“Is that English?” Dylan asked Tony.
“Shaaat,” the other one laughed. “Brooman!”
“Fried chicken.” Marco nodded. “They were cooking fried chicken and the oil got too hot so they put it outside.”
“How the hell did you understand all that?” Dylan asked.
Marco lifted a shoulder. “I guess I speak frat boy.”
Their next call was to a “child struck by a truck” causing every one of the men break out in a cold sweat and respond as if their own child was on fire. But when they arrived at the four-plex residential area with lights and sirens, ambulance right behind them, an older woman sat on the sidewalk holding a rag to the head of a toddler.
“His brother hit him with the truck,” she said with a heavy Spanish accent.
Dylan looked at the yellow metal Tonka toy truck she held, and a slightly older boy hiding behind a bush. He was so relieved he had to bite back a laugh. No one else on the crew was successful at holding back the laughter. Dylan examined the boy, whom he quickly determined didn’t even need stitches. Cleaning the bloody area, he used what amounted to a Band-Aid on the kid.
“We can offer a ride to the hospital, but I don’t think he needs one. That’s all we can do, ma’am.”
She wisely declined.
Dylan was in the rotation from hell. Either that, or God had a great sense of humor. The next call had involved a large and exotic bird stuck in a tree. Reluctantly, Dylan ordered Johnny up a ladder to get the $1,000 clipped-wing bird out of the tree. Part of him wanted to tell the owner that sure, he’d get the bird out of the tree. He’d dispatch his “sniper” immediately.
But that would be wrong.
On the way back to the station, Dylan caught site of something strange in the middle of the road that looked an awful lot like a…dildo.
“Did you see that?” he asked Smitty.
“I was just going to say something,” Smitty said. “Was that what I think it is?”
Dylan and Smitty exchanged a look and in that swift moment a decision was made. They were going to have a little bit of fun with their probie, Johnny Fuller. Though he worked for the SFFD Johnny lived further south in Millbrae and didn’t know much of Miracle Bay traditions. One of which, as with many fire departments, included a good hazing.
“We better check this out.” Smitty turned the truck around.
“Could be important,” Dylan said. Indeed there was a dildo in the middle of the road.
“What the hell is that?” Johnny asked, grimacing.
“What does it look like? It’s a dildo.” Dylan barely suppressed a laugh.
“Shame. Someone is going to be very unhappy.” This came from Smitty.
“And it could be a road hazard.” Dylan turned to Johnny. “We need to remove it. You’ve got this, right?”
“Me?” An utter look of horror crossed Johnny’s face. “Why don’t we just leave the thing there? Maybe they’ll be back for it.”
“It could cause an accident. Everyone stopping to look. We’ve got you covered. Smitty will block the road with the truck and we’ve got a minute or two.”
Dylan had to give it to the guy. His jaw set and dialed to granite, Johnny carefully put on gloves, a mask, then bent on one knee to pick up the dildo, and as though the thing were nuclear waste, bagged it carefully. Dylan couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard. It wasn’t until then that Johnny realized he’d been had. Back at the station, after every dildo joke had been beaten into submission, they finished household chores.
It was Marco’s turn to cook and he fed the crew ground turkey chili with black beans. The crew made their usual complaints about the noxious gas fumes they’d all have to endure. Marco reminded them beans were healthy, turkey was low-fat, and also that he’d brought along plenty of air freshener.
Dylan retired to his bunk that night exhausted. The men all shared a large room, four twin beds to a room. He usually bunked with Smitty and Tony and sometimes Marco. Best part of being with the old timers was the fact that they rarely wanted to chat about their day. Ear buds in place, he turned up the volume and folded his hands behind his neck. Rage Against the Machine blasted in his eardrums until he heard an incoming text. Holding his phone up, he read:
Chuck:
Sorry if I was mean today. I’m in a bad mood. I guess I’ve been in a bad mood for a while. Are we okay?
She added a sad emoticon.
Dylan smiled for the first time that day. His reply was short and sweet:
Always.
4
“I think my soulmate might be carbs.” ~ meme
Charley sat behind the wheel of Coral’s old sedan, dressed in black pants, black sweats, and a black knit cap. All the better to blend into the night if she had an opportunity to get out of the car and take care of business. She’d decided that Dylan couldn’t give her advice on this because he didn’t have a sister. Therefore, he couldn’t give advice on the sanctity of the sisterhood. Enough said.
She’d brought along the cheap binoculars she’d purchased online and squinted through them to get a better view of what was going on inside the Victorian on Missouri Street. Through the window, she spotted her target: one Jim Mulvaney. An innocent sounding enough name but if Charley was to believe Naomi, and she did, he had been a regular at the bakery. He and Milly flirted constantly, according to Naomi, Charley’s little informant.
Why did he suddenly stop coming to the bakery? Huh? Who knew? Very mysterious. He didn’t even show up on Miracle Sunday where all pastries were buy one, get one free. Suspicious with a capital S. It wasn’t like their product had changed. Seemed unlikely he’d go anywhere else for his donut fix unless…unless he was hiding out, worried he might be the father of Milly’s baby.
Quite possible. But Dylan was correct in that Charley wasn’t getting anywhere by confronting men. So, she’d simply fine-tuned her approach. From now on she was going the DNA way. All she had to do was collect DNA samples from the small pool of likely candidates (minus Peter, of course. Damn. Poor guy.) and save them in the bakery freezer until such time as Milly’s baby was born. Then, Charley would announce she had collected the specimens, and Milly would cave. A side benefit of all this was that Dylan could stop bugging her and she could stop lying to him. Because she was not technically going after all these men to confront them. She was just going to collect their DNA, that’s all. Easy-peasy.
She’d done her research and just needed a few hair strands, a cigarette butt, or a discarded cup or bottle. Going through someone’s trash was the perfect way. And she didn’t even think this was technically illegal. She should thank Mr. Tramarco for being such a regular beer drinker. Quite helpful. Unfortunately, from the recent surveillance she’d done, Jim wasn’t much of a drinker. Or a smoker. Seemed like kind of a saint, actually.
Every evening around six he went out for a jog with his cute poodle. He’d be sweaty when he got back but in order to get sweat DNA, she’d have to jog after him, and offer him a towel to wipe up. That made her sound like a weirdo. Who goes around offering strange men a towel? Besides, sweat DNA was unreliable. And there was all the jogging she’d have to do to catch up to him. Not going to happen.
Instead, she’d decided the trash route was the safest. Dressed in black she wouldn’t attract attention. She’d parked two houses down so that when Jim brought out his cans and went for his jog, she could get to work. Like, clockwork, Jim left his residence at 5:55 pm, took out his cans and went for a jog. Charley ducked as he jogged past her, and when safe, climbed out the driver’s side door and went for the trash.
And holy wow. Jim’s trash was a thing of beauty. This guy should win a citizen’s award. He probably used fruit peels and coffee grains to compost because there was nothing disgusting in his trash. She was forced to dig through his recycling bin where she found spring water bottles. Charley carefully lifted one with her gloved hand and put it in her plastic bag. Mission accomplished.
She had her hand o
n the door of the sedan when from behind her someone said, “What are you doing?”
Charley whipped around to confirm the reason for the tingle up her spine. Of course, it was Dylan. Jaw tight, eyes narrowed, brow creased. Arms crossed.
“None of your beeswax,” she said, throwing the bag in the car.
He scowled. “This is getting out of control.”
“You should be happy. I felt horrible about Peter, so I listened and I’m not confronting or scaring any more guys.”
“You’re just pilfering through their trash like a nut burger.”
Whoa. Calling her a nut burger. Okay, this was kind of unusual behavior, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “What are you doing here, anyway? Are you spying on me?”
“Dropped by to see you and Milly said you went jogging.” He shook his head. “Knew something was wrong.”
“Why is it so crazy that I would take up jogging? Huh? Why?”
He stepped right into her and planked his arms on either side of the car, blocking her in. “You once said you wouldn’t run if a grizzly bear was chasing you. Said you’d curl up in the fetal position and cry like a baby.”
Charley’s breath caught in her throat because he was so close that she could breathe in his wonderful scent of leather and whatever divine soap he used. All of this was a little distracting.
“T-that’s what you’re supposed to do. Besides, I couldn’t possibly outrun a bear! Why should I even try?”
Hands coming down to her waist, he easily picked her up, moved her aside, and opened the driver’s side door. “Get in the car and go home. Now. Before I have you arrested.”
“Seriously?”
“May come as a shock to you but you can’t go through people’s trash. Maybe if you’re a cop. But with all the identify theft going around, you could be looking for sensitive information. And a man’s DNA is about as sensitive as it gets.”
Difficult to argue that point. She chewed on her lower lip and hung her head. “But I don’t know what else to do.”
He tipped her chin and in his eyes she saw a flash of sympathy for her in that shimmering dark gaze. “Sorry, but I’m with Milly on this one.”
“If you were going to be a father, wouldn’t you want to know?” She went for the big guns. Dylan would want to know without a doubt.
“I would, but that’s not the point.”
“The point is I can’t stand the thought of Milly doing this alone. While I’m off in another state on another job or maybe even as far away as Paris, and I can’t help with midnight feedings through a text or a phone call.”
Neither Dylan nor Milly understood what it was like to have a wanderlust in one’s blood. Because she’d never known her father and lived with her mother, Maggie, for only the first six years of her life, she couldn’t be sure it was hereditary. She only knew that she wanted to see the world. In Paris, she’d learn French cuisine at the hands of a master chef the way Julia Child had. Absorb all the knowledge, all the secrets of the trade, and eventually open her unique bistro. She’d serve every kind of food in the world.
Dylan stood by the driver’s side door holding it open for her. He waved her inside. “Go home.”
When he didn’t move aside enough for her to get by, she brushed up against the solid wall of male that was Dylan Reyes.
“I’m going home now, but this isn’t over. I want it on the record that you didn’t win this argument.”
“We’ll see about that.”
His heated dark eyes caught a glint of the streetlight, and she didn’t actually think she’d ever seen him this angry before. Unless…no, he was angry.
She wasn’t going to read anything else into that sultry gaze.
5
I just don’t want to look back and think, “I could have eaten that.” ~ meme
Catching Charley in the act had been far easier than Dylan expected. Then again, he knew her too well. He was always two steps ahead of her. Of course she’d resort to collecting DNA specimens since Mr. “Helpful” Tramarco had practically gift wrapped her a new plan.
Charley could stick around and help raise Milly’s baby, the right thing to do, but Dylan knew that was the problem. Charley didn’t know how to be still. She craved adventure and travel, all things he couldn’t give her. And then there was the fact that they were solidly friend zoned.
Sure, chump, just friends. That’s why lately you’re taking every opportunity to touch her.
He didn’t know what had gotten into him but lately he’d caught himself noticing her. Noticing the curve of her ass. Her toned legs. She’d always joked that he should never trust a skinny cook. And she wasn’t skinny, but fleshy in all the right places. All things he shouldn’t think about. After watching Charley reluctantly drive away in Coral’s sedan he climbed in his truck and headed home. He was beat and looking for a few hours of downtime. Sleep for twenty-four hours sounded like a solid plan.
Pulling up to his restored Victorian on Texas Street, he noted it looked sharp, even if he said so himself. The home had been a rare find in the city. Dylan parked on the street in one of the few designated parking spots on his street. No driveway or garage but the home had everything else he needed. He spotted Marco’s dark-colored truck parked nearby. They didn’t always have concurrent shifts at the fire station, and whenever Marco was off duty he spent his time either at a girlfriend’s house or working construction projects in the Bay Area, wherever he could find them. Dylan sometimes referred work to him that he didn’t have the time to do.
He had been planning to flip this Victorian with his construction partner, Ty, but wound up buying him out. Ty agreed for the buy-out to be below market as long as Dylan agreed to help him out on a few future projects. Now that he’d put thousands of hours of sweat equity in, it was safe to say he wasn’t selling. Not that he could leave the area even if he wanted to. He had too many responsibilities and commitments. Work. Family. Too much time and history invested in this community. And he was happy here, too. He was no longer the poor kid who’d lost his father in the line of duty.
Though Marco wanted his own place eventually, a houseboat he had his eye on, for now he lived with Dylan. Sharing expenses was convenient for both of them.
“Yo!” Dylan said as he opened the front door. Just to make sure if Marco was indecent and had a woman with him, they’d both have a second to run for cover.
That’s all Dylan gave him, though. A second.
“Yo,” Marco yelled back from the kitchen.
“You alone?” Dylan threw his keys on the small table he kept by the door and went through his mail.
Please say yes. Dylan was in no mood to deal with Liz tonight. She was always so peppy and perky. Dylan could only take her in small doses.
“Yep. Bought a gourmet pizza. Too tired to cook.”
“Seriously?” Dylan strode into the kitchen following the smells of tomato sauce, garlic and pepperoni.
This was most excellent. Marco was usually too concerned with his health to eat the dreaded carbohydrates. Dylan had no such concern. Like Charley, he believed he also might have been a carb in another life.
“And beer.” Marco opened a bottle of beer and slid it across the counter.
“Holy shit.” What a great night this had worked out to be. He’d caught Charley red- handed, re-directed, and now he was going to enjoy a good meal before sleeping like the dead.
“I’m celebrating,” Marco said, holding up his beer. “Donna finally said she’d go out with me.”
Dylan squinted. “Donna? What happened to Liz?”
“You gotta keep up. I haven’t seen Liz for a week.”
“A whole week.”
“Yeah, she dropped me hard when I told her the truth.”
Dylan took a slice right out of the pizza box. “What truth?”
“That I’d rather have my balls roasted over an open flame than go on a sailboat with her on Sunset Kiss.”
“You’re such a poet.” Dylan took
a swig of his beer and gave Marco the side-eye. “You can’t honestly believe in that legend.”
“Nah, but why the hell take my chances? That’s just bad juju.”
“It’s a silly fantasy. Nothing to it. A way to get laid.”
Marco wiped his mouth on his shirt like a ten-year-old. “But what about Dom? Remember, he kissed Lisa Marie at sunset. Next thing you know, he’s getting freaking married. I’m telling you, there’s something to this thing.”
“She was pregnant.” Dylan quirked a brow.
“Yeah, but still. I mean, what kind of bad luck is that, you know?”
“The failed contraceptive kind?”
There was the sound of a knock at the front door and Dylan whipped around, then back to Marco. “You expecting anyone?”
He shook his head. “Not seeing Donna until Friday.”
Dylan went to the front door and opened it to find the prodigal brother. Joe had grown a scruffy beard since Dylan had last seen him. He wore board shorts, flip-flops, a Santa Cruz Surf’s Up windbreaker, and a smile.
“How’s it hanging?”
Relieved to see him, Dylan grabbed his brother in a bear hug and hauled him inside. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming today?”
Joe fist pumped with Marco. “Pizza night? Do I have great timing or what?”
“Or what, little brother,” Marco said, offering him a slice and a beer. “How’s Santa Cruz?”
Mid-bite, Joe just nodded emphatically. “Took a few days off and came up early.”
“Thought we’d see you on the Fourth,” Dylan said.
“Can’t I just come up to say hello to my favorite brothers?”
He could. He just rarely did. Joe showed up for holidays and special occasions and also when he was in trouble. Or needed something. Dylan tensed, a Pavlovian response to Joe. He was forever conflicted when it came to his little brother. Help, or don’t help? Let him figure it out on his own, or rescue him? And how many times?
The Accidental Kiss Page 3
