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  But normally, his thoughts wouldn’t be riddled with thoughts of how to bring a slow and painful death to the person who’d effectively humiliated him. Fuck Morgan Daniels and his high-and-mighty attitude. Who the hell did the arrogant bastard think he was?

  It didn’t help his cause any that Chris knew he was just as mad at himself as he was at Morgan.

  They pulled up to the small industrial center and Chris leapt off the engine, followed by Tucker. They rounded the back and began yanking the coiled hose from the top of the rig, assisted by their engineer. Chris knew it was only a matter of time before Rich gave them orders.

  It was a minute or two before Rich found Chris and Tucker and started barking orders at them, and then Chris had no more time to think about Morgan Daniels because he was trying to wrestle an eighty-pound hose toward the front door of a burning building.

  The thick smoke billowed out from the lower windows as well as the roof, and Chris hoped there was no one inside. It was almost 3:00 a.m., so chances were slim, but they’d found the random homeless person inside buildings before. Chris couldn’t see flames from the west side or back of the structure, which was why Rich had told them to attack from the main entrance. He spread his legs and braced himself for the onslaught of water coming through the hose, and Chris could sense Tucker doing the same thing right behind him.

  They battled for two and a half hours. The fire had spread from its initial starting point in the corner of the building to the entire lower floor, but the three engine and truck companies that had responded managed to contain it there and didn’t need to break through the roof.

  Chris spent most of his time manning the hose line, although he would have liked to participate in search and rescue. Still, he liked feeling the power of the hose beneath his gloves and being able to control where the stream of water went, and he didn’t even notice how his arms were aching until he and Tucker finally lowered the hose to the ground and the engineer shut off the water.

  “Was a good blaze,” Tucker said to him absently, watching one of the other crews start the hotspot examination.

  Chris grunted in agreement and noted that the sky was getting lighter. “What time is it?”

  Tucker dropped his filthy gloves on the ground and shucked off his turnout coat. He held out his left wrist so Chris could see his watch. “Too fuckin’ early,” Tucker grumbled, but Chris could see he was vibrating with the same energy as Chris felt.

  “What’re you going to do after we get back?” The question had no romantic attachment; Chris was all too aware of Tucker’s commitment to the man he lived with. Their shift was over in two hours, and Chris was just hoping for someone to go eat breakfast with. His energy had to be burned off before he’d be able to go home and sleep.

  Tucker shrugged and started kicking the hose back toward the engine, where two firefighters were waiting to stack it up. “Chance is off today. First I’m gonna sleep for a hundred hours, then I’m prolly gonna get me some.” He looked up and grinned, flashing a quick dimple at Chris before picking up the wet hose and hefting it over his shoulder.

  Chris watched Tucker walk away and sighed. He didn’t think it that often, but sometimes Chris thought it might be nice to have what Tucker had. Someone who did the same job, someone who knew the pressure and stress. Someone to hold him close when he got home after a tough night at work and make sympathetic noises. Or at least someone to relieve his sexual tension, since jerking off got a little old.

  Rushed blowjobs on the bathroom floor didn’t count.

  They rolled back into Station Nineteen’s garage at seven o’clock. Chris wanted food and a shower, not necessarily in that order, and then a soft bed. He was hoping someone from the next shift had shown up early with doughnuts, because Chris wasn’t sure he could even lift his arms to pour milk into his cereal bowl.

  When he dragged himself into the station’s kitchen with the rest of his dirty, exhausted crew, Chris discovered that yes, someone had shown up early, but unfortunately not someone from the coming day’s shift.

  Morgan Daniels sat casually at their kitchen table, a mug of fresh coffee in front of him and the morning paper in his hands.

  “Oh, fucking hell,” Chris said, then cursed internally. It had come out louder than intended.

  Morgan glanced up and gave him a once-over from head to toe. Chris was sure that shrewd gaze missed none of the dirt and grime streaked across his face or the way his damp, sweat-stained T-shirt stuck to his body. For the first time in his life, Chris felt uncomfortable under another’s stare.

  He didn’t know how long he stood there glaring at Morgan, but Tucker brushed past Chris on his way to the sink and jolted him out of his frozen state. Blinking, Chris broke his gaze from Morgan and headed for their shift’s refrigerator and a cold bottle of water.

  Chris stood at the sink with his back to the table and listened to the rest of his crew greet Morgan wearily. Chris managed to deduce that Morgan was scheduled to teach a short Confined Space Awareness class to that day’s shift in order for them to keep up with the department’s required educational hours.

  He was just finishing his bottle of water when Rich came up and clapped Chris on the shoulder. “You’re going to have to stay for a couple of hours, man,” he said, and Chris could hear the apology in his voice. “Adam on B shift worked overtime yesterday at another station and his relief’s not going to get there till ten, so when his relief shows up, he’ll be in to relieve you as soon as he can.”

  Chris closed his eyes for a brief second. It happened sometimes. The whole fire department shift schedule was a complicated system that relied on everyone getting where they needed to be at the right time, and if it broke down somewhere, it affected no less than three other people. It couldn’t be helped, and Chris knew there’d been times when he’d been late too.

  It still didn’t stop him from wanting to smash one of the breakfast dishes in the sink. He was tired, goddammit, and Morgan fucking Daniels was sitting at the table, hiding a smirk behind his coffee cup.

  He managed to nod wearily at Rich and snag a doughnut from the pink box on the table before heading for the showers. It’d be fine. He’d shower and then collapse on his bunk for two hours and pray they didn’t get any calls before his relief showed up. Or even if they did, it would still keep him out of Morgan’s way. Chris had no intention of going anywhere near the station’s classroom while Morgan was teaching.

  Chris was too tired to notice his erection in the shower right away, and when he did finally figure out he was hard, he was vaguely surprised. Usually exhaustion was enough to make his dick behave, but Chris had the uncomfortable feeling that all bets were off when Morgan was in the vicinity.

  He ignored his cock for a while, but when it refused to go down, Chris figured he’d better do something about that rather than risk the rest of that day’s crew noticing it. A quick jerk would relieve the tension and hopefully release some of the nervous energy he’d carried in with him since the fire.

  A small drop of shampoo made perfect lube, and Chris palmed himself as he leaned his head back on the tile. Smooth, hard strokes, just the way he liked it, and he felt his cock swell a little more under his touch. He’d been half-hard since smelling the smoke four hours ago; it was always a reaction to the adrenaline that coursed through him during fires or high-risk calls. Chris loved it. He knew it was what made him a good firefighter.

  He sped up his strokes and his eyes closed of their own accord, his balls lifting and tightening as he drew closer to climax. Chris relished the feel of his own slick skin, knew just how to tighten his fist when it counted and exactly how fast to stroke. There was no time to draw this out; he knew the others would be wanting showers too, and there were only three stalls.

  The need to hurry gave him the freedom to go as fast as he wanted and not worry about how quickly he was getting off. Unbidden, the thought of flinty gray eyes and a stubborn jaw rose in his mind, and three more good, hard tugs and Chris was spilling i
nto his own hand. He shuddered and bit down on the inside of his cheek in an effort to not cry out. The fingers of his other hand flexed against the cool tile, and he arched his neck, letting the orgasm bring the release he was after.

  It took him only a minute to come down and start to breathe normally again, and Chris gave himself a quick rinse before shutting off the water and reaching for his towel. He did feel more relaxed, which was good, although the fact that the thought of Morgan’s eyes had helped to get him there was more infuriating than ever.

  He toweled off and reached for clean department shorts and a T-shirt, forgoing a uniform in order to be comfortable. No one knew for sure what was under a fireman’s turnouts anyway; if they got a call, he could be naked under there for all anyone knew. By this point, Chris was too tired to give a shit.

  Chris managed to halfheartedly slick a comb through his wet hair before trudging down the hall to his dorm. It was nearing 8:00 a.m. and he could hear that day’s crew arriving, sounding bright and loud and probably pissed off that they’d missed the fire. He thought for a minute about joining them in the kitchen, but his unmade bed looked too comfortable to ignore. With a sigh, he dropped down on top of the blankets and closed his eyes.

  THE BANGING of a locker door jolted him awake, and Chris started and blinked. Pat Cowers, his normal relief on C shift, looked over his shoulder apologetically from where he was shoving his gear bag into the locker. “Sorry, man. Figured you’d rather sleep at home, though.”

  Chris nodded and struggled to a sitting position. “What time is it?”

  “Ten,” Pat said cheerfully. “I missed Daniels’s class. Thank God.”

  Chris came instantly awake. “Is he still here?”

  Pat nodded and studied the place where his Oceanside Fire Authority patch was starting to detach from the sleeve of his uniform. “Yeah. They’re just getting out. If you hide in here, he’ll probably leave in a few.”

  Chris knew the story of the animosity between himself and Morgan had spread to the two other shifts at the station. As far as Chris could tell, opinions on who was right seemed split down the middle, with half the guys thinking that Morgan was a dick, and the other half making it clear that Chris was an idiot for mouthing off to a training officer. Chris didn’t really give a damn what any of them thought as long as Morgan left him alone.

  He considered hiding, as Pat had said, but then Chris realized that Morgan would know what he was doing. Fuck that. Chris was no coward. He got up quickly and stripped his bed so Pat could put his own sheets on, then shoved his linens into his gear bag and strode out to the kitchen. The rest of the crew was just leaving the classroom, and Morgan was following closely behind.

  Some strange impulse made him catch Morgan’s eye on the way past, and Chris cleared his throat. “Good morning, Mr. Daniels, sir.” He put a slight emphasis on the “sir,” but not enough for Morgan to know for sure if Chris was being sarcastic.

  Morgan raised a black brow. “Mr. Matthews.”

  The same impulse encouraged him to see how far he could go. “Good class?” Chris asked casually, reaching for the coffeepot.

  To Chris’s wicked delight, Morgan’s other eyebrow shot up at the question. “You’re taking a sudden interest.”

  Chris shrugged and managed to hide his grin behind his coffee cup. “Just asking.”

  Morgan narrowed his eyes. “How was your fire this morning?”

  He considered the question. Chris was perceptive enough to know that Morgan was expecting a specific answer, but Chris wasn’t quite sure exactly what it was. He decided to tread carefully and go on instinct. “Was fine,” he said casually. “Nothing to get excited over.”

  Morgan blinked at him. “No? I would have thought you’d be all pumped up.” He managed to inject a slight quality of disdain, and Chris had to tamp down his temper.

  “I’ve been in fire before.” He shrugged, taking another sip of his coffee. “This one was no different.”

  Morgan studied him. “You looked tired when you got back.”

  “Two thirty in the morning’ll do that to ya,” Chris laughed, oddly pleased that Morgan had noticed his exhausted state. Not that it had been hard to miss; his whole crew had barely managed to drag themselves in.

  Chris pushed off from where he was leaning against the table and placed his cup in the dishwasher, suddenly realizing he was starving. He knew he had no food at home except for possibly a stray tortilla in the refrigerator, since he was behind on his grocery shopping. He had meant to do it today, as a matter of fact, but now it looked as if he’d be catching up on his sleep instead.

  “I need breakfast,” he announced, not sure if he was talking to Morgan or himself. “And then bed. So… um. See ya.” He nodded at Morgan and grabbed his gear bag, absurdly proud of himself for staying calm and managing a civil conversation.

  “Was about to grab some breakfast myself,” Morgan said in an offhand tone. “Know a great place for pancakes. Why don’t you join me?”

  Chris blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  If he hadn’t been watching Morgan carefully, Chris would have missed how the shuttered look came down over his face. “Well, no. But it was stupid to ask, I agree.” He turned and began gathering papers and books into his briefcase.

  Chris watched him for a minute, wondering when Morgan had suddenly become someone he thought about a lot. “Okay,” Chris said, surprising both of them. “Breakfast.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THEY ENDED up at a small, local pancake restaurant that specialized in large, fluffy hotcakes with plenty of butter and syrup. Chris liked it but rarely came by himself; he always felt slightly guilty about taking up a table on his own while families of four or more waited up to thirty minutes for a booth.

  But he wasn’t on his own this time, he reasoned, still not quite sure how he and Morgan Daniels had ended up sitting across from each other and ordering breakfast.

  Chris listened as Morgan ordered a stack of blueberry pancakes—no butter—and the syrup the restaurant called “lite.” Chris felt no shame in ordering his favorite banana nut pancakes—extra butter—and the tropical mango syrup that was served with them.

  Morgan had his now-familiar sardonic eyebrow raised. “That’s a heart attack on a plate.”

  “Probably,” Chris agreed, too hungry to care. Most of the time he watched his diet and at least made the attempt to get his fruits and veggies in, but sometimes a guy just wanted pancakes. With extra butter. “You let me know how that low-fat syrup tastes.”

  Morgan snorted something that could have been a laugh. “I’m used to it.”

  “Sacrifice taste a lot, huh?”

  He shrugged. “Not my choice anymore. High cholesterol runs in my family, and the doctor threatened me with a triple bypass before I turn fifty if I didn’t start watching what I ate.”

  Chris frowned. “But you’re only—” He was about to say some random age in the late thirties, then realized he had no idea how old Morgan actually was.

  “Forty-five,” Morgan said wryly, stirring his cup of coffee.

  Chris blinked. “You’re shitting me. Really?”

  Morgan turned up the corner of his mouth. “If you’re trying to flatter me, thank you. But yes. Really.”

  Wow. Chris tried to take a closer look without seeming like he was gawking. Morgan honestly didn’t look a day over thirty-eight, aside from the very slight graying at his temples. The only lines on his face that Chris could see were laugh lines near Morgan’s eyes, and he snorted to himself. He’d bet they were lines from the sun rather than laughter, but they were there nonetheless and added a certain air of distinction. No way Chris ever would have guessed that Morgan was forty-five.

  It was only when the waitress set down their plates that Chris realized he’d been studying Morgan so closely. Chris managed to tear his eyes away and focus instead on his breakfast, which was hot enough to melt the double pat of butter sitting dire
ctly on top of the stack.

  There was silence at their table for a while, both Chris and Morgan concentrating on their food. Chris was ravenous, his usual state after a fire, and he didn’t stop plowing through his pancakes until a few stray walnuts drowning in syrup were the only things left on his plate. He let his fork clatter to his plate and sat back with a huge sigh.

  Morgan looked up from where he was only half-done with his stack. “You can eat,” he noted, and Chris couldn’t tell what kind of statement it was supposed to be.

  “After a fire, I can,” he agreed. Chris felt himself start to settle into the sleepy state that accompanied too little rest and too much food.

  Morgan pushed his plate away and drained his cup, shaking his head at the waitress when she hovered with the coffeepot. “Sounds about right.” He nodded. “Most firemen can eat their weight in food after an adrenaline rush.”

  It was yet another cryptic remark about firefighters that had Chris wondering where the hell Morgan was coming from, not to mention why they happened to be sitting together like friends after being at each other’s throats for nearly two months. “So,” Chris said, determined to get some sort of answer before his food coma took over and he passed out, “how come you asked me to breakfast?”

  Morgan met his gaze easily, not looking down or away. “Because my behavior was inexcusable,” he stated, and offered no further comment.

  Chris waited for a moment, but when it seemed like no other explanations were forthcoming, he tried for clarification. “You mean when you left me on my knees in a diner restroom after I’d just sucked you off?”