That’s more sensitive than I expected. Guess he couldn’t keep up the nothing-to-see-here act forever. “What would happen if I did report it?”
He considers that for a beat. “Because it didn’t go any further than … it did …” He seems to trip up on the rest and now we’re both back to two nights ago, lost in that kiss, in the taste and feel and heat of each other. My color is rising, my body reacting and clenching. The regret waving over me that it didn’t go further.
He coughs and goes on, his voice somewhat graveled. “Then you would likely be asked about whether you’re okay with remaining on my crew or if you’d like to be transferred out. You could probably move to Almeida’s crew, swap with the new guy over on A-shift, but why that has to happen will probably get out. There are very few secrets in the firehouse.”
Something clouds over his expression, a memory that pains him.
“Do you think we should report it?”
He heaves a sigh. “Definitely less paperwork to not report it, but I’m fine with paperwork if you need off my crew. Trust and respect are key with any team. If you have a problem seeing me as your leader or are worried I’ll treat you differently because of what happened, then those are reasons to consider reporting and making a move.”
“Do you think you can treat me the same as anyone else?”
His stare is as intense as the kiss he laid on me when we last met. (I really need to stop thinking about that. Nothing good can come of it.) “I can be a professional, Sullivan. I will tell you that my crew is one of the best in CFD. You stick with me and you will learn what it takes to be a great firefighter.”
That’s what I want. That’s the mentorship I crave. And with him calling me Sullivan, I feel as though he’s drawn a line under the dangerously personal. Mixed cement into the quicksand. No more Cherry Pie or Diner Dude, that’s for sure.
I could make a fuss, put an X on my back before I’ve even begun, suffer the whispers of the firehouse gossips, and the wrath of my father when he finds out. Or I could pull on my combat boots and figure this out.
“I want to stay on your crew, Lieutenant.”
I’m not sure if he looks annoyed or relieved. I thought I could read him in the diner, but this version is a different species.
“You know what that means?”
I nod. “We’re going to ignore it happened and …”
“Never speak of it again.”
Oh. Well, of course. I couldn’t expect him to remember it with fondness. He’s my CO and the man who can make or break my career in CFD. My life—in more ways than one—is in his hands. He also needs to be able to trust that I can do my job in a way that keeps him safe.
“Okay, that sounds like a good way forward.”
“As far as anyone is concerned, you’re the rookie who puked on Almeida’s boots and I’m your commanding officer.”
“Don’t know you. Don’t want to know you.”
Something shifts in his gaze. I want to think he’s closing the door on the past: the night, the pie, the kiss. Or rather, I don’t want that at all, but it’s better to think that’s on his mind than the alternative.
He might wish for it to be different.
I don’t need that kind of complication. I’m already under too much pressure to succeed and an inconvenient attraction to my lieutenant is a wrinkle I can’t afford to iron out. Best to leave it twisted up in the bottom of my emotional laundry basket.
Besides, I don’t date firefighters. Even if he wasn’t my boss, this wouldn’t be happening.
“What’s next?”
He pauses a moment, and I get the impression that what comes out of his mouth is different than what he wants to really say.
“Breakfast is currently being served, then equipment checks. Here’s your locker combo. Go stow your stuff and then head to the lounge.” He hands off a slip of paper and I ignore the brush of his skin against mine.
I have to.
The locker room is empty and it takes me a second to find the one labeled “Sullivan.” I rest my forehead against the cool of the steel door, trying to center myself for the day ahead, which has become crazily complicated.
“Hey, you okay?”
I glance over my shoulder at Jude, who’s just walked into the locker room. Seeing him conjures up a weird mix of relief and embarrassment. My grand entrance must be the talk of the house.
“Yeah, just not a great start. That was probably the worst first impression to make. All the guys must think I’m a total snowflake, right?”
“No!” He bites his lip which is his tell. “They made more of the fact it was Luke’s boots that got the benefit. People found that hilarious. And the fact that the FNG—fucking new guy, aka me—had to clean up vomit before my shift ended.”
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry!”
“Yeah, well, it’s all part of the job. We’re going to see a lot worse.”
He shoulders the locker next to mine and crosses his arms. “What did Rossi say to you?”
“When?”
“After you got sick. You were in his office for a while.”
I swallow, not ready to tell all. Likely, I’ll never be ready and it’s probably best if I just pretend. I have a feeling I’ll need to become very good at that for the next year.
“He was just concerned about whether I needed to rest or go home. I told him I was fine, just a spot of nerves.” Eager to change the subject, I look at him squarely. “Everything go good on your shift?”
“Awesome! I’m only still here to check in with my bestie and get a little face time with Gage Simpson, seeing as he’s the other gay guy.”
“And married with kids, so off limits.”
“I know that! He’s pretty cool and I would never.” Jude might be a man about town but he has scruples. He’d never hit on a co-worker, let alone one who’s hitched and happy, so I don’t know why I even pointed it out. Feeling testy, I suppose, because Jude clearly had a great first day and mine had such a rocky start.
He squeezes my shoulder. “How was it walking by the photo of your mom?”
“Weird, like it wasn’t happening to me. I don’t really remember her like that, with the stern come-at-me expression and the severe hair. It was like looking at someone you vaguely recognize. She was so different to that, but now I’m wondering if I ever saw the real her.”
“You were six when she died, Abby. Our memories go through shifts, and she just showed her mom side to you. Still no word from Papa Sullivan?”
I shake my head. What did I expect? My father didn’t want me to do this, and while I understand his concern, that disapproval weighs on my chest.
Jude thumbs over his shoulder. “Okay, I’m off home to shower and sleep. This will all look better after a few hours.”
I hope he’s right.
He kisses my forehead. “Gimme a call later and tell me how it’s going, okay?”
“Okay.”
Once he’s gone, I key in the combination to my locker, bracing myself for some low-level prank or threat. It’s not unheard of for female firefighters to suffer ketchup in their lockers or dead insects as a welcome.