Chapter 21

Dawson

Of all thedays to be slow, today was the slowest.

I leaned my head back against the couch in the living room upstairs in the firehouse, fighting to concentrate on anything except the previous night.

On the memory of my embarrassing moment.

Granted, Nolan had no idea all his grinding had caused me to explode in such a fashion, and I wasn't about to tell him that little tidbit. I'd take that to my fucking grave.

But the fact of the matter was, I knew there was absolutely no way I'd be able to look at Nolan the same again.

Not after he'd kissed me, after he'd wriggled his way onto my lap and into my damn heart like he had.

I wanted to text him. All day I thought about it, but I didn't want to seem too forward. I wasn't sure how much he remembered, if he remembered pinning me beneath him in my truck and making my damn head spin, or if he was hungover as shit and wanted to be left alone. I knew I hated to be bothered when I drank a bit too much, when I was hungover as shit.

No, I knew I needed to give Nolan space, and I didn't want to appear... clingy.

Even though I'm dying to know his thoughts, if he remembers what happened.

If he regrets what happened.

I hated leaving Nolan like I had. I'd wanted to give into temptation, wanted to ruin him as he requested, but I also wanted more... I knew I had to tread carefully because the last thing I wanted was to create problems for either of us at work.

Firehouse gossip spreads fast too.

The clock chimed on three, waking me from my spell of self-loathing just as my phone buzzed.

In an awful moment of weakness earlier, I'd texted the one person who knew me better than most, because I knew I needed to talk or I'd end up doing something I regretted.

Like send a string of text messages that made me appear like a level six stalker.

I needed to get things out in the open, to be able to process what had happened and how I could fix things, and there wasn't anyone I trusted more with my secrets than Cade.

Mitch was a great friend, don't get me wrong, but his emotional capacity was only a smidge higher than an amoeba.

The man was about as anti-romance as you could get. If I needed help moving something, or new social media photos, or even to borrow twenty bucks, Mitch was the guy to ask. But if I needed advice on dick and all things centered around the dick... I was better asking a hopeless romantic like Cade.

I'd half expected him to blow me off, being as he and his new boyfriend were practically attached at the hip, and I was pleasantly surprised when he answered my angsty, emo-kid text with, ‘Sure, let's meet up at M's this evening and talk about it. What time you off?'

The instant relief that poured over me should have been embarrassing had I not felt the stress of everything melt almost immediately.

I wasn't sure what the right thing to do was, but I knew at least if I talked things out with my best friend, he'd steer me in the right direction.