I pause and face her. “Wait here a sec.”

“Of course.”

By this point, she knows the drill. While we’re used to getting visitors, the fire department is mostly men. Some days, it can be a bit like a fraternity house, minus the keg parties.

I push through the door into the lounge, where Murphy is sprawled on the couch, John is raiding the fridge, and Reggie is flipping through channels like it’s an Olympic sport. Cappy is in his office just off the lounge, probably filling out paperwork after the last call.

“What’s that?” Murphy asks as I head toward the kitchen area and set the casserole tray on the counter before turning on the oven.

“Genevieve made lasagna.”

Murphy holds his hands together and looks at the ceiling. “Thank you, Lord, for sparing my life tonight.”

John shoots him a glare as he closes the refrigerator door. “You’re an asshole.”

“And you’re a horrible cook.”

“Genevieve’s coming in, so try to act somewhat civilized,” I warn them.

Murphy sits up, looking wounded. “We’re civilized.”

“You’re just one step ahead of a Neanderthal on the evolutionary chart,” I say, then shoot my attention over to Reggie. “And go fix your turnout gear, probie. It’s a fucking catastrophe. Do you need me to mark your left and right shoe like a goddamn preschooler?”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Go fix it, probie,” Cappy calls out from his office. “The twenty extra seconds it will take for you to get your bunker gear on can be the difference between life and death.”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbles, pulling himself off the couch as I open the door for Genevieve.

It doesn’t escape my notice the way Reggie looks at her as he passes.

I don’t like it.

“Gen!” Murphy jumps to his feet and approaches her, enveloping her in a tight hug. “You’re a saint. Thank you for saving my life tonight.”

John groans. “I mess up one tuna noodle casserole, and suddenly I’m the worst cook in the state.”

“One?” Murphy snorts, releasing Genevieve and facing him. “What about the chicken Alfredo incident?”

“I thought the sauce would cook faster if I increased the temperature.”

“And the pot roast?” I add, opening the oven and setting the casserole dish inside.

John glares at me. “The oven was acting weird.”

From his office, Cappy’s voice booms, “Don’t forget the time he turned chili night into a training exercise.”

John throws his hands up in surrender. “Fine. Maybe I need some help in the kitchen. Happy?”

“Very,” Murphy says with a satisfied smirk.

Genevieve just shakes her head, her smile soft and genuine. “Well, I’m glad I could help.”

“Want to stay and eat?” I ask her.

“I can’t. Claire’s probably already waiting for me.”

“Did you have dinner?”

“I had some pasta.”

“Will you text me when you get home so I know you’re okay?”

She rolls her eyes, feigning annoyance, but eventually treats me to her usual heartwarming smile. “Of course.” She shifts her attention past me. “Have a good night, boys.”

“Thanks, Gen,” they all chime in.

She looks back my way for a beat before turning and heading out of the lounge, her heels echoing as she continues down the stairs.

As soon as her retreating footsteps are no longer audible, Murphy turns to me with a sly grin. “When are you finally going to make your move?”

“What are you talking about?” I reply, heading back to the oven to check on the lasagna.

It was still relatively warm when Genevieve brought it over, so it shouldn’t take too long to reheat.

“You and Gen. You’d be good together. Anyone with two eyes can see it.”

“Yeah, man,” Reggie says as he re-enters the lounge. “I’ve only been here a few months and even I can see it.”

“Shut up, probie,” I retort. “This is a grown-up conversation.”

He shakes his head, but doesn’t argue back. He can’t. Not until he’s out of his probationary period. Until then, he’s low man on the totem pole and has to pay his dues. Just like we all did.

But even though I can give Reggie shit, I can’t do the same to Murphy. He has the most seniority out of all of us, except for Cappy. And when he pins me with a glare, I know he doesn’t plan on dropping this conversation. Not yet anyway.

“She’s my best friend,” I repeat the same argument I give to everyone who questions my relationship with Genevieve.

Murphy isn’t the first person to bring up the possibility of crossing that line with her, especially now that she’s divorced. I’ve fielded these types of questions for as long as I can remember. No one thinks men and women can just be friends without sex eventually entering into the equation.

I value our friendship too much to do anything to put it at risk.

“We’ve known each other since we were in preschool,” I remind Murphy. “She’s like a…sister.”

John raises an eyebrow. “I could be wrong, but most people don’t eye-fuck their sisters the way you just eye-fucked Gen.”

“I didn’t just eye-fuck her,” I retort, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, although he’s probably right.

I am a guy, after all. And Genevieve Thomas is absolutely beautiful. From her long legs to her full lips and everything in between. You’d have to be blind not to be attracted to her.

There was a time when I did look at Genevieve like she was just a sister. Or, more appropriately, a gender-neutral sibling. I knew she was a girl, but she didn’t feel like a girl to me. For one, she’d play video games with me. We’d collect worms together for our pet worm collection, much to my mother’s horror. Hell, we even had farting competitions.

That all changed the summer before our freshman year of high school.

I’ll never forget that first warm day when I invited her over my parents’ house to go for a swim and I saw her in her bathing suit.

It wasn’t the first time we’d swam together.

But it was the first time I realized she had boobs.

I’m not too proud to admit I told her I needed to go to the bathroom, where I proceeded to jerk off as I looked out the window at her in her bikini.

So no. As much as I like to tell everyone I’ve never looked at her as anything more than a sister, that’s not entirely true.

Regardless, she’s too important to me to let my hormones get in the way.

“Fine.” Murphy leans back in his chair, grinning. “If you’re not interested, maybe I’ll ask her out.”

“She’s going through a divorce, asshole.”

“Hasn’t her divorce been finalized for close to a year?”

I shrug dismissively, officially hating this conversation.

“I think that’s long enough to wait. Don’t you?” he taunts with a waggle of his brow.

“Ask her out if you really want,” I say nonchalantly, knowing the more I resist, the more he’ll read into my reluctance. “Don’t be disappointed when she turns you down.”

It doesn’t matter I know Murphy has no intention of actually asking her out. Just the thought of her on a date with someone sends a surge of something hot and ugly through my chest.

I tell myself it’s just because I don’t want her to get hurt again so soon after her divorce. That’s the only possible explanation for the way my body reacts to the idea of her dating someone.

I refuse to consider the alternative.

Not when she’s a friend.

Only a friend.