Page 13 of Something to Talk About

After a few hours of talking shop, shooting the shit, and catching up with one another, I tapped out. I’ve got to go into the fire station tomorrow. Briar’s teacher stopped me when I picked her up the other day asking if we could bring the truck to school and do a couple of demonstrations with the class and a few others. After a couple of calls between the captain and the elementary school principal, shit got taken care of. The only deal that’s kicking me in my ass is I’m coming in on my day off.

Shit, I’d do anything for my niece, which is why I agreed without a second thought. Still, means I need to get some sleep in order to be on my A-game tomorrow around what I’m sure will be nearly a hundred kids. We’ve got a system: they’re allowed to use the hose, get on the truck, we do fire safety, and then give them a few mementos. The plastic hats and coloring books are always a hit, plus the teacher takes their pictures for their parents. It wears me out as much as being out on call after call.

When I pull into my driveway, my gaze immediately goes to Lennon’s. My cock thickens beneath my jeans as I think about the curvy woman. I don’t stay idling for long, nothing like the first time I saw Lennon walking up the front porch steps. My truck is parked, and the engine is off in twenty seconds flat. After another few seconds, I reach for the handle, pull it up, and slide out. I’m a man on a mission, and going to Lennon’s is exactly where my feet are taking me.

She has what seems like every light in the house on, and as I start to head toward her place, I notice she is walking through the rooms, closing curtains, turning off lights, and moving away.

“Goddamn it, Fontaine.” I’ve missed my fucking chance to have a moment with her. I stayed away too damn long, and now I’ll have to wait till tomorrow evening until I see her again. Instead of standing like a fool on the edge of the property line, it’s time I head into the house. The way Luke talked at Undercover Lovers told me tomorrow is her first day of work. He mentioned his last receptionist retired rather suddenly after her husband went through a bad patch of luck with his health. The ad for a new hire didn’t last long. Lennon swooped in, knocked him on his ass, and his office manager loved her, too. He said she’s probably overqualified, but he sees room in the future for her to move up. I’ve got no idea how that will work, but I’m not surprised, either.

Lennon Sinclair has it going on, in beauty and brains. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough, but for now, I’ll use my hand and play out another fantasy. This time, I think it’ll be of her bouncing on my cock, her back to me, my handgripping her hair, the other spreading her cheeks apart to watch as I slide in and out of her.

10

LENNIE

Iwas underprepared. No, that isn’t right. I wasn’t prepared, period. My first day on the job had me on my toes, literally and figuratively. The minute my new office manager met me at the doors, she showed me everything. More than I thought I’d ever learn about working at an obstetrics and gynecologist office. Each time we went to a patient room, a supply room, the break room, and every other room, I felt like I should have had pen and paper to jot down notes.

By the time she showed me the ropes of answering the phones, scheduling appointments, and bringing patients into the back room, my mind was a jumbled mess of nerves. She sat patiently with me until I got the hang of things. I’m pretty sure Sally had more confidence in me than I did myself. Maybe I should go back and look at the screenshot of the job listing, because I don’t think this was in the jobdescription at all. Though, when I signed all of my papers and did all the not-so-fun parts of starting something new, she mentioned they love to promote within. It also didn’t hurt that lunch is catered once a week, black scrubs are provided for every employee, you get a shoe allowance, and for the first time in, like, ever, I have health, dental, and vision insurance, all included. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop or to have a pinch-me moment where I wake up and this is all a dream. Things are falling into place entirely too easily.

I should probably knock on wood in order not to jinx myself. My front door is the nearest thing besides my noggin, so I do a quick double tap while unlocking the deadbolt and then the bottom lock. I’ve yet to call my sister. I thought I would do it on the way home from work, but instead, during the twenty-ish-minute ride home, I rolled the windows down, turned the radio to an ear-splitting decibel, and scream-sang every rock ballad that came on. By the time I had to turn down the volume when I entered the lower side of speed limits through Whispering Oaks, the stress and anxiety had dwindled down to nothing.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

The obnoxious noise is what I’m greeted with when I open the door to my house.

“What in the world?” I ask the empty home, confused about what I could have left on. My bags drop to the ground, and I kick off my sneakers to start looking for the culprit making the obnoxious noise. The scouring begins in the living room. I check every little thing that has a plug.Nothing from the lamps, television, and extra charger I keep out here. I move on to the next room. Maybe it’s the microwave. I’ve been known to nuke my coffee mug before walking out of the house and leaving the door open. Maybe that could be the cause of the incessant noise. Nope, that’s not it. It’s not even getting louder, so clearly, it’s not in the kitchen. I move down the hall, checking each bedroom and bathroom. Nothing. There is literally nothing in this house causing that noise.

I backtrack, searching through every room once again. Looking high and low until I’m back in the kitchen. I didn’t think to try the laundry room. It’s off the kitchen, a small room that has windows on two sides, a hot water heater in the corner, and another door leading to the driveway. It’s kind of cute in a nostalgic kind of way. It’s also hotter than hell especially when you’re doing load after load in an un-airconditioned room. I’ve learned my lesson already: get in and get out, fold the laundry in the house because there’s no reason to drip sweat while working with clean clothes.

The door sticks when I try to open it. Another thing to fix down the road. Wood and the Florida humidity are a bitch. Then, when it rains, it swells even more. Looks like I’m going to have to put some ass into it. I turn the knob and hip-check it, lightly at first, and when it doesn’t budge, I put more of my weight into it. Finally, it breaks free, and I find the culprit of the most annoying noise I’ve ever dealt with in my life. Which is saying a lot considering who my womb and sperm donor are. God, I don’t know where that thought comes from, but it needs to go the hell away. No good will comeabout rehashing the utter pieces of shit they were to us. Nope, not going there.

I tilt my head upward to find a smoke detector. A laugh bubbles up inside of me, and there’s no controlling it from tumbling out. The slap of my hand over my mouth does little to muffle the laughter.

“Of all the freaking luck.” I get myself under control, or try to. Sometimes it’s hard when all you wanted to do after work is take a hot bath, eat dinner, and read. What’s a girl to do? Stand here and sulk or grab the step stool to see if I can turn the dang thing off. I guess it’s a good thing that I store the little ladder in here instead of out in the shed. It’d probably piss me off more. Though, maybe stomping my feet the entire way to the backyard like a toddler would get the annoyance out of me. I take a deep breath, open the step stool, and get to work. I’m beginning to realize why some people rent an apartment or house their entire lives. Between getting the house ready the past week and now this, I need a break. Which is dumb. I know I shouldn’t complain. I have it a million times better than last month, and I had help from family the entire time.

“Get over yourself,” I grumble. “This pity party needs to stop. Just because you’re tired doesn’t mean you need to turn into a raging bitch.” The little white round doohickey pops open, and when I pull it down, wires come down with it.

“Motherfucking fuck.” I let it go, allowing it to hang there. There’s no way I’ll be able to take a battery out. I’m going to need someone with electrical experience, and that person is not me. I feel like I’m handy with a lot of things around the house, but plumbing and electricity are not it.

Looks like I’m going to have to get online and find a tutorial or call the electrician. I’m thinking I’ll do the later since they re-did the wiring just before I moved in. Surely, this shouldn’t be going off already. And if I remember correctly, there’s some kind of warranty for the first year after they replaced the faulty shit to begin with.

I head back to the front door to grab my phone out of my bag, stopping along the way to open the refrigerator. My eyes lock on the candy bar. When a craving hits me like no other, I know what that means. The time of the month is coming. Welcome to shark week. No wonder I’m being a grumpy miser. May as well have chocolate and a glass of red wine. Maybe that will drown out the noise.

A few minutes later, with my phone, drink, and chocolate in hand, I take a seat on the front porch steps. Yes, I have furniture now, but this is nice, too. A clear and unobstructed view of the comings and goings of the neighborhood. Some are greeting their family after a long day of work, some are hustling out the door with kids in tow. “Soccer,” I say to no one but myself. Then there’s an adorable older couple walking hand in hand along the sidewalk. I raise my hand to wave at them. I’d stop them, except there’s an important call to make.

“Hello, this is Duda & Sons Electrical. How may I help you?” the receptionist answers on the third ring.

“Hi, this is Lennon Sinclair. Your company replaced the wiring in my house a few weeks ago?” I jog her memory.

“Let me pull your file up in the system while you tell me what’s going on.”

“The smoke detector is going off. There’s no smoke,nothing is on, yet it’s beeping without a care in the world.” I take a bite of my chocolate once I’m through with my explanation.

“Ah, there you are. Okay, let me see what I have on the schedule.” My stomach drops. The chocolate no longer tastes sweet on my tongue. Instead, it’s bitter. Any time someone sayslet me look at the schedule, it’s bad news. I know, it’s me at work, except when there’s an issue, I really do try to see what I can do to help.

“Okay.” I chew my sweet treat then go after my wine. One healthy sip later, she’s back.

“I hate to say this, but the earliest I can have a technician out is Thursday.” Well, fuck. This sucks.

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