The smell of damp cement reached him before the first drop of rain snaked its way to land on his check, then neck. “Fuck,” he whispered, looking up, the drops coming out of the darkness of the sky visible only when they hit the beams from the streetlight. Soon tiny rivers of glitter slid down his arms and chest.
Stepping out from the alcove he glanced toward the club.
Looking the other direction toward the firehouse…
“I’m here if you need me.”
The heat of Wren’s palm cradling his face flashed through him, almost real enough he could feel Wren’s fingers on his skin. He took off running away from every destructive element in his life.
~ This is an excerpt from Lost in the Fire (Firehouse Six, Book #5).
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