Behind the Stick Page 3

“Hell, yes.”

  Hawkins snorted. “Yeah, I saw the way you were flirting with the guy you pulled out of the fire. Went above and beyond there, didn’t you?”

  “Hardly. We’d talked at Burger Barn one time a while back.”

  Munson rolled his eyes. He’d been standoffish with Luka when he’d first joined the firehouse. Based on the way Munson treated the other men of color at the station, Luka had figured his being mixed-race and looking like a black man wasn’t the issue.

  “Hawkins got the number of the chick she treated.”

  Hawkins gave him a sly look. “Hey, she offered. It would have been rude to refuse.”

  Luka laughed. “You don’t get to give either of us shit, Munson. You met your wife, Elly, on a call.”

  “True, true,” Munson replied. “And Hawkins’ chick was bomb, I’ll give her that.”

  “Hotter than any woman you could get, you bonehead, your wife aside.” Although medium height and slim, Lane Hawkins had a huge personality, was fearless and every bit as tough as the firefighters in the house. Her short dark hair and numerous tattoos gave her an edgier appearance than most of the female paramedics, and her looks often drew attention. She and Luka hung out sometimes outside of work, as much because they had similar senses of humor as that they were both members of the LGBTQ community.

  “I’m gonna tell Elly you said that,” Munson teased.

  Hawkins blanched. “Fuck, no. Don’t do that. Your wife will kick my ass.”

  Luka held up a hand. “Okay, cut it out, you two. I thought you wanted to get out of here, Tom?”

  “I do, I do.”

  “Then how about we agree to meet at Under tomorrow night and get our free drinks?”

  “Works for me.”

  “You in, Lane?”

  “Obviously, I’m in. I’m the one with the passphrase to get past the bouncer,” she called as they turned away. “See you bozos tomorrow!”

  Luka hefted his bag on his shoulder, then strode toward the nearby subway station with Munson on his heels.

  The shit they all gave each other was one of the things Luka loved about working at the firehouse the most. The tight-knit sense of family and camaraderie was rare to find anywhere else.

  It took nearly thirty minutes on the train for Luka to get from the station house in Morningside Heights to his two-bedroom apartment in Sugar Hill, located in the Hamilton Heights of Harlem.

  Sugar Hill had gotten its name during the Harlem Renaissance when it had been a popular choice of neighborhood for wealthy African Americans like W. E. B. Du Bois, Thurgood Marshall and Duke Ellington.

  Luka loved the architecture, rich cultural history and sense of community. The affordable rent—at least by Manhattan standards—didn’t hurt either. The neighborhood had declined during the 1950s, but its demographics were always shifting and bringing change and renewed interest in the area. As far as Luka was concerned, it was the perfect place to live.

  He felt bone-tired by the time he reached the second-floor apartment, and he unlocked the door with a relieved sigh. He dropped his bag on the bench to his left and was greeted by a soft chittering noise, then tiny feet padding toward him on the wood floors.

  “Hey there, gorgeous,” Luka crooned. He reached down and picked up the wriggling tube of excitement winding around his ankles, better known as Robbie the ferret. Robbie had a cream-colored undercoat with longer blackish-brown guard hairs, a white mask and ear tips, and inquisitive black eyes and nose.

  “Sure, say hi to the ferret before me,” Luka’s human roommate teased.

  Matías was equally gorgeous and at least as nosy as his pet ferret. His body a good deal more compact than Luka’s big frame, Matías radiated personality. Right now, he was dressed in all black with his dark hair perfectly styled, and he wore a face full of makeup, which meant he was either on his way to or from work.

  “I didn’t forget you,” Luka said.

  “Like you ever could.” The tilt of Matías’ chin made Luka laugh.

  “True enough,” Luka said. While stunning to look at, Matías was also the best roommate Luka’d ever had. He gave Robbie one last pat before he set him down. “How was your day?”

  Matías sighed. “Lots of high-maintenance customers wanting makeovers.”

  “So, a great day.”

  Matías’ second sigh was even more dramatic. It made Luka smile. “Totally great.” Matías worked at a MAC store in Harlem, not far from Morningside Heights. He complained a lot, but Luka knew Matías thrived in the store’s glamorous atmosphere. If all the stories Matías’ co-workers told were any indication, he was well loved, too.

  “How was your shift?” Matías bent and scooped Robbie up and out of the way. The ferret was adorable but always underfoot and technically illegal, as ferrets were banned in New York City.

  “Not bad. Rescued a hot guy from a restaurant fire. I told you about him maybe a month ago.”

  “The one you described as yummy?”

  Luka opened his mouth to retort that he’d never called anyone that, then remembered he had described Kyle as such to Matías. In his defense, he’d had a couple of beers after working a twenty-four-hour shift. He was lucky he hadn’t said anything worse. “Yes.”

  “Do tell.”

  Luka gave Matías a quick rundown of the fire that day. “He invited the whole squad to the place where he bartends. I am definitely doing that tomorrow night.”

  “Any plans tonight?”

  Luka stretched. “Fuck, no. I’m going to bed. What about you?”

  “Going out with some friends later. I’m about to hop in the shower then decide if I want to put my face back on.” Living with Matías meant Luka knew way more about makeup than he’d ever expected to, despite having two sisters. Most days, Matías wore more makeup than both combined.

  “Cool. I’ll grab some food before I crash.”

  “If you want, there’s pernil and arroz con gandules in the refrigerator,” Matías said.

  “If I want? Dude, yes. Your mother makes the best food. Thank her for me.” Luka’s mouth watered at the thought of slow-cooked pork shoulder and rice and beans.

  “I will.”

  Luka leaned against the kitchen counter and waited for the food to reheat. He was a decent cook himself, and Matías wasn’t bad either, but few things beat Mrs. Acosta’s Puerto Rican food.

  She didn’t seem to know what to make of her son stepping outside of gender norms or him calling himself Matías rather than his given name of Ernesto, but she loved him anyway. Once she’d decided Luka was all right, she’d doted on him too. The microwave beeped and Luka pulled the plate out, wincing as it scorched his fingers.

  “Just so you know, the brownies on the counter are special,” Matías called out from across the apartment.

  “Thanks for the warning!” Luka had smoked weed a few times while growing up, but the FDNY’s zero-tolerance policy against drugs made indulging too risky, even during his time off. Matías didn’t make pot brownies all that often, but Luka knew never to eat his baked goods without asking first.

  A jaw-splitting yawn crept up on Luka, and he mentally willed his food to cool faster. Once it had, Luka wolfed it down, making appreciative noises that drew Robbie’s attention. The inquisitive ferret stretched himself to full length, his sharp-clawed front paws resting against Luka’s thigh.

  “Oh, no,” Luka murmured. “I don’t care how pathetic you look, you little weasel. You are not getting even one bite. You don’t need any encouragement to be naughty.”

  Robbie made a soft chirping sound.

  “Nope, not gonna work on me.” Luka scraped up the last tasty bites and put them in his own mouth. Too good to share. He washed the few dishes, chugged a glass of water and scooped up the ferret. “You can take a nap with me if you want though.”

  He draped Robbie over his arm, carried him through the apartment and paused in Matías’ bedroom doorway. Matías sat at a vanity table in boxers, applying foundation. Like Matías�
� mom, Luka hadn’t quite known what to do with Matías’ love of makeup when they’d first met. But Luka had liked his roommate from the start and grown to appreciate him over the years. Now, as far as Luka was concerned, Matías’ makeup was as much a part of him as his Puerto Rican background and just as essential to his persona.

  “Have fun tonight.”

  “Oh, I always do.” Matías glanced at him in the mirror. “Stealing my ferret, huh?”

  Luka shrugged. “It’s not my fault Robbie likes me better. He has good taste.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “Yeah, but you knew that.” They grinned at each other. “Night, Ernie.”

  Matías flipped him off. Luka only called him that to annoy him. It had backfired, though, because Luka’s sister Regina sometimes referred to Luka and his roommate as Bert and Ernie.

  Once in his bedroom, Luka tossed Robbie on the bed and watched him scamper, leaping and cavorting as though he had springs on his legs. Luka went to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

  Luka also washed his face and took a moment to moisturize his skin. Matías had been horrified to discover Luka’s skincare routine had consisted of slapping some generic drugstore-brand moisturizer onto his face when he remembered and had promptly set out to fix that. Sweat, soot and the dry, hot air of a fire didn’t do anyone’s skin any favors, and Luka was man enough to admit Matías’ advice had made a world of difference.

  Luka dabbed toner over his face and spread on the rich moisturizer, then finally ready to crash, padded back down the hall to his bedroom. He turned out the light but left the door open a crack. Robbie might sleep with him for a bit, but he’d need his litter box in the living room eventually. Luka knew from experience that being woken up by a ferret hell bent on escaping a room sucked.

  Luka wrapped his hair in a durag to keep it from drying out, stripped down to his boxers and crawled into bed. Robbie curled into a ball near Luka’s chest and made a few soft sounds as he got comfortable. Luka petted him for a few minutes before his hand slowed, his eyelids grew heavy and he slipped into sleep.

  Chapter Three

  “Hey, Kyle? I checked the egress routes for both bars and everything looks good—clear paths, no obstacles.” Jim set the checklist Kyle had given him on the bar. “I tested the emergency lighting and checked the fire doors too, which you know since they buzz when they’re opened.”

  Kyle chuckled, his voice still raspy. “Yeah, we heard them.” He scanned the list, then looked back to Jim. “Does Matt think I’m going totally overboard?” Matt, the general manager at the pub upstairs, had been in his car en route to work when Kyle has called him, dead set on organizing an in-house fire inspection for both Under and Lock & Key.

  “Nah,” Jim said. “He gets it. Everyone does after yesterday.”

  Jim’s lopsided smile pricked at Kyle’s conscience. He’d asked Jim to complete some unusual tasks in the last twenty-four hours—including tracking down another bartender to take Kyle’s place and hunting down the paramedics who’d transported him to the hospital following the fire—and the stress showed.

  Kyle reached out and patted his shoulder. “Thanks, man. I know things got weird last night, and I appreciate you helping me out.”

  The worry on Jim’s face smoothed out. “No problem, boss. I’m happy to do it.” He paused and checked his phone then glanced back up. “How do you feel? Mostly okay?”

  “Sure—I had an unplanned night off and slept at least ten hours. Outside of my voice being wrecked, I feel great.”

  Kyle smiled at Jim’s laugh. Yes, his voice was a mess, and he had a plastic inhaler in his pocket and alarms on his phone to remind him to use it. However, he felt one thousand percent better than he had after being pulled out of Burger Barn last night. He’d thanked the firefighters as the paramedics loaded him into the ambulance and made a point of shaking Luka’s hand. He’d been out of it, though, partly from the smoke inhalation but more because he’d experienced the mother of all adrenaline crashes.

  Kyle had dozed on the ride to Mount Sinai Hospital and slept through most of his time under observation in the Emergency Department. He’d napped in Carter and Riley’s car after they’d picked him up too and fought to keep his eyes open while they steered him into the guest room of their Murray Hill townhouse. But Kyle had managed a croaky laugh after Carter joked about seeing him in his underwear, and that had made all three of them feel better.

  Kyle watched with interest as Jim crossed the room to open Under’s door, and he blinked when Carter and Riley stepped inside with Malcolm right behind them.

  “Hey!” Kyle exclaimed. “What are you guys doing here?”

  “We’re here celebrating you not being dead, duh,” Riley replied. He beamed at Kyle, but tension lurked in his handsome face, as though he was forcing himself to act carefree.

  A burst of affection stopped Kyle from rolling his eyes. Carter and Riley had looked shell-shocked over breakfast that morning, and he knew they worried about his decision to work tonight.

  “I’m fine, as you can see,” he said. “Surprised to see you on a Monday night, of course, but happy you made the trip.”

  “We left work early and called Jim on our way here, so he’d let us in,” Carter said. He clapped Jim on the shoulder then walked to the bar with a quick kiss for Kyle. “You sound super sexy with that frog in your throat, by the way.”

  Kyle wrinkled his nose. “I sound like I ate cigarettes wrapped in sandpaper.”

  “That’s a disgusting image.” Carter laughed. “Is it okay we came by? I know you invited the crew from the firehouse tonight…”

  “Of course. There’s always room for you guys.” Kyle gestured at the room around them. “I decided to limit attendance tonight to fifteen max, and Jim sent out a text blast to the guest list with the heads-up. They’ll need to be here early if they want in.”

  Malcolm hummed and settled into a seat. “Could you maybe add another six or eight to that number?”

  Kyle nodded at once. “Totally cool, just give Jim the new names. Your friends have the passphrase, right?”

  “Yep, but they’re not just my friends,” Malcolm replied. “They’re yours, too. Will and David are coming, and Jarrod and Gale, Astrid, Audrey, Max…you get the picture. Jesse and Cam, of course, though I suppose they don’t need to be on the guest list at all.”

  Kyle stopped in his tracks. “Say what now?” he asked. He saw most of the people Malcolm had named at Under’s monthly private party, not on a random day in the middle of the month. Will and David lived out on Long Island, for heaven’s sake, where Will taught legal history at a university and David worked as a state senator.

  Riley scoffed. “Everyone else is glad you didn’t die too, Kyle. And since you’re here tonight like the fucking workaholic we all know you are, we came to you to celebrate.”

  A trembly feeling made its way through Kyle’s insides. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said, his voice gone quiet. “I’m okay, guys, really.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe we’re not.” Carter shrugged. “So, indulge us and feed us booze, and we’ll try to behave around your new firefighter friends. What time are they getting here?”

  “Um. I don’t know,” Kyle said, his face burning. He focused on the ingredients he’d already laid out on the counter. “Jim told the paramedics on the ambulance to spread the word to anyone who could make it. I guess we’ll see.”

  Kyle muddled strawberries in a shaker. He hated that his friends were making a big deal over him, but he loved them for caring, too. He especially loved that none of them were calling him out for blushing and acting extra awkward.

  “I looked up a couple of recipes for tonight,” he said and filled the shaker with ice. Masen Jones, Under’s second in command behind the bar, walked over to observe.

  “Of course, you did,” Riley replied. “I trust they’re somehow fire-related but without literal flames?”

  “You are correct.” Kyle added peppered vodka, lemonad
e, aloe vera juice and simple syrup to the shaker, the act of mixing smoothing his ruffled feathers. He sealed the container and rattled the contents until it grew chill in his hand, then strained the mix into rocks glasses.

  “This is called a Hot Firefighter. I like the contrast of spicy and sweet, and I figure they’re fun even for someone who’s not into craft cocktails.”

  “You’re just looking forward to orders for ‘Hot Firefighters,’” Malcolm teased, and the others broke up laughing.

  Kyle garnished the glasses with lemon wedges and basil leaves and set the first down in front of Carter. Carter raised his drink and sipped, and the delight that registered on his face was instant.

  “Yeah?” Kyle smiled at the way Carter’s big, hazel eyes shone.

  “Mmm. Oh, yeah, babe.” Carter licked his lips. “My mouth is on fire in the best way.”

  Malcolm peered at his own glass. “Should I be scared?”

  “Nope,” Kyle said. “The aloe vera juice in the mix cancels out the pepper sting.”

  Malcolm raised his brows. “Really?”

  “No, doofus, I made that up.” Kyle reached over the bar and ruffled Malcolm’s hair.

  At six on the dot, Jim flipped the switch on Under’s passphrase phone, marking the speakeasy open for business. The phone rang immediately, but before Jim could answer, the door swung open and Jesse and Cam stuck their heads around the frame.

  “Hey, party people.” Jesse’s blue eyes gleamed with mischief. “There’s a line of hipster booze nerds in the hallway upstairs, so I hope everyone’s ready for some brisk business.”

  Kyle laughed over the others’ catcalls. “Get your big head out of the doorway, Jes, and let the paying customers by.”

  Jesse and Cam had Will and David with them, and the rest of the group Carter and Malcolm had invited turned up moments later. While Masen served the patrons from the guest list, Kyle attended to his friends. He also found himself retelling the story of the fire and fending off well-meaning questions about his health.

  Such a bunch of busybodies, Kyle thought with a fond smile. At this rate, his voice would be gone before midnight. He actually felt relieved when his phone reminded him to use his inhaler.