“Hey,” Dani said, a hand on his arm.
He peered down at her, suddenly aware he was being a sullen asshole. “Sorry.”
She shook her head. “Anyone would be worried in your shoes. But what I heard in there was positive. I promise.”
“Okay.” God, he wanted to kiss her, but he wasn’t sure where they stood. She’d left his house around ten last night, and they’d kissed at her car when he’d walked her outside. But he wasn’t any fuckin’ good at reading this kind of thing. “Can I buy you lunch as a thank you?”
She glanced at her cell and twisted her lips. “Sorry. I have to be back by one. I’ll see you at dinner tomorrow night, though?”
“Yeah, o’course. And no apologies. Can I call you an Uber at least? You know, since you came over here for me and all.”
The smile she gave him was a little amused and a lot sexy and did absolutely nothing good for his desire to kiss her. Right here on the street. Where everyone would know she was his. And he was hers. But since he didn’t think any of that was actually true—hot sex aside—he stood right where he was.
“I’m just gonna take the Metro. It’s easy.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Have a good day.”
“Thanks.” She glanced up at him for a long moment. Belatedly, it occurred to him that she seemed to be hesitating and uncertain, too. But before he figured out whether that meant anything, she took a step backwards. Another. And then she was walking away.
Fuck. Why did he feel like he’d just messed something up?
He sighed. And tried to decide what the hell to do with himself.
“Hey, Riddick?”
His gaze cut down the sidewalk to where Dani was waiting to cross the intersection. “I bet it feels huge in this hand.” She raised a hand and waved.
He barked out a laugh. Fuckin’ quoting ‘Deadpool’ to him. As if Daniela England hadn’t already been hot before. She seemed to get more appealing with every new thing he learned, making him wonder why and how it was that they’d known each other all these years and never really managed to go beyond their respective sarcastic surfaces to learn anything much at all.
Sean didn’t know the answer to that, so he waved back, something uncomfortable swelling in his chest. Dani disappeared amid the throngs of tourists and government workers on their lunch breaks.
An idea coming to mind, Sean called himself an Uber. Maybe spending some time at the station would make him feel more grounded.
Twenty minutes later, Sean found himself in Columbia Heights standing in front of a long, two-story tan building with three bright red bay doors and matching trim on the windows—the home of Company 11.
The best truck company in the city. No, the world. No matter what the boys in the city’s other companies said.
The center bay door stood open, so Sean walked inside the garage, past the big, long ladder truck and around the new Seagrave pumper. Off to the left, everyone’s personal protective equipment hung on racks—some of it brown with yellow reflective stripes, which he still wore, and some of it the city’s new black and yellow—ready and waiting for the next call.
The company’s emblem was emblazoned on a large cut-out sign hanging on the wall above the gear—a skull and cross bones, of a sort. It had a grinning skull wearing a black fire helmet labeled with the 4th battalion insignia, with a length of hose and a Halligan bar crossed behind. Above the helmet were the words, House of Flame.
He didn’t find anyone in the garage, which meant the guys were probably either upstairs in the dorms, hanging out in the day-room, or chowing in the mess hall. But since one of the rear bay doors was open, too, he poked his head outside. The space behind the fire house consisted of a large diagonal parking lot for their personal vehicles. It was also where they washed their trucks.
And it was where they grilled when the weather was good and the guys on mess duty had barbecuing skills. Sean smelled the mouthwatering aroma of grilled meat before he found three of his brothers shooting the shit around the big Coleman.
“How many firefighters does it take to grill some burgers and dogs?” he called out.
They turned to see him standing there, everybody grinning and exclaiming his name.
“Yo, Sean, good to see you,” Tucker Jacobs said with a bit of a southern accent as he waved the grill tongs. He was one of the best cooks of the group, and everyone was always happy when Tuck was in charge of their chow.
“You, too. Looks like I came at the right time.” Sean waggled his brows at the grill.
Tuck winked. “I’ve got more than enough meat here for everyone.”