Two hours later, satiated with a morning wank and feeling sick from the ice cream, he was ready to face the day. He cleaned himself up and threw the now empty ice cream carton in the bin, breathing out a guilty sigh as he did. He checked his phone and was thrilled to find a missed call from his best friend Lucinda Drake, whom he’d last seen over a year ago. He grinned with joy when he heard the message delivered in Luce’s nasal New York accent.
“Hey jackass, stop wanking off to hot guys and call me back pronto. I’m back in town unexpectedly and thought we could get together for a late brunch and catch up. Talk ta ya later, London.”
Shit, she knows me too damn well.
His spirits rose. It was just like Luce to simply turn up as if no time had passed between them, and surprise him. A late brunch sounded like a plan, perhaps at Jackson and Rye. They made the best avocado Florentine eggs he’d ever tasted. He sighed as he dialled her back.
He couldn’t recall a time when Luce hadn’t called him London. When they’d worked together at The Bohemian Club in Las Vegas, she’d got this crazy idea that London was the be-all of England. He’d been hard-pressed to tell her that there were other great cities.
Luce answered his return call on the fourth ring. “Hey, London Calling. How you doin’?”
Kyle rolled his eyes, wondering if his profile picture was still the same on Luce’s phone. It had been one of him, inebriated after a night out, smiling stupidly next to a red Royal Mail telephone box, with the display name of London Calling. They’d both found it doubled-over funny at the time.
“I’m good. Better for knowing you’re in town. You didn’t give me any warning you were coming over though. Is everything okay?”
He and Luce had worked together for years at The Bohemian Club and become firm friends. Luce still worked there and had a crazy, hectic work schedule that had her travelling around the U.S. to the different casinos that club owned. Her job as a slot operations manager involved a huge amount of what Kyle had thought was boring, mundane work—looking at reports and doing a lot of corporate management stuff involving complex mathematics. He’d rather have poked his eyes out with a stick than do that every day.
She gave a loud laugh. “It was a bit all of a sudden. They offered me a position as VP of gaming, but I like what I do, and I didn’t see myself licking ass all day like that job would have required me to. They weren’t too happy about it. We had a bit of a spat, and when I said I’d go work for the competition, they quickly backtracked and let me be. Since they were nervous I would bolt, I managed to wangle two months off. I’m pretty beat. They owe me like a year of holiday anyway. I got in two days ago and, obviously, I had to call you once the jet lag settled and I caught up on some sleep. So here I am, London, and I’m all yours.”
Kyle chuckled. “Only you could be offered a promotion, turn it down and still end up on the winning team on a two-month timeout abroad.”
“Yeah, well,” she replied wryly. “I had to see my favourite guy and find out how he’s doing. I miss you. Skype and Facebook is fine but it doesn’t replace honest to goodness face-to-face contact.”
He bit back the lump in his throat. “Yeah, I miss you too.”
Luce had been his rock during the turbulent and destructive relationship with his ex-boyfriend, dancer Mario Alves. Not only had she saved Kyle’s life, her love and support had been instrumental in helping him out of the abusive relationship he’d seemed mired in. He owed her his sanity.
“So, are we doing this whole brunch thing then?” he teased, already wondering what he should wear and whether he’d be able to manage all the interpersonal contacts he’d encounter when he went out in public. “Is Jackson’s okay, say about midday?”
She gave a sultry chuckle. “London, that sounds good to me. I’ll see you there. Oh, by the way, look for the chick with blue hair.”
She rang off before he could say anything else. He grinned as he put down his phone. She had a thing for changing her hair colour like she did her garish, slogan-inspired tee shirts. The last time he’d seen her she’d been a redhead—as in her hair was fire-engine red. She was a flaming beacon on the casino floor when they’d worked together.
With his mood lightened, Kyle sped into the bathroom, took another shower—because the spunk-smell he sported wasn’t quite his cologne of the day choice—and dressed into his favourite pair of Firetrap Blackseal Biker jeans. Teamed with a tight-fitting white tee-shirt under a casual grey chambray long-sleeve shirt, Kyle figured he looked good enough to venture out.
He thought if he didn’t drink too much, he might go into the club afterward and finish off a few little jobs he had to do on his list.
He hummed to himself as he picked up his keys, checked he had his wallet and shut the door behind him. The day was suddenly looking a lot brighter.
Chapter Three
Eric Kirby drew a deep, shuddering breath and turned his attention to the unholy mess in front of him. The stench of burnt tyres, blood and fuel pushed at his senses as if to say, “You’d better hurry up. Time is short.”
He wanted to snarl that he fucking knew time was short.
Only three months into the year and already I’m wishing for things to get better.
He crouched down under a streetlight and held onto the limp hand of a woman who had whispered her name was Sarah, and who was trapped in the wreckage of what had once been a family sedan. He muttered soothing words to Sarah, whose glazed eyes stared up at him in panic and fear. There was resignation there too.
Damn it. He wasn’t going to let that emotion defeat the young woman who lay crushed under a mountain of steel.
The firefighters were on their way; he heard the sirens in the distance.
“Not long now.” He smiled reassuringly into Sarah’s blue eyes. She stared up at him, a mixture of hope and fear swirling in her gaze. “Can you hear that? It’s the fire engine on its way to get you out. You hold on, Sarah. Can you do that for me?”
Sarah’s eyes fluttered closed briefly but she nodded. Her hand gripped his tighter. “It’s my son’s birthday celebration this afternoon,” she whispered. “Will I still be able to go?”
He had no doubt this woman wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. She had a broken leg, a piece of steel in her side, a badly bruised sternum from the deployed air bag, and she probably had internal injuries he couldn’t ascertain.
“How old is he today?” he asked, stroking Sarah’s hand softly.
A faint smile lit the pale face of the injured woman. “He’ll be twelve. We planned dinner at his favourite restaurant.” Tears trickled down her face and her face grimaced in pain. “I’m never going to see him again, am I?”
Eric schooled his face to the comforting look that seemed to help victims. Sarah had lost a lot of blood, and while he’d patched her up as best he could, she needed to go to hospital.
“I’ve stopped the bleeding for now—and listen.” His voice rose as the fire engine came into view, screeching to a halt in front of the mangled metal wreck that had been a VW Passat. “Here are the firemen. They’ll get you out, and then we’ll check you again and get you to the hospital. They’ll call your family and let them know what happened. I’m sure you’ll be seeing your son in no time at all.”
He made to stand up, to get out the way for the firemen to do their job, and Sarah’s eyes widened.
“Don’t leave me please,” she begged. Her fingers held onto his tightly.
Eric motioned towards the men coming his way then bent to speak to Sarah. “I need to get out of the way, let the other guys do their job.” The firemen were there now, waiting expectantly, armed with the tools of their trade. “I won’t be far. You’ll be fine in their hands. I’ll see you afterward, and I’ll get you all prepped up for the ambulance ride, ’kay?”
He stood up and met the eyes of his crewmate, Aaron, who regarded him with compassion as he mouthed, “You got this one, partner.”
Eric nodded tiredly and moved out the way as he
turned his hand to its side to smooth hair away from his sweaty, grimy forehead. His neoprene gloves were coated with blood from where he’d tried to staunch the bleeding from pieces of steel embedded in his patient’s side and leg. He peeled the gloves off and threw them into the disposal bin in the back of the ambulance.
I’m not sure how much longer I can do this.
Aaron patted him on the shoulder. “Looks like they’re getting her out okay,” he muttered as they watched the firemen at work. Aaron’s round face was weary, dirt coating his forehead and cheeks. He ran a hand through his bristled dark hair. “Poor woman’s having a fucking rough day. That arsehole who sideswiped her ought to be locked up.” He scowled at the man sitting pale and dejected on the side of the road, surrounded by medical personnel and police alike.
“According to eyewitnesses, the guy was on his phone and didn’t see the traffic light was red. Damn, I wish people would understand that it’s times like these”—Aaron waved a hand at the scene playing out before them—“that just brings home the whole ‘don’t check your mobile phone when you’re driving because you could kill someone’ warnings.”
Eric nodded in agreement. “Yep. It’s just not worth it.” He rubbed his eyes, sudden fatigue stealing through him. “Hopefully the fire department won’t be too long getting her out.” He squinted through tired eyes at the firemen as the car door pulled away with a screech of metal. He shuddered. He’d never get used to hearing that sound. It went right through him.
Aaron sighed heavily. “No problem. I’m going to check the truck again, see that everything’s good for her ride to the hospital. I’ll be with you in a sec to load our patient onto the stretcher.” He left Eric standing there, watching as the firemen secured the vehicle. After what seemed like a lifetime, one of them raised a hand and waved Eric over.
“She’s good to go,” the blond-haired guy called out.
Any other time, Eric might have quite fancied getting down and dirty with him. The guy was a cutie. But now, covered once again with someone else’s blood, tired to his core and wanting nothing more than to finish the hell-shift and get home to slouch on the couch, he didn’t have the energy to worry about what his dick might think.
Before long, his patient was prepped, ready to be taken to the hospital. Together he and Aaron loaded the now semi-conscious woman into the ambulance. Within minutes, Aaron at the wheel, and Eric in the back with their patient, they were speeding their way to the nearest Accident and Emergency centre.
After wheeling Sarah into the A and E ward, and assuring her she was in good hands, they cleaned up the truck as best as they could before the next call out.
There was a young woman who vomited her guts up from drinking too much. Next was an old man suffering from stomach gas who thought it was a heart attack.
Shift finally over, Eric and Aaron travelled back to the Shoreditch station. Both paramedics were permanently stationed there, called having a “line,” which was highly sought after. Eric was pleased he and Aaron didn’t have to move between stations anymore.
“Can I just say I’m glad you were the attending on this one?” Aaron said with a grimace. “I couldn’t face paperwork and reports right now. Honest, I’m so damn tired I couldn’t even find my dick to pee.”
Eric laughed tiredly. “Me too. I hate paperwork, but some poor sap’s got to do it.”
“I’ll stay and help you if you want, after we clean the truck up.” Aaron’s grudging response made Eric smile. He knew if he accepted the offer, Aaron would stay. But Aaron had other responsibilities.
“Nah, you get off. Your grandma will be looking forward to seeing you. God forbid I
should detain you from your regular dinner visit. She’ll circumcise me herself.”
Aaron laughed loudly. “Now there’s a thought.” He visited his grandmother often to check on her health, often with Eric in tow. He liked Aaron’s spitfire of a grandmother, and the feeling was mutual.
“She’ll probably force-feed you matzo ball soup and freshly made challah.” Eric’s mouth watered at the thought of food prepared by Aaron’s bubbie, Norma. Eric had eaten there many a time, enjoying the warm yet biting sarcasm of the spry seventy-five-year-old.
With his own family living in another county, he loved the old woman as much as Aaron did. And despite Norma’s overprotectiveness and constant belabouring to bring a young man round to meet her, she felt the same about him.
“Yeah, in between her telling me to find a good Jewish woman and settle down to give her great-grandkids,” Aaron grumbled as he navigated into the parking garage.
Eric chuckled and they fell silent as they parked the truck. At least we don’t have to restock, he thought tiredly.
There was a company that came in to replenish the vehicle with what the next team would need for the following shift.
He backslapped an exhausted Aaron. “Come on. Let’s get Betty cleaned up and then we can blow this joint.”
Betty was the affectionate name for any truck they manned, named after Betty Rizzo from Grease, whom Aaron adored. Eric had been more into Danny himself.
Aaron grinned. “Yeah, let’s do it.” He looked at his watch. “Shit, it’s eight am. A twelve—make that thirteen—hour shift never seemed so long. Thank God we’re both off now for a couple of days.” He patted Eric on the back.
“Grab your mop, partner. I’ll get the bucket.”
An hour later, the two tired men laid down their gear and smiled at each other in exhaustion.
“See you in forty-eight hours, buddy.” Aaron rolled what were obviously aching shoulders. “I think I might just sleep it away.”
“See you, mate. Enjoy your time off.” Eric gave Aaron a bro hug then watched him walk away. He heaved a deep sigh and walked into the small, crowded office to finish his paperwork. He thought sleeping in most of today had a good ring to it. Then perhaps later tonight he’d go by and see if his friend Ryan Bishop wanted to go for a drink.
Truth be told, Ryan hadn’t been looking so good lately. Normally a bundle of energy, the man seemed to have something on his mind. Perhaps tonight might be the night Eric got to drag it out of him.
He grinned to himself as he powered up the computer. Of course, if Ryan’s partner Mango was back in town from eco-warrioring, Eric might not be welcomed. Mango had a streak of jealousy a mile long when it came to him. It was no doubt a remnant of the days Eric and Ryan had tried dating but it hadn’t worked out. Ryan had still been too crazy in love with his burly eco-warrior.
Still, there was a silver lining. Perhaps that cute, sexy manager at the club, Kyle, would be there tonight.
The last time Eric had seen Kyle, he’d seemed quite taken with him as well. The young man’s beautifully coloured eyes had drifted over in his direction more than once during the conversation.
“Unfortunately, assuming he is gay and interested, a paramedic and a nightclub manager isn’t the best match,” Eric muttered to himself as he titled his head from side to side, trying to ease the kinks out of his neck. “Chances are we’d never get any time together with the hours we work. Fucking government cutbacks.”
He finished his report and powered down the computer. Time to go home, sleep, and then see what the night brought. Assuming when he woke up he still had the energy.
Chapter Four
“Sooo…” Lucinda Drake reached over and stole the last two remaining scallops from Kyle’s plate. His indignant “Oi” didn’t seem to hold much sway as she popped them both into her mouth. “No new beau on the scene then? No sexy piece of ass in the picture?”
He snorted as he picked around the remaining lettuce on his plate. “Not bloody likely. The blind date I had last night turned out to be a real creep. I have this knack of choosing the wrong people.” He didn’t want to tell the full extent of what had happened or he’d be subjected to Luce’s sympathies and probably be hauled in between scented lady bosoms.
She ran a perfectly manicured hand through her hair. The polish
ed red tips clashed with the strands of bright electric-blue hair that swung down to her shoulders. “Baby, don’t say that. You’ll find the right guy one day. Just have to pick the truffles out of the pig swill first.”
He made a face. “Ugh. Way to go with that analogy. I feel sick right now.”
He knew he wasn’t the most discerning of people when it came to relationships—thoughts of his ex sent cold chills through him—but surely, he had to get a break sometime.
He wanted to find a man who was warm and funny, and didn’t use his fists as a solution to everything. Someone who wouldn’t break Kyle and leave him bleeding and ashamed on the floor.
His insides churned and he closed his eyes, thankful that piece of his life was over.
“London? You okay?” Lucinda reached over and covered his hand with her own. “Your hands are freezing. Where did you go right then, or don’t I want to know?”
He blinked. “I just closed my eyes for a second.”
Lucinda’s compassionate gaze washed over him. “You were gone almost a minute; you didn’t hear a word I said.” Her stare darkened. “London, you have to talk to someone about this. God knows it’s been a long time but it’s obvious you’re still stressing about it. You told me you were going to see someone.”
Shit. Here come the bosoms.
His defences went up like solid steel gates. He picked his napkin off his lap and wiped his mouth. “Luce, I told you, I’m fine. I don’t need a therapist.”
I don’t need to relive my life as a puppet, telling some stranger I was a willing, idiotic marionette who didn’t have the guts to leave a psychopath. I don’t need anyone else knowing how spineless I was.
She leaned back, green eyes sparking emerald fire. “I know you think you deserved it, that you were gutless, but that’s not true. People with abusive partners get into this rut—”
He threw down his fancy napkin. “Can we leave this alone please? You didn’t come five thousand miles to rehash my past. I want to have fun while you’re here, not be browbeaten into submission.” He chanced a weak grin. “Been there, done that.”
Survival Game (Men of London Book 9) Page 2
