Page 173 of Knotting the Firefighters

Perfectly legitimate strategy.

"Maybe next time you'll gain the upper hand," I suggest with false sympathy, grinding down slightly for emphasis. "Take me down instead of letting me spin the block and demonstrate that I'm absolutely on top of my defense game."

Pun intended.

Completely intended.

Every word is deliberately chosen for maximum impact.

His groan intensifies, transforming into something approaching dismay as his body responds enthusiastically despite his frustration at losing.

"Fine," he concedes, defeat evident in every syllable. "You win. You're clearly still capable of defending yourself against any Alpha stupid enough to try physical confrontation."

Victory.

Sweet, sweet victory.

With the side benefit of aroused Alpha beneath me.

I giggle—genuine sound of triumph and amusement, satisfaction at proving my continued competence while simultaneously affecting him in ways he's struggling to hide.

"So—" I shift conversational gears with deliberate casualness, maintaining my dominant position while introducing a topic I've been curious about. "—I heard through the nosy grapevine that you and Aidric were supposed to beofficial, and a certain someone—coughyoucough—rejected the proposal."

Subtle.

Extremely subtle.

Not announcing my source or appearing overly invested in their history.

Calder's eye roll is theatrical, expression communicating both amusement and resignation at the revelation that small-town gossip has reached me.

He adjusts his position slightly—hands moving behind his head in a posture that's simultaneously relaxed and defensive, like he's preparing for interrogation while pretending complete nonchalance.

"Who told you that?" The question emerges with curiosity rather than accusation, clearly trying to identify a leak in the information network.

"I have my resources," I respond mysteriously, enjoying his confusion.

Hazel.

Obviously Hazel.

But I'm not revealing my source and potentially compromising future intelligence gathering.

He smirks—recognition flickering across features, putting pieces together with uncomfortable accuracy.

"Those officers can't keep their mouths shut," he mutters, more amused than actually bothered. "Small-town interconnections mean everyone knows everyone's business eventually."

True.

Irritating but true.

Privacy is a luxury that doesn't exist in communities this size.

I wait, maintaining silence that encourages him to elaborate without explicit prompting. Medical professionals and interrogators use this technique—creating space for confession through strategic quiet rather than aggressive questioning.

Works on Alphas too, apparently.

He sighs, eyes closing as he gathers thoughts or steels himself for vulnerable admission.