Page 7 of Wild Fire

She smiles warmly at me as she shakes her head.

“No, it’s just AJ.”

AJ…

“The… firefighter?”

More like the hot firefighter.

I know my vision was fucked, but I’m pretty sure a blind man could see Mister Hot Stuff somehow.

Even underneath his heavy uniform and helmet, those piercing dark eyes and perfect bone structure would be hard to miss. Along with the tightly trimmed facial hair. But it wasn’t just his smoldering gaze that had me weak in the knees. It was that voice.

Deep, smokey. Raspy. And the way he said my name…

Fuck, it sounded sexy as hell, and I know that is so beyond inappropriate given the circumstances.

Maybe Lacey’s wrong. Maybe I am concussed.

I certainly feel like I’m losing my fucking mind.

She nods. “He was just checking in.” She slides her phone into her side pocket.

“Checking in?” I raise an eyebrow. “On me?” I point to myself.

She nods again.

“What… what did you tell him?” I blink, feeling strangely worried for some reason. Not about myself, but about what she told him.

She tucks some strands of hair behind her ear.

“Told him you seem to be okay, for the most part.”

“The most part?”

“Sometimes people don’t feel the effects until later,” she says carefully.

Oh.

“Which is why if you notice anything—headaches, pain, nausea, dizziness—”

“I should seek medical attention,” I finish for her.

She smiles again. “Not your first rodeo, I take it?”

I can’t help but let out a sarcastic laugh.

“Yes, I make it a point of getting caught up in fires solely so I can be rescued by hot firefighters.”

She giggles, and a strange sort of comfort blooms between us.

“You know it might be better if you just get stuck in a tree instead,” she says with a laugh that borders on a snort and I smile.

At least she has a sense of humor.

Even as a teenager, I never felt the tingly butterfly feeling in my stomach or my dick when I kissed or messed around with girls. It was sort of like homework; something I had to do, or act or pretend I was into. I never had to pretend with the asshole football players or the conservative, closeted guys I snuck around with or thought of when I needed to get off. It was different. Girls I could hang out with and gawk at the football players and cowboys at the bar with, even if they didn’t know I was looking, too.

Or that I might’ve gotten my ass pounded by the men they were gawking at.