Shared by the Firefighters
An MFM Firefighter Novella
Eddie Cleveland
Contents
Acknowledgement
1. Kelly
2. Kelly
3. Zach
4. Desmond
5. Zach
6. Kelly
7. Kelly
8. Kelly
9. Desmond
10. Kelly
11. Zach
12. Kelly
13. Desmond
14. Zach
15. Kelly
16. Kelly
17. Desmond
18. Kelly
19. Kelly
20. Zach
21. Desmond
22. Kelly
23. Zach
24. Desmond
Epilogue
Epilogue
The Beauty’s Beast
TinderElla
Riding Lil’ Red Hard
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Copyright © 2018 by Eddie Cleveland
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
1
Kelly
“You can move all over hell’s half acre, but it won’t make a difference. No matter how many miles you travel, you’ll always be a fat failure.”
My father’s words echo through my mind and make my blood boil. The cheap moving dolly I’ve been wrestling with has been stuck on this step, refusing to budge. Rage burns through my veins and my muscles flex. Tightening my grip on the handles, I give it everything I have.
“Come on, you son of a…” I throw my ample ass backward and almost pull the stack of heavy moving boxes down on top of me as I lose my balance and the wheel comes free. Somehow, I manage to steady myself without smashing any of my pottery.
I set the stack of boxes to the side and collapse on the floor of my new shop. I’m finally finished.
Okay, so that’s a lie.
I still have to clean this shop, unpack all the boxes, set up shelves, find just the right places for all the pottery, set up my studio. But, yeah, besides that, I’m all set.
I lie on my back and watch the ceiling fan dance in a lazy, wobbly circle overhead. There’s still a ton to do, but I’ll get it done. Believing in myself has gotten me this far. I’m not about to give up now.
After all, I packed every one of these boxes and moved them over a thousand miles by myself. I know I’ll get my shop and studio set up. There’s no doubt in my mind.
I’m used to being underestimated. When I told Dad about my plans to sell my pottery in my own store, he snorted.
“Waste of time.” He shook his head.
“Thanks,” I answered bitterly.
I try to blink away the memory. The way he never looked at me with anything but disappointment. Everything was a waste of time according to Dad. Everything except drinking. Even me.
Of all his kids, I seemed to be the biggest disappointment to him. My brother and sisters always said I was the most like our mother. You’d think that would be a good thing. Right?
Not in our house.
My father blamed my mother for “abandoning” him with four kids. As if she embraced her cancer or something. Like she didn’t fight tooth and nail against that horrible fucking disease. She was the one who died, but it was always poor Dad.
Poor dad has to raise his own kids.
Poor dad can’t just live at the bar.
Poor dad has to earn money to feed us.
My lips tug down and I wipe away tears I never felt form as they streak down the sides of my face and fall backward into my hairline.
In most families, the youngest is the baby forever. The spoiled one who soaks up all their parents’ love and adoration. In my family, I was the only thing keeping my father from following his true path, the well-worn one he’d beaten down to the local watering hole.
He didn’t like that my existence kept him from his favorite pastime all the way until I was eighteen. Dad was so happy when I graduated from high school. Most parents proudly watch their kids accept their diplomas and take a billion pictures as they dote on them.
Dad celebrated too. In the pub. Alone.
The truth is, I’m his ultimate disappointment. Not only because my childhood forced him to spend time away from his one true love, the bottle, but because I was the least like him. I never had any interest in pursuing law. The idea of going to university felt about as appealing as the idea of exploring a loaded rat trap with my tongue.
For me, getting my hands dirty and making something beautiful like a vase or mug from something as ugly as a lump of clay just felt poetic. I’d like to think I can relate. That I understand what it means to find your own beauty when you come from dirt.
But then, beauty was always the biggest problem between me and my father. The fact was, he didn’t see any in me. He could never see past the double digits on my clothes. To him, it was one thing to turn my back on being a lawyer for art, but it was damned near unforgivable to have curves.
Or fat, as he went out of his way to call it.
So, yeah, I gave him a courtesy call. It was quick and still painful, even though it was supposed to be like ripping off a Band-Aid. I told him I was moving across the country to pursue my dream and he scoffed. I didn’t expect much else.
I stand up and wipe the heels of my hands over my eyes. The tears blurring my vision smear across my cheeks and I stand tall. I can almost sense my mother’s hand on my shoulder as I soak in my new place. Calm washes over me and I smile.
To hell with him. I’m doing this for me. And I fucking deserve it.
With my shoulders back and my head held high, I make my way over to the large windows on the south wall. I lean against the frame and peer out over my new neighborhood when my breath hitches in my throat and I bite down on my thumbnail.
Damn.
It looks like I lucked out. Next to my yard is the fire station. Down in their driveway, two of the hottest guys I’ve ever laid eyes on are washing the big red truck.
Did I mention they’re shirtless?
Heat flashes my face as I study them. One is taller and has a sprawl of colorful tattoos spilling down his arms. His black hair is cut short and the way his jeans are hugging that tight curve of his ass, well, it isn’t hard to imagine stripping those off and letting my hands run over him.
The other guy has a tight swimmer’s body and doesn’t look like he’s got any ink. If he does have a tattoo, it’s somewhere I can’t see. Not that I’d mind looking for it. His light hair almost looks golden with the sun glinting off the truck. His muscles are lean and cut.
They both look like they could be in one of those firefighter calendars. If they were, I might have to buy them out.
How’s a girl supposed to get any work done with those two out there? My heart flutters as I watch the dark-haired guy scrub the side of the truck with a soapy sponge. Thoughts of getting dirty with my clay and then letting them give me a good sponge bath roll around in my brain.
I should probably go say hi. That’s the neighborly thing to do. It’s only right that I pop in and let them
know who’s going to be living next to them.
2
Kelly
Stepping away from the window, my lips twitch into a smirk. I softly clap my hands over my white T-shirt and jeans to brush the dust free from my body. My long hair is a bit limp after all this sweaty work, so I shake my fingertips through the roots, ruffling it up. A deep breath fills my lungs with air and I push my chest out as I stand up straight.
I force myself to head down the stairs one at a time. I’m just being friendly. This isn’t like some teen crush. So what if the guys happen to be firefighters? It doesn’t matter that they’re both gorgeous.
Strolling out past my driveway, I walk across the pavement over toward the truck. The dark-haired guy turns his head, watching me with a smile. His green eyes flicker down over me and then back up quickly, but not so quickly that I miss it, as I join him.
“Hey.” His voice is deep and velvety. It’s one word. A simple greeting. But it wraps around me like a warm, inviting hug.
My hair dangles down my arm as I tilt my head and smile up at him. The sunlight streaks around his head almost like a halo and I can’t help but wonder if he really is heaven-sent.
“Hi.” My heart flutters as I hold out my hand. “I’m Kelly. I’m your new neighbor.”
“I’m Zach.” He holds my hand in his, giving it a firm shake. For a second, I forget to let go and little tingles travel up my arm as I stare into his eyes.
“Ahhh!” I jump back as cold water sprays over me. It drenches my hair and soaks down into my shirt.
“Desi! Turn it off, man!” Zach yells out, but it’s too late.
In one second, I went from confident and sultry to looking like I fell in a puddle. Story of my life.
“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry!” The other firefighter races over and shuts off the pressure washer. “Oh damn, I got you good.” He looks like he’s trying not to look amused by all this. He’s failing. His blue eyes are sparkling bright, making him look like he’s trying hard not to burst out laughing.
“Nice introduction to the new girl,” Zach chides his partner, giving him a pointed look. “We’ve got some towels inside. Come with me.” He only grazes my arm to guide me inside the station, but it’s enough to make me lose control of my feet. I follow him inside, practically floating on a cloud.
“I really am sorry. I didn’t know you were over there.” Desi finally looks like he means what he’s saying. “I know it’s not a great first impression, but I’m Desmond. Everyone calls me Desi.” He nods at me.
“Kelly,” I answer.
The guys stop at their office and Desi rushes inside and grabs me a towel from inside a duffel bag. I’m surprised by how soft and fluffy it is. But the thing that strikes me the most is how it has a faint, enticing musk clinging to it. I breathe it shamelessly into my lungs as I rub the tan towel over my hair and then pat my shirt off.
I look up at the guys when I realize it’s gotten silent. Completely noiseless, like a vacuum. Both men are watching me carefully dry off. Their eyes are glued to my breasts, which I’m guessing they have a perfect view of now that my shirt is wet. My nipples pucker to pert little peaks, and it isn’t just because of the cold water.
I should cover up. I know I should show a little modesty and drape the towel over my breasts. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the attention. There are much worse things than seeing that smoldering blaze burning behind their eyes and knowing it’s for me.
“I should, uh, get back to work.” Desi is the first to break the silence. As soon as he speaks, it gets awkward. Like we all realize this little show isn’t right. It’s as if a hypnotic spell is broken and we all snap back to reality at the same time.
“Yep, we should do that,” Zach agrees loudly.
“Um, me too.” I nod and quickly finish toweling off. I hand it back to Zach and he leaves it on the desk and joins Desi in escorting me out.
“Okay, well, it was nice to meet you.” Desi won’t look straight at me when he says it. Suddenly shame washes over me as I realize this is all so awkward.
I probably never should have come over here in the first place. Heat spreads over my cheeks and I look down at the ground. “You too,” I mumble and scurry off to my new house.
One of them calls out, “See you around!”
However, I don’t turn back to see who.
I hustle back into my new place and decide it’s time to get back to work. I have a crazy surge of energy vibrating through me that I need to burn off. The first thing I need to do is get the bathroom unpacked. A shower curtain and some towels are at the top of my list of priorities right now. I’m suddenly feeling very dirty and need the soft heat of the shower splashing over me as I think about these two guys, and their big… hoses.
3
Zach
Beep-beep-beep!
The microwave calls for me like my ma used to yell out the door at us that dinner was ready. Except she never served up rubbery Hungry Man dinners. In fact, she’d have a fit if someone plopped one of these trays down on her table and called it a meal. If the lumpy mashed potatoes with a thick, crusty skin covering them wasn’t bad enough, she’d lose her mind at the so-called dessert. The soggy chocolate brownie looks like something one of my sisters would’ve pulled out of her Easy Bake oven. That’s if she used the wrong ingredients to make it. And the oven exploded.
I pop the door open and pluck the hot tray from inside. Steam curls up over the edge of the plastic sheet draped on top and it stings my fingertips.
“Ouch.” I drop it onto the counter and Desi just shakes his head at me.
“Why the fuck do you eat those, man? That’s not food.”
I shrug and try not to enviously eye up his meal. Desi is one of those guys who preps all his meals ahead of time. But he doesn’t just throw a bunch of chicken breasts in Tupperware with some steamed broccoli and call it a day. He cooks up stuff like lasagna or ginger beef stir fry in big batches and then freezes them in portions. His food always smells amazing and, from the times I’ve stolen little samples, it tastes even better. The chicken in gravy with biscuits on the side on his plate are making my mouth water.
“We’re not all five-star chefs or whatever. I don’t even know how you find time to cook like that.”
“I told you before, if you didn’t spend all your downtime binge watching Netflix, you’d have tons of time to cook. I can teach you a few easy recipes,” he offers for probably the thousandth time.
“I’ll tell ya what, how about you come over and do up one of those meals for me?” I smirk.
“Now we’re talking. It’s about time you came to your senses. What do you wanna learn to cook? Pasta? It’s pretty easy.” He’s way too eager to jump all over this.
“Whatever you think, you’ll be the one cooking it. Just make sure you don’t make too much racket while you do it. I don’t want you interrupting my shows.” I laugh.
“Nope. No way. Keep eating that garbage then. I’m not your servant.”
“Awww, but wouldn’t you just look so cute in one of those little French maid costumes, though.” I smirk.
“Yeah? Well, maybe your mom will let me borrow hers after I take it off her.” He knocks me down a peg.
“You keep my ma outta this, Desi. She’d never be caught dead with trash like you.” I bust his chops.
“I dunno. If you learned how to ‘cook’”—he curls his fingers into air quotes—“from her, she’s probably used to the smell of garbage.”
“Just for that, I’m taking this.” I lunge at his plate and grab a biscuit, shoving it in my mouth in one bite. “Mmmm, fanks a lot. Dis is so gud.” I talk with my mouth full and he scowls at me.
“Enjoy it. Eating something that tastes that awesome is only gonna make that pile of crap taste even worse.” He nods to my sad dish of supposed food and plucks his plate up, walking over to the table.
My shoulders slump a little as I swallow the last of his stolen biscuit and join him with my meal. I stra
in myself not to make a face as I take the first bite. Desi was right, it just tastes so much fucking worse now. I stab my fork into the mushy piles and decide to concentrate on something else.
“So, thanks for ruining my moment with the new girl. What was her name? Kelly?”
“Yeah, she’s pretty hot, huh?”
“Understatement of the year, bud. I hope you didn’t scare her away forever with your little spray down routine.”
“Maybe I’ll have to go over and properly apologize. She might need a big, strong man to help her move her stuff in.” Desi’s eyes twinkle as he holds out his arm and flexes his bicep.
“Well, if that’s the case, why would she want you over there? Clearly, I’d be the guy for that job.” I flex both my arms jokingly.
“Sounds like she’d have a decision to make, huh?” Desi looks at me and the sparkle fades from his eyes as he gets serious. “But I think we learned with Tara that it isn’t worth it, right?”
It was just over a year ago that we both had our eyes on Tara. She really played it up, stringing us both along for months and trying to pit us against each other. I’m ashamed to admit that sometimes it worked. Then after messing with our heads and our friendship for close to four months, she just dropped us both like hot potatoes. Only to get married to our fire chief less than two weeks later.
Shared by the Firefighters: An MFM Firefighter Novella Page 1
