Page 7 of Last First Date
I’m ten minutes early to work because that’s how I operate. I’m the kind of person who gets seriously stressed out if I’m late to anything, and there’s no way I’m going to make that kind of mistake on my first day at a new job.
I head toward the entrance and see Daniels sitting on another guy’s back while he’s doing push-ups. “Just twenty more, rookie,” Daniels calls out, and the crowd around them cheers.
I clear my throat. “Guys,” I say. But nobody hears me because they’re busy counting out the probie’s Daniels-laden push-ups. Secretly, I’m super impressed. Daniels is a heavily muscled, extra tall man, probably two hundred pounds or more of weight sitting squarely on the middle of the rookie’s back.
“Guys, seriously.” I raise my voice, but my words are drowned out by the raucous counting and general mayhem going on.
I pull out my keychain—the one with the flashlight and whistle attached—and blow as hard as I can. The shrill noise cuts through the clamor and the guys all turn to stare at me, eyes open wide.
“Close your mouth, Milligan. You’ll catch flies.” I tilt my head toward the doors, gesturing for the guys to head back inside. “Daniels, get off the new guy. Nobody wants your nasty butt all over them.”
Daniels stands, but makes a lewd humping gesture with his entire body, including an exaggerated “o” face. Apparently, this is his preferred method of dealing with me. Fine. I’ll put an end to that right now.
“Don’t you start shaking that teeny weenie of yours at me again. I saw more than enough of your little Vienna sausage show at the photo shoot.” I shake my head. “We’ve always gotten along because you’re a good trucker, Daniels. Let’s not mess that up today.”
He grumbles something, but eventually heads inside, kicking at invisible rocks all the way in like he’s a little kid instead of a grown up, tough-ass firefighter.
I turn back to check on the rookie who was being squashed underneath Daniels during the push-ups, and of course—of course—it’s Abernathy. To compound the entire hormone-drenched situation, he’s wearing his uniform today and holy hotness.
If I thought he looked good in a fancy three-piece suit, it’s nothing compared to the view I have of him in the fitted uniform that clings to all of his muscles like a second skin. And now I’m thinking about all of that skin of his, like it hasn’t been on my mind almost constantly since the photoshoot.
My brain short-circuits and my mouth goes dry at the recollection of him in that miniscule red underwear. But I make a decent enough recovery to choke out, “Abernathy, what are you doing here?”
His lips curl up ever so slowly, like he’s enjoying me being flustered by him. “Push-ups, Albrecht.” He flexes his biceps, then waggles his eyebrows at me. “I’d gotten to thirty before you cut me off.”
He pauses, running a finger over his plump, naughty looking lips. “Well, thirty-four to be more precise.”
“Thirty-four push-ups? At your age? You’d better slow down or you’ll break a hip or something.” His eyes light up when I give him some push back. That’s right, Abernathy. If you like sass, I’ve got plenty.
“At any rate, let’s get you inside and cleaned up. If you need to scrub the big man butt prints off your back, do that before we get a call.” See? I’ve got casual sarcasm too, for the everyday needs of the people around me. It doesn’t always have to be a sexy push-up contest for me to get snippy.
But just as we’re walking in, the tones sound for a non-emergency house call. I look up at the dispatch. “Who is it?”
“Hopf. That old Victorian on Church Street.” The guys all rustle around a little bit, almost nervously, and I get it. Those older homes can be a real headache to see to on calls, especially when the homeowner is older and maybe not the most maintenance minded.
“Who’s going?” I ask, scoping out the crew before me.
Daniels looks at me with disdain written all over his face. “I don’t know how you did it at township,” he spits out that last word like it tastes bad. Interesting.
“But here we take the non-emergency calls in teams of two alphabetically. That means Abernathy and—” he pauses, weighing me with his dark eyes—“you. Unless you’re too important to take a call now that you went and got yourself a pay raise.”
The room goes still except for the ongoing drone of the tones and the sudden pounding of blood in my veins. The guys are all holding their breath, waiting to see whether I’m going to chicken out or lose my temper.
But neither one of those responses will show them that I’m a damn good firefighter, the kind they can be proud of having as their lieutenant. Nope. The only way to do that is out on a call.
“You heard dinky-winkie there, Abernathy. Let’s go.” I gesture toward one of the smaller SUV type vehicles with my thumb. As we head out, the normal noises of the fire station resume.
And here’s to hoping that Daniels gets a reputation for having a tiny peen because of me, that asshole. How dare he try to make it seem like I’m putting on some kind of airs when I literally just walked in?
We hit the gas on the department’s vehicle, and I squeal out of the station, mostly for show but also because I’m mad.
I’ve always carried my weight, usually more than my fair share at the station. The insinuation that I’m lazy or trying to slide by is outrageous. But the only way I can fix it is to work twice as hard, all over again, until the guys here learn to accept me.
We pull up in front of the address we received and head for the door. With nobody in sight, I nudge Abernathy to move ahead of me toward the door and gesture for him to knock.
Opal Marie Hopf answers the door in a hot pink feathered dressing gown with feathered trim. I can hear Abernathy make a loud gulp as he gets an eyeful of our town’s resident dirty old lady auntie fully made up and wrapped in her frilly lingerie, all before 9:00 a.m. Yep. Looks like I should have had an extra cup of coffee myself.
“Miss Hopf,” he says, as politely as if we are at some sort of high tea instead of a ratty old porch with an elderly woman in a nightgown. “Is everything okay here, ma’am?”
