Chapter 4
FOUR
PERCY
Studying myself in the mirror, I decided I looked too buttoned up and changed my shirt. But my shoes didn’t match, and the jacket I wanted to wear was in the wash. Ahhhh!
I was going to see a stranger who happened to be my fated mate, and I couldn’t meet him with a stain on my collar. I’d never put so much thought into my clothes.
My dragon watched my wardrobe meltdown and wondered why I cared about clothes. They’re horrible things that restrict your movement.
I pulled on a white long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans and told myself I didn't care what Larkin thought of my outfit. But I rolled the sleeves once, studied myself in the mirror, and unrolled them before rolling them again.
“Get a grip,” I muttered and stared in the mirror at my flushed cheeks and unhinged expression.
I'd spent the past twenty-four hours arguing with myself about whether to show up.
The sensible part of my brain, the part that remembered I was Station 9's secret weapon for the cup and had no business fraternizing with the competition, kept telling me to cancel.
It was a logical argument, full of practical points about loyalty and timing and not being a fool.
But the other part demolished each argument. Larkin was our mate, and nothing else mattered except my crew, career, and the competition I'd been training for since January. And everyone at Station 9 would feel betrayed if they found out I was sneaking off to meet Station 12's lieutenant.
But things that also mattered were the scent of woodsmoke and how my chest had ached since the barbecue.
I drove twenty minutes to the trailhead with the windows down, letting the mountain air clear my head.
Trenton sat in a valley, and the road between our two towns wound through forest that thickened as you climbed.
The trailhead Larkin had chosen was halfway between Danvers and Trenton, and when I pulled into the gravel lot, his truck was already there.
Of course he was early.
I parked two spaces away, which was silly considering we were the only cars in the lot, but I needed a buffer.
Through the windshield, I spotted him leaning against his tailgate with his arms crossed.
He was wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves pushed up and jeans that outlined his hips and other parts of him.
And as for his forearms, oh they were lickable.
But I wasn’t here to lick anyone, so I got out before I ripped off my clothes and said, “You’re mine. Take me.”
The connection between us spiked when I was ten feet from him. It yanked at my chest, and it was as though someone had tied a rope around my ribs and was gently reeling me in. Larkin's scent drifted on the breeze, wafting around me, enticing and taunting me.
He straightened as I approached and uncrossed his arms. Up close, without sixty people and a barbecue between us, I noticed things I'd missed before. He was clenching his teeth, and there was a small scar above his left eyebrow. His eyes followed my path before darting away.
“I wasn’t sure you’d turn up.”
That irritated me. “Don't sound so surprised. I said I would.”
“You also said you didn't know what I was talking about.”
That was fair enough. I scuffed my boot on the gravel and leaned against his truck, mirroring his earlier posture.
“So, I’m here. Talk.”
Larkin rubbed the back of his neck. For someone who’d radiated authority at the barbecue, he appeared distinctly uncomfortable, and I took some satisfaction in that. At least I wasn't the only one floundering.
“You felt it too.” He wasn’t asking but telling, and I was more irritated with him.
“Huh? What? The cheap beer, the sunburn, or Station 12's inflated sense of superiority?”
He smirked. “Percy.”
Shoot, now he’d gone and done it. My name on his lips and me… not swooning. Firefighters in the twenty-first century didn’t swoon, but it was something close to it.
I gulped, wanting to fan myself, but I tucked my arms behind me.
“Fine. I did. I felt the thing.” Admitting it loosened the pressure in my chest. “But feeling it and doing something about it are two different things.”
“I’m with you there, but I didn’t sleep last night.”
He pushed off his tailgate and took a step closer. I shivered because his scent was overwhelming, and my knees were swaying, plus my pulse was so fast, I worried I’d faint.
“That makes two of us.” I'd been up until three, lying on my back with my dragon reciting all the things he wanted to do when he met Larkin's dragon, like flying, hunting, and burning shit.
“Here's what I think.”
This voice was different, maybe this was his lieutenant voice. I liked it and imagined him talking like that when we were naked.
“The cup runs for six weeks, and both our crews are counting on us. We can’t let this get out now.”
“It'd be pandemonium.” I pictured Briggs's face, Hallie’s shock, and my captain pulling me into his office. There’d be whispers and jokes that weren’t really jokes. They’d assume I’d been compromised. “My crew would think I’d sold them out.”
“And mine would question every decision I've made since the barbecue.” His eyes met mine. “I’m suggesting we keep this between us until the competition is over in six weeks. We figure out what this is, privately, without blowing up everything we've built at our stations.”
Six weeks? My dragon was throwing a tantrum. What? He’s standing right there. Why do you have to wait six weeks?
The rational part of my brain knew Larkin was right. Six weeks of secrecy in exchange for keeping our crews intact and the competition fair. It made sense. It was the smart move. It was the advice I'd expect from a lieutenant.
And I hated it, because what I wanted to do was close the distance between us and press my face into the crook of his neck and breathe him in until the ache stopped.
But instead, I said, “There have to be ground rules.” If we were doing this, I needed boundaries or I'd lose my mind. “During cup events, we're rivals. There’ll be no going easy or weird looks across the field.”
He sighed. “Yes.”
“Nobody finds out, not your crew, not mine, and not Harold at The Sidedoor.”
His sheepish expression had me rolling my eyes. “Is that how you got my number? From Harold?”
“Mmmm.”
I groaned. “Fine. He can suspect whatever he wants, but we don't confirm anything.”
Larkin locked eyes with me. Damn, he shouldn’t do that. My knees were weak, and I was worried I would slide onto the ground.
“And what about between events when we're off shift?”
That was a loaded question with so many possibilities.
“We figure it out as we go.” I wasn't ready to commit to more than that, and he glanced away. His side profile was as yummy as his front, and I almost gave in and kissed him.
He extended his hand. “Deal.”
This wasn’t supposed to be how new mates ended their first real encounter. Clothes should have been removed, and we’d be pressed against one another, marking our mate, not shaking over a shitty agreement.
Knowing what would happen the moment I touched him, I hesitated. At the barbecue, we’d brushed against one another. This would be deliberate.
My dragon waited, thinking we wouldn’t be able to resist one another.
Larkin's grip was as firm as I expected, and his fingers closed around mine. The tingling that raced up my arm and overpowered my mind and body was so seductive I fell under its spell.
But I had to let go. Life would be too complicated if we mated now.
“Six weeks.”
I jerked my head toward my truck. “I’ve got a shift starting at six tomorrow morning, and I haven't done laundry in a week.”
“We can’t have Station 9 showing up in dirty br— ummm, shorts.” He glanced away.
“Nice save. But our shorts and the rest of our clothes are always clean. Our engine might be old, but our laundry game is flawless, including our briefs.”
There I said it and got a smile out of him, the first one. I wanted to collect his smiles in an album so when I’d had a bad day, I’d open it up and run my fingers over them.
I climbed into my truck and started the engine. Larkin was still standing beside his vehicle, watching me.
“Hey, Larkin? Don't think this changes anything for the cup. I'm still going to beat you."
“Look forward to watching you try.” He turned around. Oh, nice ass. Spectacular. Shame he didn’t bend over.
I pulled out of the lot with a wide grin. My palm was tingling where he'd gripped it, and I kept opening and closing my fist as if I could trap the feeling.
I'd agreed to six weeks of standing across a field from the man whose scent was still wrapped around me like a blanket I hadn't asked for but refused to take off. I’d be sneaking around and hoping nobody noticed the flush on my cheeks when someone mentioned Station 12.