Chapter Nine Noah #2
“Move it along, Dimples.”
“And behind the camera, we have the newest addition to our team—a real-life Barbie doll who tells me what to do more often than the captain himself!”
Lila laughs, dropping the camera setup for a moment. “Seriously?”
“What?”
“You can’t call me Barbie when you literally look like a Ken doll.”
“Well, actually, Ken dolls don’t have dicks. I do.”
“Noted.”
“A really big one, by the way.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Hard to miss, really.”
“Haven’t noticed, honestly.”
I smirk at her. She bites her lip to hide a smile.
Professional. Keep it professional, jackass.
“Anyway, shall we take this to the bedrooms?”
She blinks. “Excuse me?”
“Upstairs,” I clarify, trying not to thoroughly enjoy the delicate blush rising to her cheeks. “The dorms. Where all the brave little heroes catch their Z’s.”
“Right. Sure. Lead the way.”
The rest of the tour is easy. We fly through the mezzanine, then head downstairs to show off the gym.
A few of the guys not-so-subtly flex their biceps when they see Lila panning the camera in their direction.
I give a little speech about the importance of staying in shape so that we can be in our best possible form when the people of New York need us, and Lila nods in encouragement.
When we’re done, we claim a secluded alcove of the gym where there are mats for stretching.
“Do you mind if I take advantage of you for a few more minutes?” Lila asks, tapping away on her phone.
I lift an eyebrow. “Take advantage of me?”
She waves off my innuendo without even looking up. “Take advantage of your time, I mean.”
“I’m all yours, Blondie.”
“I want to bang out some short-form content that I can edit up and sprinkle throughout your various social media channels this week. Snappy but informative content, you know?”
“Totally.” I lean back against the wall.
She aims her phone at me again. “Okay, let’s do fire safety tips. Rapid fire, basic advice, but stuff that you’ve seen people forget about. Can you do that?”
“Sure.” I shrug. “For starters, don’t leave candles burning unattended. Not even if you’re in the next room.”
“Good. What else?”
“Replace your smoke alarm batteries once a year.”
“Really? That often.”
“Yes, indeed. And replace the whole alarm every ten years.”
“Got it.”
“Also, don’t microwave aluminum foil.”
Lila furrows her brow. “That’s common knowledge.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“Anything else?”
“Our station, and most other stations in the city, have a non-emergency number. If you have a basic inquiry like, ‘What kind of Christmas lights will most likely prevent my Douglas fir from catching fire in my living room?’, we can actually help with that.”
“People could also Google that.”
I purse my lips at her. “Or you can get a direct answer from a professional.”
“Fair enough.”
She lowers her phone again, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully. I’m trying not to let my mind wander too far into dangerous territory when my gaze catches on her plump bottom lip. I want to bite it, too.
I tear my eyes away from Lila, my focus landing on one of the practice dummies that someone must have forgotten to stow away after a training session.
“I have an idea.” I nod my chin toward the dummy. “I can demonstrate a fireman’s carry. It might be a useful skill for some people to try learning.”
Lila tuts her tongue. “You just want a chance to show off.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
She has no rebuttal, simply raising her phone again and waiting for me to continue. I waltz over to the dummy, which is child-sized and less than a hundred pounds, and haul it over my shoulder the way I would an unconscious or otherwise incapacitated person.
“See?” I turn to the camera with the dummy over my shoulder and grin. “Easy-peasy.”
“Yeah, but the dummy doesn’t squirm,” she counters.
“Are you volunteering yourself as a more accurate test dummy?”
Her eyes widen, but there’s a spark of playfulness. “Don’t you dare, Noah Trent.”
I set the dummy back down carefully like it’s a real person and take a mischievous step in her direction.
“What are you afraid of, Lila? I’m a professional.”
“I’m wearing a skirt!”
“Oh, sure, and nobody here has ever seen a woman’s upper thigh before. Like I said, we’re professionals.”
Lila backs away from me slowly, but that light in her eyes is sparking with a dare. Even when I take another step toward her, a giggle slips out alongside her gasp.
So, unable to stop myself from letting off just a little bit of steam after we’ve been so hard at work for the entire past hour, I lunge for her.
I’m fast and her reflexes are admittedly pathetic, so it takes no effort at all to gently pry her filming setup from her hand, carefully place it on a mat, and haul her up onto my shoulders in one quick motion.
“Noah!” she cries out. “Put me down!”
There are hoots and hollers from the half dozen or so people in the gym, and I’m careful to angle Lila’s backside away from them so they can’t catch a glimpse up her skirt. I’m a professional, yes, but I’m also a gentleman.
“Noah! Stop it!”
“That’s not very convincing,” I tell her.
She laughs, halfheartedly pounding her fists against me. It’s like being struck with marshmallows.
“I could do this all day!” I announce.
“You’re ridiculous,” she giggles.
Then, without warning, she smacks her hand against my ass. I let out a yelp, and our witnesses erupt in laughter.
“Put me down, or I’ll do it again,” she warns me, but she’s talking through breathless laughter.
“That’s not a very compelling threat, Blondie.”
She snickers.
But then I notice that the gym has suddenly fallen eerily silent. I glance over the shoulder that doesn’t currently have Lila draped over it and halt in my tracks.
We have a visitor.
“Mr. Trent, what exactly is going on here?”
The Hawk is standing at the entrance of the gym, hands planted firmly on her hips, that deadly gaze aimed directly at me.
Lila, who has her face buried in my lower back and therefore can’t see who has arrived on the scene, lets out a confused noise that is, despite the instant tension in the air, incredibly cute.
With a muttered curse, I carefully set her back down on the ground and make sure her legs are steady before putting an appropriate amount of distance between us.
The Hawk looks like she wants to fireman carry me next. Directly to the fiery gates of Hell.
Lila, however, simply smooths down the front of her skirt and beams at the human embodiment of a cracking whip. The others practically gape at her and she bounds across the space to greet her the way you might rush toward an old friend.
“You must be Mrs. Branson!” she chirps. “I’m so glad to finally meet you in person!”
The Hawk fixes her ruthless gaze upon Lila, coldly accepting her handshake with a firm jerk of her arm.
Trying not to gulp too loudly, I make my way over.
“Hello, ma’am.” I give her a smile that goes unanswered.
“We need to talk,” is all she says before turning on her heel and striding out the door.
“Uh-oh,” mutters one of the guys.
Uh-oh, indeed.