Tinder: (n) material for starting a fire; readily combustible material.
One
"Aw, jeeze. Not this guy again." Chris Matthews slunk down lower in his chair and glared at the instructor of his monthly class.
The guy had a bad attitude, that was for damn sure. It wasn't Chris' fault--or the rest of his crew's, for that matter--that they had to take a class a couple of times a month to fulfill state requirements for continuing education. Firefighting was constantly changing and shifting with the times, and all firemen were required to complete forty-five clock hours worth of training every year to keep their certification current.
Most of the time, Chris liked his classes. They were taught at the station while he was on shift, usually by the nurse educators from the local hospital, and involved anything from burn wound care to what to do if they encountered a meth addict on one of their calls. Sometimes the classes were practical instead of medical, and were taught by either a retired captain or academy instructor. Chris appreciated the refresher courses on stuff like swift water rescue and fire behavior. He'd only been on the department for a little over two years and knew that he'd just scratched the surface of what he needed to learn.
Until now, Chris had never gotten the impression that any of the instructors didn't like their job. That was before his most recent class had started. Last week, they'd had to start a sexual harassment course due to the influx of female firefighters into the department. Not that any of them had to worry about Chris coming onto them. He'd pretty much figured out he was gay by the time he'd graduated from college, despite a few failed attempts to convince himself he liked women.
Now, at thirty, he'd had enough cock to know that women were the last thing on his mind as far as sex went.
But the guy that was teaching this harassment class didn't give a shit about that, Chris could tell. He'd started off last month by introducing himself as Morgan Daniels and that was about the only personal information he'd offered before scrawling SEXUAL HARASSMENT: STATISTICS in capital letters across the board and diving right in. Chris had no idea if this guy even worked for Oceanside Fire.
Chris studied him surreptitiously now under the guise of pretending to take notes. Daniels was pretty good-looking, if Chris was trying to be objective. About six feet tall, dark hair that was beginning to gray just a touch at the temples. Age was hard to tell. Late thirties, probably? Chris had no idea. He also had no idea why he was checking the guy out, since the man's attitude had turned Chris off from the beginning.
"Matthews!" Daniels suddenly barked. "Approximately how many sexual harassment cases are filed each year?"
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