by Bella Wright
“The fire started in your apartment.’ I said, trying to calm that fire of rage in my stomach that blew up instantly, it seemed to spurn and inflame. After years of being a fireman, people’s stupid mistakes in starting fires enranged me like nothing else.
She looked at me, a little glassy-eyed. “Yea, I had candles.”
I threw my hands up. “Candles. Someone almost got killed because you had to use some candles? You’ve got a cat! Of course, it was going to knock one of them over.”
“It was an accident,” she shouts back. scowling, her getting angry right-back has disarmed me, and I realized I had just shouted at her, a stranger.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I need to go.”
I walked back to the firetruck, where Dan patted me on the back. “What was that about?”
“Nothing. Just pushed another girl away.’ I said as I sat down on the truck.
There was no way she’d be calling me now. And as she had my number, and I didn't have hers, I couldn’t call her to apologize.
That charred up note with my number on it was probably scrunched up now, thrown down the drain.
5
Ellie
“Thanks so much for letting me stay here!”
I dropped Sam, he gracefully fell to the ground and stretched as I embraced Charlotte.
“That's fine, I can’t have you living in a charred up room, you’d get sick.” She picked up one of my suitcases and walked with me to the guest room.
“It will only be for a few days, once the landlord has gotten the renovators in, they need specialist people to deal with fire damage.”
“I’m sure. But that’s not what I want to hear about.”
“What?”
She punched my arm playfully. ‘Tell me more about this hunky fireman.”
“Oh, well, it didn't end up so well.”
“What do you mean? I’m gonna make coffee, would you like one?”
“Yea that would be nice.”
I watched as she made the coffee, I always felt comfortable being around Ellie, she was about the same weight as me and she made me feel more… normal. Less like I had to make excuses for myself.
Not that I ever should have to do that. But I'd be lying if I didn't feel it sometimes.
“You never answered the question. Tell me about him. What happened.”
“Well, I offered to interview him, for the paper. And that was all fine. Firstly he seemed disappointed, I think he thought I was asking for his number. Which, I would have done. But then… well.”
“Well?” she walked over to me and handed me a cup of coffee.
I stared into the liquid. “Well, I admitted that I had started the fire with my candles. And he went all angry, like, super angry! It kind of ruined the whole thing.”
“I see.”
“What do you think?”
“Do you still think he's a hero, for rescuing your cat?”
I looked over to Sam, who meowed at us.
“I do.”
“Then, you dummy, give him the interview. He's a fireman, so of course, he got mad about your candles! That doesn't mean he's gonna be like that in any other situation. And really, if you won’t give him the interview now, it just tells me you were only doing it so you could get his number, and that would be against your journalistic integrity, or whatever you call it.’
I laughed, feeling better. “You’re right. I’ll call him soon.”
“You better! And get a picture of him, so I can see just how hunky he is.”
“You’re terrible.”
“Hey, I’m your friend. So what does that say about you?”
“That I'm terrible too?”
“Bingo.”
My bag was next to me, and as if it was see-through, I could see the note inside, with his number on it, it had felt like a lead weight in my bag ever since I had put it in there.
I pulled it out of my bag and unfolded it. Right next to his sooted thumbprint, was his number.
I stared at the thumbprint first, finding it somewhat mystifying, the level of detail it held. It was like a part of him was here with me, I could have looked at it for hours.
And that's when I thought, this might be more than a crush.
I shook my head, that was silly.
I took my phone out and dialed the number in. Before I pressed the green button, I looked at Charlotte and grinned.
She got up from the couch. “I’m gonna give you some privacy.” as she left the room, I pressed the button.
One ring.
My heart stopped.
Another ring.
It started thumping at record speed. Every little part of me wanted him to not answer and to answer at the same time. It was paradoxical, but nothing about this made sense. I should have just thrown the note away and moved on with my life.
“Hello?”
“Hi!” I said, rather too excitedly. “It’s Ellie, the journalist. I don’t know if you remember but you gave me your number the other night.”
“Of course I remember, listen, I wanted to-”
I cut him off. I didn't want to hear his apology. “It was my fault. I was the dummy that started the fire.” I felt myself going red. Who says the word ‘dummy?’ “I owe you an article. When’s your next day off?”
Silence for a moment. It was so difficult to read his words. They were measured, considered. As if he didn't want to say a word out of line. It made me jumble up my words even more and say far too many.
“Tomorrow, lunchtime?”
“Excellent, that's great! Wonderful!” Why did I suddenly sound British? “Do you know this place?”
I told him the name of a local bar, it was close enough for me to walk to.
“Sure, I’ll see you there Ellie.”
Once again, when he said my name, I felt that tingle down my spine, a shuddering butterflies of cold and warmth.
“Thank you Andy.” suddenly all the cheeriness was taken from my voice, I sounded soft and yet serious. And he probably thought I was crazy.
“Alright, see you tomorrow.”
The next day, I stood in front of my mirror, in the outfit I had chosen. A grey and black checkered dress, paired with a maroon lipstick. I looked both a professional journalist and a bombshell. I actually felt hot! At least in my face. I tried to pretend my figure wasn’t as large as it was.
Which was difficult, as I was looking at my curves, reminding me of their existence. I felt this shocking memory of how he had picked me up with no difficulty at all. I wasn’t too large for him.
I went bright red and tried to brush away those thoughts, picking up my blazer and putting it on, my pen and notepad under my arm, I was kind of old-school like that, finding people opened up more and thought you had their attention when you weren't clicking away on a phone.
I had decided to get to the bar early.
First, I could pick where to sit, an enclosed location, where he would feel more comfortable talking (and that had nothing to do with me wanting to feel more alone with him).
Secondly, I would catch him off guard, and with the upper hand, I would get a better interview.
So imagine my surprise and disappointment, when arriving there thirty minutes early, he was already there!
He had chosen a booth, and I wondered if it was for similar reasons as my own. But that thought went when he stood up.
He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, a simple outfit, but the way his veined muscles popped out of that t-shirt, my god. And the way he stood up and I recognized him immediately, despite him in regular clothing, and looking untainted by the helmet and uniform.
He held out his hand for me to shake. I didn't even remember walking towards him, it was like I was in a trance and suddenly there I was before him, lost for words.
And when my hand touched his, sparks flew between us, I felt them.
“Ah, sorry about that, think I built up some electricity walking on the carpet.”
“What?�
�� I guffed, like a fool.
“You didn't feel that? I thought there was an electric shock.” he scratched the back of his head again, his signature move.
“Oh, yea, that’s what that was.” I went a little red, realizing I had mistaken that little electric shock for a tangible spark between us.
The attendee of the shop came over. “Can I bring you two over some drinks?”
“A glass of red wine please,” I ordered, smiling and trying not to embarrass myself.
“Soda, I'm driving,” he ordered in his stern whiskey-voice.
“So. Why don’t we start from the top? What made you want to be a fireman?”
“Well, I was a young man, I didn't have any academic skills, but I wanted to help people. And because I was always strong, this seemed like the best way.”
I looked at his biceps, which seemed to tense as he said that, did he do that on purpose? Or did his muscles have a life of their own? I felt flustered.
He continued. “And 30 years later, I'm still on the job, it was the best decision of my life.”
I smiled at him. And he smiled back. For a moment we stared at each other. Then I said, looking down at my notes, “It certainly benefited me. What went through your head, the moment you decided to defy orders?”
He leaned back. I wondered if I had asked too defensive of a question. All my journalistic skills seemed to have flown out the window, and I just wanted to ask him that.
“I could tell how much you loved that cat, in your reaction. He was clearly family to you. I’ve got a chosen family too. Everyone at the fire station. I understand what it means to find it in the unlikeliest places.”
I was a little lost for words. I just nodded.
“And well. I knew the fire was dealt with, there was no reason why I couldn’t go in there. Apart from stupid bureaucracy. Things were different in my day.”
He went silent for a moment, scratching his arm, did he feel embarrassed about bringing attention to his age? I didn't care. It only made him more attractive to me. Those grey hairs, the scars of his job across his face. He was so distinguished and handsome.
I found myself putting my hand on his forearm and saying. “Thank you. It meant a lot to me.”
We sat in silence for a moment, but it wasn’t awkward, we were both just enjoying the moment. I looked at him and smiled, he smiled back and I looked down embarrassed.
I had asked him everything I needed. There was no reason for us to stay here any longer.
But when the drinks came. I took a sip of my red wine, and I found it gave me courage.
At the same time, I said. “Hey.” and he said. “Listen.”
We both laughed. Then he said, “I’m meeting up with the guys for a few drinks soon. Do you want to come?”
I blurted out, without thinking. “I can ask them a few questions! I bet they have some very nice things to say about you, I can put in the article.” as if I needed to make an excuse for him asking that. What was wrong with me?
“Right, yeah.” he looked disappointed. Did he think I was only interested in the article? Did he not realize how much I was crushing on him because I kept giving him reasons to think otherwise.
And did I not realize myself, that it was more than a crush?
The waitress came with our drinks, I held my wine in both hands and sipped it. That was when I looked down at what I was wearing. It was fine for an interview. But to go to a bar, where the drinks might flow and I might spill. I needed to wear something more sensible.
“I need to go home first and get changed.”
‘I’ll drive you.” he offered. And it wasn’t really an offer, but he was telling me.
I grinned. “Thank you. What time are you meeting your friends?”
“Anytime now.”
I put the glass down and stood up. “Let’s go.”
When we walked out of the bar, I felt his huge presence behind me. No guys looked at me or if they did, it was only for a moment. No lingering, perverted gazes. I held my folder and grinned to myself. Feeling so protected in his presence, even though he was behind me. I could feel it.
He pushed the door open for me, and for a moment, put his hand on the small of my back, I felt goose pimples travel up and down my body from the spot he touched. And when I looked up at him he let go.
I didn't want him to, I wanted his hand there forever.
And in other places.
It was a little cold outside, but I felt tingling warmth between my legs.
There was no mistaking what did that.
I walked beside him, whilst he dug into his pocket and pulled out his keys, beeping the sports-car beside us.
“You drive this?” It was the last thing I expected him to drive, feeling a little guilty for stereotyping him, but I was sure he would drive a truck of some kind.
“Yea, I saved up.” he grinned, and I could tell how proud of the car he was.
“It suits you,” I said.
I climbed into the car and got my seatbelt on.
When he reversed the car out of the spot, he put his hand on the back of the seat, I felt like he was controlling both the car and me. I was in his grasp.
It was wonderful. Being in that ‘claimed’ position. Like I was his.
He did it like it was nothing though, and when we returned to face the front, the car sped off, my head lurched back from the speed.
“Sorry about that.’ he grinned, knowing exactly what he was doing.
“Oh no, it's fine.’ I touched my chest, feeling my heart racing. Then I touched his forearm again, not for any real reason.
I just wanted to.
6
Andy
“It’s just left here.”
I gripped the steering wheel tightly, as we turned to her friend’s house, where she was staying.
It was such a short walk, she didn't need me to drive her.
And I watched as she got out the car, I electronically rolled her window down so she could 0lean into it. I noticed her cleavage, almost spilling into the car, for a moment I stared, dumbstruck before I looked at her face and I realized she must have seen me.
And I could have sworn I saw the faintest hint of a smile.
“I won’t be long.”
She left and walked away. I watched her glamorous strut. Even the way she walked seemed too good for me.
But once upon a time, I thought a car like this was too good for me, and look what happened, I bought it and it was like I had owned it the whole time.
Maybe I could be with a woman like her.
I closed my eyes and tried to picture it.
Her, at my home, waiting for me.
She’d be wearing some cute outfit, I bet she had a lot of cute clothes. And she’d greet me with a kiss.
A smiled, picturing my hands holding onto her arms, her hand on my chest, and she’d press her body up against mine.
In the fantasy, and real life, I felt myself get hard, a throbbing need.
As we kissed more passionately. In the fantasy.
And then I thought of another one. A knocking on her door.
She’d answer it and it’d be someone else, one of my friends, to tell her I had been lost in a fire. And she had to deal with whatever I left her with, alone.
I frowned, and I heard the knocking again.
“Hello, aren’t you going to let me in?”
I opened my eyes and saw her there.
“It’s unlocked.” As I leaned forward to open the door for her, she opened it herself. “Ah sorry, I'm used to us girls locking our doors. You guys don’t need to worry about that sort of thing.”
“No.” I gave a slight chuckle, but I wasn’t really laughing. All I had to worry about was fire.
“So, are we going straight to the bar?” she asked. I glanced at her when we were at the traffic lights. She had on plain jeans and a t-shirt, her outfit matched mine, was this something she had done on purpose?
“Sure, I know the owner, he lets me park it a
round the employee spot, I'll probably leave it there overnight.”
“That’s good,” she said.
“Yea?”
“We can have a drink together.”
She beamed at me, and the way the lips closed together, that maroon color, god.
I wanted to kiss them.
Then there was a beep behind us. The traffic light was green.
I said nothing, but I could tell she was grinning. You could feel the energy in the car.
We arrive. I get out of the car first and walk over to her door. I’m glad she hasn’t gotten out herself. It gives me a chance to be gentlemanly, as I open the door and offer my hand, she takes it and grips tightly. Maybe a little too tightly. Once she's out her hand stays in mine, I close the door and beep my key, whilst her fingers are still interlocked.
I let go and she adjusted her bag.
“Let's go in,” I swear to god I'm more nervous than I would be in front of the biggest fire. The guys have no idea I’m bringing her, and it would be as big of a thing for them as me. They know my stance on women, I don’t even entertain the idea of casually dating them.
And yet, all sense has gone out of the window for Ellie.
She's got my guard down.
I open the door, she walks under my arm without having to duck. “Thank you,” she says, smiling.
As the loud sounds of the bar greet us, it's filled with people.
I put my hand on her back to lead her. “I can see the guys over there.”
She smiles and when I take my hand off her back, she slots her hand into mine and god damn it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
George and Dan are over by a table, we walk over.
“We had no idea you were bringing a date!” George says.
“Yea, when we saw you we weren't sure it was you,” Dan says.
“Well, it’s me,” I say. I’m glad Dan said that after, so I didn't have to respond to George's comment. “She was writing an article about me. For the local paper. And I invited her along.”
“Right,” he says.
She chimed in. “I'd like to get a quote from one of you, if that's ok, about Andy?”
