Page 1 of No Good Fight

1

ALEX

The first thing I see is smoke escaping windows, doors, and any other way it can.

The second is wet asphalt, as I try to avert my eyes from the fiery catastrophe in front of me.

The third thing I see, which is entirely inconvenient, is Ryder Cook, standing in front of it and looking so much like a hero that my entire nervous system decides to lose its mind.

Fantastic.

I lower my camera long enough to glance at him just as another wave of smoke rolls out of the apartment building across the street. Emergency lights flash hard against the wet pavement, painting everything red and gold while firefighters move through the chaos like they belong inside it.

Which honestly feels insane to me.

There are actual flames coming out of a second-story window.

People are screaming.

A woman wrapped in a blanket is sobbing into somebody’s shoulder near the curb.

And somehow Ryder still looks calm as he walks straight through all of it.

Not relaxed, though, because he’s not an imbecile.

Controlled.

I swear the fire bends around him instead of trying to tear its way through his body.

I hate how attractive that is.

I really, truly, hate it, because I shouldn’t even notice it. Or him.

My life is really turning into something pitiful if I’m spending my working hours thinking about my brother’s best friend like I am.

“Alex.”

I look up instinctively when he reaches me, and immediately regret it because now he’s standing too close while smelling like smoke and cold air and man. His turnout jacket hangs open at the throat where he must have grabbed at it, exposing an inch of soot-streaked skin, and his dark hair is damp from sweat beneath the streetlights where I can see it sneaking out of his helmet.

This should not be a thing for me.

Unfortunately, it has apparently been a thing for years because my body is a traitorous slut where this man is concerned. At least in my fantasies.

“Please tell me you’re not about to walk back in there,” I say.

One side of his mouth twitches slightly. “Hello to you, too.”

“I’m serious, Ryder. The fire’s just about done.”

“So am I, but I’m headed back in when they need me.”

That does not help my blood pressure.

I shift the camera strap on my neck while trying very hard not to stare at the muscles flexing in his neck when he tilts his head to the side.

It doesn’t work.

Nothing about Ryder really works in my favor, honestly.