“Last chance to back out, darlin’. Are you sure about this?” he asks, walking back to the foot of the bed.
The question sits heavily between us, my eyes flicking between his. I appreciate that he’s giving me an out, but I don’t need it.
I want him.
I wantthis.
I want to wake up tomorrow morning feeling deliciously sore between my legs as a reminder of what we’ve done. WhatI’vedone. I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to be free like this, and it’s not something I’m going to turn away from. Even if we never speak again, never see each other after this, the memory of an amazing night spent with a man who made me feel more alive than I’ve felt in a long time will forever live in my mind.
Soft blue light filters through the blinds when I peel my eyes open, blinking as they adjust to the dim lighting. I jolt upright. Cool air brushes against my breasts, and I pull the sheet up to cover my chest. My heart pounds as I look around the room, my gaze dropping to the sleeping man beside me. He’s on his stomach with his arm beneath his pillow, head turned to the side. The dark sheet is slung across his lower back and tangled slightly between his legs. His light brown hair is a mess from the number of times I ran my fingers through the length last night. Seeing him like this, asleep and completely at peace, his back rising and falling with deep, restful breaths, has my heart kicking in my chest.
Logan.
I don’t remember falling asleep last night. Clearly, the three orgasms he wrung from my body wore me out a lot more than I anticipated. My limbs felt laden with jelly by the time I begged him to stop, laughing in protest that I couldn’t possibly handle another release. He only smiled, kissed me, and said he wanted to be sure I was taken care of.
I’ve heard Liv and Tilly swear on multiple occasions that the men in this town are nothing but selfish idiots. They obviously haven’t metthisman. He was far from selfish. If I had to choose a few words to describe him, “selfish” wouldn’t even come close to making the list. At least, not if I went solely based on the version of him I met last night.
Still, I can’t believe I felt comfortable enough to fall asleep with him. We didn’t talk much afterward. We tried, but both of us were too tired tocarry on a conversation. And now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure I remember him saying it wasn’t safe for me to drive while tired. I offered to sleep on his couch, but he insisted I stay in his bed. Something about wanting my scent on the sheets. Doesn’t mean I need to be here when he wakes up, though. Especially not if he doesn’t want this to be more than what we already shared. I knew what the expectation was when I agreed to come home with him. Neither of us mentioned it being more than one night of shared bliss.
Pulling in a steadying breath, I slowly move the sheets off my body and slip out of bed to gather my clothing. I hastily throw everything back on, thankful I managed to fall asleep with my panties on at least. My pulse is still thundering in my veins by the time I’m climbing into the driver’s seat of my SUV, and I fight back the desire to look myself over in the rearview mirror. I’m sure mascara is smudged beneath my eyes, and my hair likely looks like a rat’s nest.
But it’s my own reflection that I’m avoiding, worried I’ll look different somehow. Some small part of me was brought back to life last night, like a puzzle piece that’s been missing for years. What if I look in that small mirror and the entire picture has changed? What if I no longer see the woman who used to be Ryan’s wife, but instead just see… Tessa?
Chapter nine
Logan
“Alright,who’sreadytogo teach fire safety to the kids?” I clap my hands and rub my palms together, smiling at Gray and Kinsley where they both sit at the station’s kitchen table. Like me, they’re dressed in their Class B’s, still in uniform but more casual for the day we have scheduled. Other than his mustache, Gray’s face is freshly shaven. Kinsley’s long hair is pulled back into a ponytail so tight, I don’t know how she manages the bright smile spreading across her face.
“Someone’s excited this morning,” she laughs, standing from the table and carrying her plate to the sink.
“What’s not to be excited about? It’s like a mini adrenaline rush to see their faces light up at the sight of the truck,” I say honestly. Visiting Hartridge Elementary for fire safety demonstrations is something I’ve been looking forward to since moving here. The station does this every year for kindergarten and first-grade students, but this will be my first time.
The school is on the smaller side, so we pull the truck onto their blacktop, where the basketball courts are located. Once we have the truck parked and some gear and equipment pulled out, the teachers begin to lead their classes out to chairs that have been organized into rows, all facing one side of the truck. With Gray and Kinsley’s assistance, itdoesn’t take long to run through basic fire safety and different ways the kids can protect themselves at home in the event of a fire. We call on a few students to help us demonstrate the Stop, Drop, and Roll method. I even make a fun challenge out of seeing who can get their gear on the fastest, Gray or Kinsley, while explaining to the kids how important it is to move quickly and efficiently. As much fun as they seem to have, we know their true excitement is over getting to see the inside of the truck, hear the siren, and ask questions—most of which have nothing to do with fires.
Gray is just getting the siren switched off when I turn to face the crowd of students and ask, “Alright now, any questions?”
A sea of hands shoot into the air, and Kinsley calls on a little girl whose hair is being held back with a pink bow way too big for her head. “My friend right here,” she says, pointing to the girl. “What’s your question?”
The girl beams as she clasps her hands in her lap, her full attention locked on Kinsley. “I never seen a girl firefighter before.” It’s not a question, but my crewmate smiles and handles it like a champ.
“Anyone can be a firefighter,” Kinsley says, first smiling at the little girl before she turns her attention to the other students. “You just have to be strong and brave and do really well in school.” She adds that last part for the school’s sake.
After answering a few more questions about things like whether or not we live at the fire station—we don’t, but it fucking feels like it sometimes—and if firefighters actually have the dogs with spots like in cartoons, the three of us have given up on steering the conversation back toward fire safety. Some of the kids ask things like who has fought themost fires between the three of us, if we actually have a fire pole, and if we have ever rescued a cat from a tree.
“I’m afraid we can only answer one more question, and then we have to get back to the station,” Gray says.
A little hand shoots into the air, and my attention shifts to a boy with blond hair and a superhero T-shirt sitting in the first row of students. I give a nod and point to the boy. “What’s your question, bud?”
He slides forward in his seat until his feet touch the ground, then stands. “Are you like a real superhero? Because my daddy was a police officer, and my momma says he was a hero.”
I don’t miss the way he says his dadwasa police officer, and my mind immediately assumes the worst. He’s way too young to have already experienced the loss of a parent, but it’s an unfortunate reality for far too many first responder families.
It’s one of the things I thought about the most before choosing this career path. As a child, being a firefighter seemed like a dream job, but not just because it seemed cool. I’ve always loved the idea of helping those in need, and I knew from a young age that the medical field wasn’t for me. The only hesitancy I’ve ever had has been regarding my romantic life.
I don’t know if I’m cut out to be a father. But I do know that having a wife and kids would make the calls that much scarier. As much as I love the feeling of adrenaline spiking through my system with every call and getting to save and protect people, there’s always a hint of fear that lingers beneath the surface. I don’t know what it feels like to have a partner whose job involves putting their life in danger every day, but I don’t imagine it’s easy. Though I guess it probably feels sort of like thefear that twists in my gut every time I watch one of my crew run into the flames.
“We don’t have any superpowers, but we do everything we can to help those in need.” It’s the best answer I can think to give, and it seems to satisfy him because he smiles and slides back into his chair. We say our goodbyes and give each of the kids a gold-foiled Junior Fire Fighter sticker. They were almost more excited about the sticker than about hearing the truck’s siren.
