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“Going home.” She had to clear her throat. Were her cheeks on fire? It felt like her cheeks were on fire. Had that been a tattoo on his shoulder?
Don’t look. Do not look.
God, she’d just been thinking of Michael falling apart in the ambulance, and now she was gawking at another firefighter. Someone she had to work with.
“You need something?”
Now she was standing here like a stalker. She forced herself to look at him. He was just shaving, for goodness sake. It wasn’t like she was watching him in the shower.
If her brain would stop supplying images, it would totally be okay.
“Aren’t you going home?” she said.
“A bed’s a bed,” he said. “I’m back on at noon.” He looked over. “How’s your boyfriend?”
Her boyfriend. Michael Merrick. Right.
“I don’t know. I texted him, but he hasn’t responded yet.”
“I didn’t know he had a history with arson in this town.”
“He doesn’t. Not really.”
“I walked through that house, Blondie. That fire wouldn’t have stopped unless someone put it out.”
A low whistle sounded from behind him. “Look at Blondie getting an eyeful. Your daddy know you’re into the dark boys?”
Hannah jerked back, sure her cheeks were flaming—though now she couldn’t decide if she was more furious or embarrassed.
Irish didn’t stop shaving. “Jealous, Stockton?”
Joe Stockton, one of the older guys who’d sit in the kitchen and shoot the bull all night, snorted from behind her. “Yeah, that’ll be the day. Me, jealous of a n—”
“Hey!” She whirled, ready to get in his face. Furious—definitely furious.
He just laughed and moved away into the men’s dorm area.
“Ignore them,” said Irish, his voice low and close.
She turned and he was right there, close enough to touch. She could smell the menthol of his shaving cream, and for an instant it reminded her of her father, from when she was a little girl.
She swallowed some of her fury. “He was about to call you—” She faltered. “He was about to say—”
“You think I don’t know?”
“You don’t care?”
“Of course I care. But they’re just looking to start trouble. I care about my job more.”
They. She thought of the slamming lockers and male laughter she’d heard earlier. “Who else? You should report them.”
He snorted and turned away, returning to the sink to let the water out. “You’re funny. You going to report Stockton for what he just said to you?”
She thought about that for a second and wasn’t sure what to say. Of course she wasn’t going to report him. The best she could hope for was an eye roll and a promise from the chief that he’d talk to the guys.
And then the next time would be worse.
“It’s not the first time, Blondie. Won’t be the last.”
