They’d saved a seat for him—between Alec and Nate, thankfully. Jesse joined the table, flashing a smile at everyone but Dom.
“You’re late,” Alec said. “We’ve been waiting forever.”
Jesse shrugged, trying not to feel Dom’s stare on him. “Got caught up in something. Sorry.”
“Now that Jesse’s here, let’s get down to the real business,” Gareth said. “Do we want to vote for Harris as station chief, or not?”
Harris gave Gareth a flat look. “Wasn’t I the one who gets to decide?”
“Nope, we’ll tell you.” Brad grinned cheekily, giving Harris a toast. “Seriously, though, if you do leave the team, we’re going to miss you.”
“Getting sappy, Brad?” Dom asked.
His voice rumbled into Jesse’s ears; Jesse almost regretted not showing up sooner. So he could listen to more of Dom.
No, it was a good thing he was late.
“Hey,” Nate murmured, leaning closer. “What happened to those beads?”
Jesse blinked. The incisions were all still stinging slightly, but that was so minor compared to the pain he’d experienced, that he didn’t particularly care. “I took them out.”
Nate’s eyebrows crawled up; he glanced over Jesse’s arms. “You consulted anyone before you did that?”
“No.” Wariness scraped against his senses. Nate looked more concerned than Jesse had seen him in a while—and that was saying something. Nate was rarely worried about things; he’d been through a lot of crap in his time before becoming a firefighter.
Hell, Nate was the one who had shot Larson and taken him down.
“I hope you kept them.” Nate’s forehead wrinkled. “That wasn’t a wise move, Jesse.”
Jesse scowled. “It’s my body.”
“Yeah, and I’m trying to stop you from doing something you’ll regret.” Nate met his eyes. “How’re you feeling?”
“Fine.” But now that Jesse was focusing inward, he felt the slightest thrum of heat in his body—like his temperature might be climbing. “Slightly hot. But I was in a hurry to get here.”
Nate pursed his lips. “First thing tomorrow, go see a doctor. Okay?”
“If I feel sick,” Jesse said. “Maybe.”
“You’re probably gonna feel really sick. You know what those beads were for.”
No, Jesse didn’t, but he didn’t want to learn about them right now, either. “I don’t want to talk about it. Larson’s in jail. I don’t want to be reminded about what he did.”
Nate winced. “Yeah, about that—I heard he’s pleading for a lighter sentence. He might be released sooner than you think.”
Jesse’s stomach tightened. He’d been taking self-defense classes to work off all his frustration, but that prospect still sent a shiver down his spine.
For a long time back there, Jesse had been Larson’s pride and joy. Larson had put such an exorbitant price tag on his head that Jesse hadn’t gone to anyone in the black market. And the prices there had already been insane.
Or maybe Larson just wanted to parade Jesse around, and keep Jesse for himself. Whatever. The idea of that doctor walking around as a free person, though...
Jesse’s white Russian arrived; he took a huge gulp of it. Just so the buzz would hit him sooner. “I don’t want to talk about him, either.”
“Fine.” Nate looked at him askance. “But take care, kid. You aren’t like everyone else.”
He reached over, patting Jesse on the knee. It felt kind of fatherly. Jesse’s throat tightened; the team was his family, but he missed his biological family, too.
Then he sneaked a glance at Dom—the one alpha who didn’t exactly feel like family, and not really a coworker, either.
Dom was already watching Jesse, his eyes dark. Jesse’s breath snagged in his throat. Had Dom heard that conversation?
Dom’s stare lingered on Jesse’s face. Then it drifted over Jesse’s body, and Dom blinked. He frowned, looking harder at Jesse’s arms.
Jesse thought briefly about covering up, except he was wearing short sleeves. And it would only prove that he had something to hide. So he held still, waiting until Dom met his gaze again.
Dom’s lips pressed into a thin line; his eyes flashed. He’d realized what Jesse had done with the beads, then. And he was angry. A dark thrill hissed down Jesse’s spine.
“Careful there, Jesse,” Nate warned lowly. “You know what’s at stake.”
No, Jesse didn’t. And maybe that was a good thing.
He threw back the rest of his white Russian. When the waiter came by to take their orders, he asked for a whiskey shot.
Dom ordered a whiskey shot, too.
The conversations at the table faded.
They were doing this. Three years later, and Dom was finally, finally taking him up on this again. Jesse’s blood thrummed in his veins; his heart pounded. He tried looking at his other teammates, just so no one would notice the way he thirsted for their deputy.
Except Dom was still staring at him. Jesse’s blood roared in his ears. He needed to calm down. He needed to not blow the shreds of cover he had left.
“Are you riding with me tonight?” Nate asked.
“No,” Jesse said, his voice stuck in his throat. His heart was pounding, and he couldn’t think. “But thank you.”
Nate gave him a warning look, but Jesse was half-hard, and the only place he wanted to be, was inside Dom’s pants.
He wasn’t sure how he’d make it through the rest of the night. When his order arrived, Jesse downed it. Whiskey burned down his throat; he coughed.
Dom didn’t finish all of his shot, though. He sipped from the little glass, watching Jesse. His attention strayed occasionally, when Gareth spoke to him, or Harris did. But his gaze never failed to return, and the darkness in his eyes promised.
The heat in Jesse’s body burned hotter and hotter, until liquid fire coursed through his veins. Jesse wiped his palms on his pants, and he needed so much that even his teeth ached.
Sometime through the night, an eternity later, Nate said again, “I’m heading home. You’re sure you don’t want to join us.”
Jesse
