by Shey Stahl
“I’ve already heard everything you’re saying,” I mumble gruffly, wanting to stop talking about my issues. “You’re like a broken record.”
When you’re a firefighter, you have to be on your game. You’re the one guy doing something extreme and living on the edge. You’re saving lives in a way that only you can. When everyone else runs out, you run in.
I know that.
I try to live my life on the values of a firefighter. And if necessary, I will fight to save people even if it takes my life, too. It’s the oath I took.
What I don’t agree with are assholes like that football player acting like his possessions in his home were more important than a child.
As I watch Evan, I’m surprised he can keep it together as well, because he was there too. He saw that accident with the kid, but he shakes it off easier, or like I said, he’s better at controlling his emotions than I am.
NO SOONER HAD we gotten back, unloaded the SCBA tanks and loaded new ones and another call came through.
“Engine 25, ladder 10 . . . motor vehicle accident, Alaskan Way . . . 200 block. Battalion 2, aide response, rollover.”
We arrive at the pier minutes later, where a man has launched his car through a barrier and landed upside down, dangerously close to the edge.
“Holy shit,” Finn mumbles, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
Me, I’m not impressed by much of anything anymore.
“What I want to know”—Owen climbs over the guard rail and starts down the hill—“is how the hell this guy pulled this off. I mean, the dude on Christmas, that was believable. Guy-wires can do all kinds of crazy shit. But this guy . . . he had to be going at least one ten to launch his car this far.”
“Crazy bastard is probably high,” I grumble, following him down the hill.
Owen glances back at me as we carefully make our way down to the car, rain hitting our faces and soaking our gear. “So you really didn’t get her number? I know where she lives. We could swing by there on the way back to the station.”
And we’re back to my sex life again.
I shrug. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I do know what he’s talking about and really want to know where she lives, but I’m not about to tell Owen that. Especially not after Gemma. I was dating a fuckin’ stripper and didn’t know it. Do you know how much shit I caught over that?
More than I ever cared to. For weeks after I found out I had thongs stuffed in my locker, a blow-up doll in there once with a pole taped to her legs and even a strip-a-gram sent to my apartment, courtesy of the guys over on Ladder 1, Gavin’s station.
Now I’m not telling these fuckers anything. Don’t get me wrong, it was all in good humor, and I laughed it off but still, I don’t want them knowing about Mila just yet. Mostly because if they say anything bad about her, I’d probably knock their teeth in.
“Oh, Jesus.” Owen laughs, knowing exactly why I’m being weird. “So you’re all secretive now that you’re getting some?”
I don’t classify two times in one night getting some. Though I wish that was the case, it’s not. Sadly.
“Stop talking to me.” We approach the vehicle, assessing what we need to do. There’s a man trapped inside and he’s lying against the steering, causing the horn to be stuck on. “That’s just about as annoying as hell. Someone disconnect the battery.”
Jay comes up next, reaching around inside the car. “What’s that chick’s name anyway? She work at a strip club too?”
See what I mean? What a bunch of relentless fuckers.
I don’t bother answering him. I want him to shut the fuck up about Mila. “We need to get the car stable.” I hit Finn in the chest lightly. “Kid, go grab the airbags.”
Finn doesn’t move, looking at me and then Owen.
I raise an eyebrow. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
“Nope.” His face is blank, like his knowledge of firefighting, apparently.
Evan approaches, shakes his head and drops down to his knees, inspecting the car. “I wonder what the fuck they’re teaching down at the academy these days, ’cause it sure as shit ain’t firefighting anymore.”
He has a point.
Owen and I manage to stabilize the vehicle and disconnect the battery, and with the help of Evan, extricate the man from the vehicle and leave it up to the EMTs to save his life.
And he’ll probably survive, but he’s going to have some pretty large medical bills after this.
On the way back to the station, Owen grabs his stomach. “I’m hungry. Do you think this will fit through the drive-through?”
“Why not?” Evan smiles, hungry as well.
The truck doesn’t fit in the drive-through. We try, and end up having to explain to the captain why we brought a Taco Bell’s drive-through menu with us back to the station.
“About this sign. You gotta return that shit to Taco Bell. I don’t know . . .” Our captain is laying into us when another call comes through. It’s turning out to be a busy night with little downtime, and I’m thankful.
“Engine 25, Ladder 10, Battalion 2, Engine 10, Ladder 1, Engine 5 . . .” When they keep listing off the apparatuses to arrive, we know this one’s going to be a big call.
Just as I’m getting on the truck, Corbin, a firefighter on Engine 25 nails me in the head with his SCBA. He’s also Evan’s best friend. Might explain some of our hostility. Should I mention here he was sleeping with Gemma too?
Eh, not important. Or is it?
“Oh, sorry, man,” Corbin says, running past me toward the engine. “Didn’t see you there, kid.”
I rub the side of my head. “You son of a bitch.”
He saw me all right.
I reach for the handle on the side of the truck, pulling myself inside and sit next to Owen. “Someday I’m going to toss that guy into a burning building without his fucking hose.”
Corbin and I had no real beef with each other, just that we didn’t like one another. Couldn’t explain it. Or maybe it goes back to the fact that he was fuckin’ my girlfriend?
Honestly, I think he’s a pussy who hides behind a nozzle, and he thinks I’m a condescending asshole. His words, not mine. And you know, they’re probably true, but whatever.
“Forget about him.” Owen grins, knowing what I need to hear. “Ready?”
“Always.”
Once we’re pulling out of the station, Owen laughs. “I can’t wait until Corbin gets in his car tomorrow.”
“Why?”
He nudges Finn beside him. “Me and probie glued his doors shut.”
“Now I know why you’re my best friend.” I laugh, feeling better. “I was having some doubts today.”
Indirect Attack
Method of firefighting in which water is pumped onto materials above or near the fire so the splash rains onto the fire, often used where a structure is unsafe to enter.
Did you know there are thirty-five fire stations in King County alone?
I googled it and can’t for the life of me find a directory of firefighters to search him. I even googled “Caleb Ryan,” assuming that’s his last name, but I can’t find anything on that name other than a phone number listed, and I’m too afraid to call it. It’s also a 360 area code for the Caleb Ryan I did find, and I know that’s not a Seattle area code. At the risk of looking like a fool, I don’t try calling.
Scarlet did though, and it turns out it’s a seventeen-year-old kid from Rochester who offered to take her for a ride. She talked to him for an hour, Snap chatted with him and then told him to call her when he turned eighteen in two weeks.
I did drive past his apartment last night though. And by drive by I mean sat outside of it for an hour and forced Scarlet to eat at Lil Woodie’s while she made fun of me for being obsessed with him.
I don’t argue with her because it’s true, and I feel somewhat ridiculous about it. I’m twenty-six and the manager of the hotel. I shouldn’t be stalking people.
I think of all kinds of situations that could happen at the hotel on New Year’s Eve that might warrant a 911 call in hopes he’s working and might possibly be in the area. Our hotel is about eight blocks from his apartment, and don’t most firefighters live in the general vicinity they work?
One could hope, right?
One should focus more on her job.
Like the fact that it’s New Year’s Eve and one of the biggest nights of the year for our hotel and Shade Sawyer is here, somewhere, causing quite the uproar in the city. I had no idea a FMX freestyle racer could have everyone acting like a boy band was staying out our hotel, let alone know who he was.
I hate parties. Even worse, I hate them at the hotel on New Year’s Eve.
Why? Well, whatever goes wrong throughout the night, it’s automatically my fault.
And worse, Judah’s here. You remember him, right? The drummer. Their band is playing downstairs in The Courtyard. Not only do we have Shade here but we have a concert downstairs. We do it big here at Wellington Suites. Hopefully big enough someone gets hurt and we can finally call 911.
I’m tempted to pull the fire alarms just for the fun of it. Maybe the fire department will come.
DESPITE ME AVOIDING the Courtyard and the concert for most of the evening, Judah finds me in the restaurant at around ten while I’m making sure the reservations that were doubled booked this evening had been corrected by the restaurant staff.
I’m walking back to the lobby when I see him leaned against a wall, black jeans and a ripped white T-shirt clinging to his scrawny inked body. It’s hard to believe I used to find him sexy in a brooding drummer way.
Judah gives me a nod when I’m within a foot of him. You know the ones, the cocky nod where he’s trying to play it cool. He’s good at them.
I attempt to walk by him, but he grabs my elbow, swinging me into him. “Who was that guy the other night?” he whispers in my ear and then pulls back, holding me by my upper arms. “You fuck him?”
I shrug his arms off. “That’s none of your business.”
His eyes drop to my dress, a clingy black number I decided to wear. I wasn’t going to wear a dress, but my dad insisted we dress the part for the night. You’d think my father was running a Las Vegas casino with the way he likes to wear formal attire around the hotel.
Judah breathes in carefully, his chest expanding in his shirt with the breath and then he lets it go. “Says who?”
I glare at him, annoyed he’s still holding onto me. Once you break up with me, you’ve lost the ability to manhandle me. “Says you since you broke up with me.”
He narrows his eyes and studies me for a moment. The silent scrutiny has me shifting away from him. “I want you back.”
Shrugging out of his grasp, I shove him back against the wall. “You don’t know what you want, Judah. You want pussy, and if it’s not readily available to you the second you want it, you search elsewhere for it. I can’t be in a relationship with someone like that.”
He laughs into his hand. For being nearly thirty, Judah is a child in many ways. His reaction of laughing proves my point.
IT’S NEVER ONE thing that goes wrong in the hotel industry. It’s usually everything all at once, and this is where I earn my pay.
Heather calls my phone around eleven, and I’m sure it has to do with Shade, but surprisingly it doesn’t. “Hey, Heather, everything okay?”
“No,” she whispers. “There’s a couple at the front desk, and they’re upset there are no rooms available and we won’t rent one to them for an hour.”
“I’ll be right there.” I slip my phone inside my bra. Where else am I going to put it in a dress like this?
The biggest misconception people have is that hotels keep rooms available in case the president comes to town or someone equally famous.
It’s not true. Most hotels never do this because they want every room rented every night. It’s more expensive to have a room vacant than to have someone renting it.
The exception to this are the rooms out of order. Sometimes it’s something major like a leak in the ceiling or busted water pipe or no heat. Sometimes it’s minor like a TV not working or fixing a broken tile in the bathroom which guests do complain about.
If need be, I rent those rooms at a discounted rate but under no circumstances is Heather allowed to.
When I make it to the lobby, there’s a couple in their mid-twenties at the counter, drunk off their asses yelling at Heather that she’s messed up their reservations.
Once I’m up there, the woman with her dress half on, mostly off, is leaning on the counter, her tits pushing up into her chin as she attempts to use the counter as a tit-shelf.
“Ms. Rae here insists we give her a room.”
I don’t like the way Heather says this, mostly because there are things you should never say in front of a guest. Using the word “insisting” is one of them. Guaranteed way to piss someone off.
The woman points in Heather’s face. “She can’t do anything right!”
“I’m sorry for the confusion here but did you make a reservation?”
“No, I didn’t. I shouldn’t need to. I only want a room for an hour.” She winks at the guy next to her wearing more jewelry in his face than her. “Maybe two.”
I want to laugh. I really do, but that’s not going to make it any better.
“Ms. Rae, is it?”
“It’s Gemma actually. Gemma Rae.”
Wow. Say that name with a straight face. Did her parents hate her or is she a stripper?
She looks vaguely familiar but I chalk it up to working in the hotel, and she’s probably tried to rent a room by the hour before.
“Well Gemma, it’s New Year’s Eve. Our hotel is completely booked this evening, and unfortunately, we don’t rent rooms by the hour here.”
She flips her hair from her face. “I want to talk to the manager.”
“I am the manager.”
Her jewelry wearing date eyes me when our eyes meet, and then lower to my chest. Shit. It’s then I realize my dress might be considered a tad inappropriate for working the front desk.
Gemma frowns at me, giving me a look of disgust. “You’re the manager?”
“Yes, I am.” There’s some satisfaction in my tone, and if you ask me, I have the right to feel this way. Heather wouldn’t think so, but we won’t ask her thoughts on it tonight. She’s about to hate me even more. Just wait.
She laughs. “You’re too young to be a manager, and you’re dressed like you should work in my field.”
Okay, so she solved that problem. She’s a hooker.
“I assure you. I am the manager.”
As I slide my business card across the counter, her guy friend winks at me, licking his pierced lip.
When Caleb did it the other night, it was sexy. This guy actually makes me gag a little. Probably because if you take out all the studs and diamonds in his face, he’d look like a colander.
“I have one room that’s out of order because the television isn’t working and if you’d like that room for the evening,”—I can hear Heather’s breathing increase beside me. I don’t have to look at her to know I’ve made her mad by overriding her authority—“it’s on the second floor with no view except looking at a tower crane. I can give it to you at a discounted rate but only if you rent it for the evening, not just for a couple hours.”
Gemma chews on her lip and then looks at the man slash boy next to her. Now that I’m looking at him, I’m almost afraid to know his age.
There’s a moment when I think to myself, shit, if he’s not eighteen, this could be illegal and then there’s another when I’m hoping if I piss Heather off enough for renting a room to this piss head on the other side of the counter, she might stab the hooker with a pen, set her on fire and I can finally call 911.
The night might be looking up after all.
After handing Gemma and holy boy their room cards, I pull Heather aside. “I’m sorry I gave them a room,
but it’s better to have them happy than to risk them causing a scene if we can make the accommodations for them.”
Heather sneers at me, clicking pen obsessively her hand. “No, it’s okay. I know why you got this job, Mila. It’s because you’re willing to do anything to accommodate guests and VIPs.”
Is that sarcasm I sense? If I stab her with the pen, 911 will still get called, so there’s that. But then again I’d probably be arrested and handcuffed before I had the chance to see Caleb. I’d be okay with the handcuffed part but not being arrested. And then there’s the fact that he’s a firefighter, not a paramedic. Shit.
My phone’s ringing again. This time it’s Willa, Shade’s assistant, and I know I need to take the call considering no one knows where Shade went early tonight. “I understand you’re upset with me, Heather, but I promise you, I’m doing my job, and I’m sorry you don’t agree with the way I’m doing it.”
Reaching inside my bra, I pull out my phone and slide my finger across it. “Hey, Willa.”
Please for the love God tell me Shade’s passed out in the hotel and you can’t get a pulse. Actually, I hope she doesn’t, that would suck but, shit, I’m getting desperate.
I wait, and her tone’s casual, which tells me she knows where he is. “Hey Mila, Shade wants two dozen cupcakes from Cupcake Royale . . . right now.”
“Now?” I gasp, looking at the clock. It’s not only a holiday but nearing midnight.
“Yes, he’d like them here by midnight in his room.”
I swallow over the rising lump in my throat. Why couldn’t he be threatening to jump out his window instead of wanting cupcakes? What the fuck is wrong with this dude?
“I know the owner. Text me the order and let me see what I can do.” And then I hang up and stomp my foot. “Goddamn it.” Tucking my phone away, I run upstairs to my office, not an easy task to do in heels, grab my purse and plop down in my chair.
My phone dings and I see it’s Shade’s order.
