A toothache. Drunks. So, so many drunks. Hell, this call was probably a drunk. “Sick person” was the universal code for “no idea, but probably someone shit-faced.”
I closed the bay door behind us and fired up the sirens.
Shawn didn’t drop it. “Hey, maybe she’ll get a brown jar next. I got a jar she might like.”
“Oh yeah?” I said, turning onto Victory. “They make jars that small?”
The guys laughed and Javier talked to his screen. “I met the love of my life at nineteen. Never got to play the field. Kind of wish I did. Be single. Date around in the meantime.”
“I’ve dated around,” I mumbled.
Nobody was like Kristen. Witty, beautiful. Smart. She made me laugh. I loved talking to her, loved seeing what she thought about things. Over these last few weeks, she’d become my other best friend. And dating around wasn’t an option—it was a waste of time.
We pulled up to a tired apartment complex. When we got inside, I was right. More bullshit. A lady pretending to be unconscious after a fight with her husband. She wanted him to think he’d given her a heart attack. A nice little guilt trip.
These theatrics seemed to be a relatively common affliction here. I’d gone on five calls like this since I’d gotten to California. Someone pretending to have a medical emergency to get attention. A waste of time and resources.
We didn’t get calls like this in small-town South Dakota. We got a fraction of the calls they did here, but when we did get them, they were legitimate. People didn’t call 911 unless they needed to fucking call. They didn’t use us as props for their dramas. Small-town people had pride.
I couldn’t wait to tell Kristen about this shit. She loved hearing about my calls. It was the first thing we caught up on when I would come back over after a shift. She’d have something hilarious to say for sure. Last week I’d single-handedly wrangled three drunks into the back of an ambulance, and she’d called me the Idiot Whisperer.
On the way back to the engine with the crew, I spoke low to Brandon. “How do you stay so fucking patient with these people?”
Brandon shrugged. “It’s just the job. You do your best to educate them when you can.”
“Does it work?”
“No,” Shawn said with a laugh, and Javier chuckled behind him.
I shook my head. “You know, I considered the Forest Service before the move. I’m starting to think I should have looked more into that.”
Shawn snickered. “What? You wanna be a fucking gardener?”
“The Forest Service isn’t that bad,” Brandon said, loading his gear back into the engine.
“Not having to deal with people?” I said. “Being outside, in nature? What’s not to like?”
Shawn climbed into the engine. “You’re just fucking clearing brush. Smokey the Bear shit.”
“And that’s worse than this?” I asked. “We just revived a woman who wasn’t unconscious. At least I’d be actually accomplishing something.”
I climbed back into my seat and put on my headset. Javier had snagged someone from the complex about the trash in front of the fire hydrant, so we all sat and waited.
Fuck. What was I doing with my life? Did I really want to do this shit for the next twenty years? I didn’t know if I had the patience. Sure, I got to go on some cool calls sometimes. I delivered a baby last week, and I put out a car fire. But most of it was crap like this. And the probation made it worse.
I could have applied for the Forest Service. Maybe tried Northern California. Lived near wine country and the redwoods where I could have hunted and owned some land.
But then there was Kristen.
If I’d moved somewhere else and come here for Brandon’s wedding and met Kristen then, I would have wished I lived here by the time the night was done. I knew I would. She was special. She wasn’t just some girl. I think I’d known that the day I met her.
I pulled out my cell phone and scrolled to her name, looking at the blinking line, waiting for me to type a text. And tell her what? She wouldn’t even let me kiss her goodbye this morning. Why would she want to hear from me?
My whole life was one big probationary period at the moment. I was in limbo, waiting to see if things got better.
There was only one way to get through it. Put my head down. Do a good job. And do what I’d been told.
I’d just have to bide my time.
Kirsten
Josh’s forty-eight-hour shift gave me withdrawals. I felt like some sort of addiction had started, and now I craved him. I needed to see him like a fix. I actually got in the car to drive past the fire station like a stalker, and I had to talk myself down.
I debated texting him but decided against it because why? So we could be closer? Get to know each other better? If anything, I should have been figuring out ways to see him less. Looking for another carpenter, maybe even breaking off this booty-call thing altogether before I was in so deep I’d never get out.
Ugh. What have I done?
I texted Sloan to see if we could have lunch, but her stepmom was throwing her a small bridal shower at her dad’s house in San Diego, and she was going to be gone both days of Josh’s shift. I didn’t want to drop the whole “I banged Josh” thing on her over the phone. So I sat through my two days without him, alone, watching the clock and missing him as I scoured my house from top to bottom.
When his shift at the fire station was done and he finally headed back over to work on the orders I had for him, I waited for the sound of the garage door opening like a dog waiting for his master to come home.
I’d done my hair and makeup and dressed in normal clothes for once. Nothing too cute—leggings and an off-the-shoulder shirt. I didn’t want to send the wrong message. The message that broadcasted how I really felt.
Once I knew he was here, I scampered back to the living room sofa and put my laptop onto my lap so he wouldn’t know I’d been waiting like some kind of fangirl.
It was so lame.
“Hey,” he said, coming into the doorway with a smile. Stuntman bounced at his feet wearing his I’M LITTLE AND I HATE EVERYONE shirt. Josh crouched and petted him. “I brought you a breakfast burrito.”
Oh God.
How had he managed to get more attractive in the past forty-eight hours? He looked so cute in his jeans and gray T-shirt with that messy hair and the fucking dimples I loved, and the man had a damn burrito for me on top of everything.
Not to mention now I could picture him naked.
My heart thudded just looking at him. I wanted to run to him and jump on him, wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him.
“Hey,” I mumbled, looking back to my screen.
He set the food down on the coffee table, his cologne and the smell of sausage teasing me.
“Thanks,” I said, pretending to write an email.
He waited for a long moment as I tapped at my keys. “Well, I guess I’ll get to work…”
I didn’t breathe until I heard the laundry room door close.
Then he spent the day in the garage. I didn’t hang out with him like I usually did. He asked me if I wanted to get lunch. Of course I said no.
And of course I totally wanted to.
He didn’t try to touch me or kiss me. He was trying to follow my rules.
I hated my fucking rules.
At 4:00, he came back inside and sat next to me on the sofa.