Page 8 of Only You and Me

“Does your head hurt? Did you eat anything? Not eating makes your headaches worse so?—”

“Ben. It doesn’t matter if my head hurts or if I’ve eaten. You don’t need to worry about me. My ride will be here in”—she looks at her phone—“three minutes. Did you need something?”

My heart rate kicks up. I’m not sure what I thought I’d say when I caught up to her. But I couldn’t let her go. Still, I’m tongue-tied.

Her jaw visibly clenches. “If there’s nothing you need, you probably should get back to your date.”

“She’s not my date.” I’m quick to answer.

Trina rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to say something, but snaps it shuts before speaking.

“What? Say what you were going to.” There’s a challenge in my voice.

For over nine years, I’ve been taking any chance I can get to make Trina engage with me again. Even if it’s fighting with me. Problem is, I rarely get her to take the bait. And it kills me.

A dejected sigh escapes her, and she simply stares down the street, presumably watching for her ride.

“Nothing, Ben.” Her voice is practically a whisper.

Annoyed, I step in front of her and peer directly into her eyes. “Why do you still hate me so much? It’s been over nine years, Trina.”

Hurt flashes in her gorgeous eyes before she catches herself and the usual mask of indifference she wears with me replaces the hint of pain.

“My ride’s here,” she whispers.

Before I can say anything else, she steps around me and shuts herself into the vehicle. When I watch her through the thick glass of the car window, she’s got one hand over her eyes and forehead and the other gripping the back of her neck.

My heart sinks because I’ve only seen her grasp her head and neck like that once before. It was on the worst night of my life to date, and it was the only time I ever saw her cry.

CHAPTER2

TRINA

When I walk into the break room, I’d like to say I’m surprised by what I see—five grown men gathered around the television, intently watching last night’s episode ofFind Your Fiancé.

“I hate to break up whatever this is,”—I gesture to the group of them—“but there are multiple fire alarms going off at that apartment renovation project down the street. I need one of you to go with me to check it out.”

Thompson jumps up. “I’m with you, Captain.”

I nod at him. “I think it’s most likely a false alarm, but be ready in case we call for backup.” Thompson and I head for the garage, but I stop and turn back to the crew, the show already engrossing them again. “Hey, guys?” A few of them glance over at me. “She picks the hot one in the navy pin-striped suit.”

I wear a smirk on my face as I turn and jog to the fire engine with groans and huffs following at my back for giving them the spoiler. When I get to the engine, Thompson’s already in the driver’s seat and I climb into the passenger side, then we’re off.

“Geez, it’s excessively cold out today, even for late January. Don’t you think, Captain?”

“Meh. I don’t know. It’s Ohio. You expect that the frigid air will burn your face in the winter.”

Thompson chuckles. “I guess. But I’m gonna quit complaining because when it was in the nineties last June, I thought I was gonna melt and I swore I’d stop lamenting how cold our winters are.”

The group of men I spend twenty-four hours with every third day are like siblings to me. They’re the kind of brothers where you’re close and would do anything for each other—literally give your life in our case—but rarely tell them how much they mean to you. Being the female captain of six men would be a challenge if there were one or two of them with too much machismo. Fortunately, I’ve been with this group for a little over a year and the minor kinks we had at the start are all ironed out and we’re a well-oiled machine. Thompson’s our newest shift addition, replacing my sister’s late husband, Teddy, after he died in September.

Two minutes later, Thompson pulls the engine up outside the two-story apartment building that is being renovated from eight small apartments to four luxury ones. We both jump out and I survey the scene. A group of men in carpenter pants and T-shirts that readAlero Constructionstand gathered on the sidewalk. They look miserable, wrapping their arms around their chest to stay warm.

“I don’t see any smoke. Let’s touch base with the foreman, then head in and check it out.”

Thompson nods and we approach the building, getting to the old sandstone steps at the same time as the foreman. By now, the workers gathered off to the side have noticed me and—newsflash—the fact that I have breasts. So, just as their boss opens his mouth to speak, the hooting and hollering from the peanut gallery starts. Their boss’s handsome cheeks turn red and his eyes narrow before he whips around to address his crew.

“Enough! Show some respect.” The group of young men immediately fall silent.Hmm, impressive.

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