Page 3 of The Santa Rules
There’s no way to look graceful while writhing on the floor dry heaving into a bag. As quickly as it hits, the nauseasubsides, and I try to sit up. “Thanks, I think it passed.” I hold out the vomit bag, unable to look at the man helping me.
“Can you verify your name and date of birth?”
“Bella, with two Ls, last name Carlisle,” I divulge before reciting my birthdate, even though I’m less than thrilled about sharing it. A lady never tells. And based on this evening’s activities, I am clearly a lady. Cue eye roll.
“Are you able to walk to the ambulance, or do we need to wheel you out?” another EMT I didn’t even realize was here asks as the first one helps me sit up. Does he have an accent or did I hit my head?
“I can walk, but I might need some help.” I refuse to make eye contact with either of them as humiliation burns my cheeks.
“I got you.” An arm snakes around my waist and hoists me up as I groan out in pain. “That okay?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. It hurts.” I want to die of mortification. No one ever sees me this vulnerable.
“No need to apologize. That’s what we’re here for.”
I groan as we slowly descend the stairs. “Shit. Isaac.”
“Do you need me to call someone?” asks the paramedic who’s holding me up.
“It’s my kid. He’s in his room. Gaming.” I’m not surprised that he hasn’t emerged since he usually wears noise-cancelling headphones while he plays. Mother of the year here.
“Do you have anyone that can watch him? A neighbor, maybe?”
“His dad?” I suggest, but I already know that won’t happen. When it’s not his weekend, Jake is practically unreachable.
“Let me get you loaded up, then we can get him sorted.”
I refuse to look at his face because I can tell from the deep, gravelly voice that this man is attractive. We make it out to my front yard, and I spot the stretcher a few feet in front of me. I reach out, groping for it, as tears stream down my cheeks. Thepain is excruciating, and I can’t stop apologizing as the EMT helps me onto the stretcher. I’m the one who helps other people; I’m not used to others helping me. Very few people in my life are reliable, so I’ve learned to depend on myself.
The stretcher is much harder than it looks, making lying on my back unpleasant. Shifting onto my hip takes some effort, but I successfully curl up on my left side, one hand clutching my torso while the other rests under my head. The feeling of something warm and fleshy against my arm sets off alarm bells in my head, but I forget about that when I lock eyes with the most handsome man I have ever seen. His eyes dart around as if unsure where to look while he talks into a device strapped to his shoulder, calling out my vitals as he leans over me, securing me to the stretcher.
I’m jostled down my driveway toward the ambulance, and I pinch my eyes shut in pain as I try to take a deep breath. Nope, that hurts. I can hear hushed voices, and when I open my eyes, I see old Mrs. Johnson across the street pointing at me with one hand while the other clasps her signature pearl necklace. She is literally clutching her pearls.
And when I look down, I see why.
Fuck my life.
That warm, fleshy thing I felt on my arm earlier was my breast. My whole left breast is out of my shirt. Lefty decided this was when she would escape her fabric confines and seek freedom with the wind in her hair. Fuck, I hope there’s no nipple hair on display that I forgot to pluck. Oh my God, I want to die. The hot EMT saw my whole tit and probably my errant nipple hair. And now Mrs. Johnson will probably tell all of Chestnut Mountain.
My sweet, older, next door neighbor Cora calls out, “Don’t worry, Bella, I’ll watch Isaac for you,” as the hot EMT loads me into the ambulance.
“Still need me to call someone?”
“If she can stay with him, that’s fine.”
He climbs out of the ambulance to talk to Cora briefly before hopping back in and closing the doors.
“She said she can stay with him till you get home,” Hardy says as he noticeably avoids eye contact.
Because my tit is still exposed, I make an attempt to reach Lefty and tuck her back in her polyester prison, but I can’t due to the straps holding me down.
“Um, Hardy? That’s what you said your name was, right?” This is humiliating.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You can stop calling me ma’am.”
“Okay, Bella. I’m going to need to take your blood pressure again. Can you straighten this arm?” he asks, tapping on the left elbow of the arm that is folded under my head. The one my tit is propped up on.
