4. Maya
Chapter four
Maya
T wo days and five response calls later, I slide into the truck with more excitement than I’ve felt in years. Jake, in the crew seat on my left, shoots me a questioning look. “Is that a hint of a smile, Thorne?”
It is, but I can’t help it. “I’m sitting here today because of a visit like this one when I was little.”
Elementary school fire safety presentations always take me back to when I was seven, sitting cross-legged on the cafeteria floor while a firefighter demonstrated his gear. That day planted the seed that grew into my career choice, and though the path hasn’t been easy, I wouldn’t change it for the world.
He nods. “Tracks.”
I can’t help the edge in my tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that you seem like the type to make a decision and stick to it.” He holds up two hands. “No judgement. I mean, I can’t commit to anything past next week.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Mack says over his shoulder from the front seat.
“Especially a woman,” Brock adds as he pulls out onto Columbus Avenue.
Mack shoots a look over his shoulder at Jake, his eyebrows wiggling, but it must be an inside joke because Jake doesn’t toss out a comeback. Rather, he looks as if he wants to murder Mack.
Minutes later, we pull up to the school and grab our gear and the box of Safety Squad Challenge pamphlets to hand out for students to take home and play with their family. Two administrators greet us, and as they escort us through the office, I notice more than a few interested glances at my crew members. Jake shoots a look at a pretty blonde, wearing a “Teaching is a work of Heart” T-shirt, jeans, and a wide smile, while Mack only stares straight ahead.
The cafeteria buzzes with unbridled energy when we step inside. I make a mental note to tell Shannon all about it later. Dozens of second-graders in navy and khaki uniforms squirm on the floor in what, at some point, were probably straight rows. As we head to the stage, Mack drops to one knee next to a girl with braids in a wheelchair, who is set off to the side. His massive frame should be intimidating, but he’s got this gentle giant thing going that has her smiling at him as if he’s some kind of ginger-haired Pied Piper.
I slow my pace to watch him chat with her. He spots me and, with a smile, beckons me over.
“This is my friend, Maya. She’s one of the strongest firefighters I know.”
I do my best to ignore how Mack’s praise makes my cheeks warm, and I pray he doesn’t notice, despite the fact our faces are nearly the same height. The girl’s eyes go wide as she glances from Mack to me and back.
“But you’re so little!” she exclaims.
“Being little means I’m faster,” I tell her with a wink. “Want to see something cool?”
She nods eagerly, and because it’s heavy, I set the fire hose nozzle I’m holding into her lap. She grabs it, and I reach down to adjust the placement of her small fingers. “See? It’s all about technique, not size.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Mack drawls, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Sometimes, size matters, don’t you think, Maya?”
I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard a variation of that exact phrase in the past few years, but something about the way Mack says it to me heats the back of my neck.
“Depends on how you handle your equipment,” I shoot back with a casual lift of my shoulder.
A slow grin spreads across his face. “I’ve never had any complaints about my…technique.”
Somehow, I have the feeling that’s true. Not that I’ll ever find out.
The next hour flies by as we describe a day in the life of a firefighter and call a few students on stage to help with demonstrations. I enjoy the time immensely. All the guys are great with the students, but especially Mack. He’s completely in his element, his effortless charm drawing them in as he explains fire safety with just the right mix of serious and silly.
Toward the end of our time, we open the floor for questions. A freckled girl in the second row asks how I can save lives since I’m so small. I could jump onto my soapbox and launch into a twenty-minute lecture about strength and determination, equality and inclusivity, but I know I’d lose most of them within ten seconds.
Instead, I say, “Would you like to see how any of you, even though you’re small, too, could save the life of an adult?”
The room erupts, and Mack seems to sense where I’m going with this and joins me, coming to my side.
“I’ll be your victim,” he offers with that damn easy grin, adding quietly, “Unless you’re worried you can’t handle me, Thorne?”
“Please,” I scoff, though my pulse kicks up a notch. “I could save your life in my sleep.”
I’m rewarded with a wide smile, and I bite back my own. For the next few minutes, I demonstrate the Heimlich maneuver as well as an underarm drag, narrating as I go to distract myself from being so hyperaware of every point of contact as I position Mack’s huge muscular frame against mine.
Then, before I think better of it, I say, “There’s also cardiopulmonary resuscitation, also known as CPR. Have any of you heard of CPR?”
A bunch of hands shoot up into the air, and I nod. “Good, although you shouldn’t perform CPR unless you know how. As firefighters, we’re trained to use it when necessary to save lives.”
Mack, damn him, lies down at my feet, near the front of the stage, the hint of a challenge in his gaze as his green eyes find mine. I’ve only known him a couple of days, but there’s no doubt in my mind he’s fully aware I’m not the type to back down from a challenge. I kneel next to him, laying my palms flat on his broad chest. Even through his T-shirt, I feel his solid warmth under my fingertips.
“First, check for responsiveness,” I explain, my voice steady, despite the electricity dancing across my skin. Mack is as alert as ever, but I pretend he isn’t. “Then check for breathing by listening and feeling for air across your cheek.”
I lean over him to check, my face mere inches from his. Mack’s jaw is shadowed with a day’s worth of reddish stubble, the coarse hairs forming a pattern my fingers itch to trace. The end of my ponytail brushes his cheek, and his eyes lock with mine. For a moment, everything else fades away. Until reality sets in.
Rising abruptly, I force myself to concentrate. “You want to start with thirty compressions to the sternum. Do you know where your sternum is?” After inviting the students to feel their own, I link my fingers and rise on my knees to get into position, explaining how having straight arms and height helps me have enough power to deliver powerful thrusts.
“Powerful thrusts, hmm?” Mack murmurs.
I’m determined not to imagine this hulk of a man in an even more intimate setting, but of course, that’s the first thought that springs to mind. Damn him.
Rather than take the bait, I pretend to perform a few compressions then continue. “If that’s all you do, it’s better than nothing, but if you’re trained like we are, you’d then do two rescue breaths, directly from your mouth into theirs with as tight a seal as possible.”
A chorus of “ewww’s” from the students drown out Mack’s next words, which is good because he says, “You don’t actually have to demonstrate that, though I wouldn’t complain if you did.”
Heat floods my face.
“In your dreams,” I reply through clenched teeth.
“Every night, sweetheart—er, I mean, Thorne.”
I keep a wide distance as I demonstrate the rescue breaths, but even so, I catch a hint of mint on his breath. I press harder than necessary on the next compressions, earning a satisfying grunt. But his answering smirk tells me he knows exactly how much he affects me.
Fortunately, just then, a bell rings and the semi-chaos of the assembly turns full blown as apparently lunch is still more interesting than anything we’ve got to say.
“Let’s thank the firefighters from Ladder 24 for coming today,” the administrator calls out over the din as the students scramble to their feet, and more than a few attempt to practice the underarm drag on unsuspecting friends.
“We’ll clean up here,” Brock assures her as Jake gathers the equipment we brought.
I reach out an arm to help Mack to his feet, leveraging a deep angle to pull him up easily. The playful awareness that’s been building all morning ignites as he rises and erases the distance between us. Instead of releasing my hand, he holds it tight in his large, warm grasp.
For a heartbeat, we’re frozen in place. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, so softly I might have imagined it if not for the trail of heat it leaves behind. The sliver of air between us feels charged, electric, and I can’t seem to catch my breath.
I should step back. Release his hand. Put distance between us before I do something stupid. But my body refuses to cooperate. Instead, I sway slightly forward, drawn to him like a magnet finding true north. His eyes darken as they drop to my lips, and my heart thunders against my ribs.
This is madness. I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone at work. Never even been tempted. My career has always come first. No distractions, no compromises, no exceptions. But something about Mack makes me want to throw all my carefully constructed rules out the window. Makes me want to discover if his lips are as soft as they look, if they’ll taste as good as they smell.
He leans down, just a fraction, and my eyes flutter closed—
“Hey!” Jake’s voice cuts through the moment like a bucket of ice water. “Can you two grab the extra game papers?”
I jerk back, dropping Mack’s hand as if it’s burning. Which it might as well be, given how my skin tingles. Damn, this is getting out of control.
“Yeah,” I manage, a little too loudly. “Of course.”
When I risk a glance at Mack, his expression is a mixture of frustration and something else I can’t quite read. Or maybe, I don’t want to. Because the intensity in those green eyes leaves no doubt he wanted that kiss as badly as I did.