by Kacey Shea
“Carly!” Heather calls out. I turn back to find a phone cradled in her neck as she waves me over. “You’ve got a call, hun.” Strange. I pull my cell out to check once more. No missed calls. I wonder who it is.
“I better get that.” I smile at Jen. She pulls me in for a quick hug.
“We’ll catch up later. I should get to work, anyway. Love you, girl!” Jenny walks away and I head back to the nurses’ station. Heather hands me the phone and I lean over the desk to rest the headset over my ear.
“Carly Reynolds speaking.” The line crackles and I push the phone tighter against my head. Silence stretches. I try once more. “This is Carly speaking. How can I help you?”
“Hello.” The familiar gravel baritone sends chills down my spine and I drop the phone. The plastic shell clatters to the desk. My heart hammers in my chest and I struggle for breath. The room spins.
“Carly. Carly, hun, you okay? You’re white as a ghost.” Heather rushes around the desk and grips my arm. She pulls me to sit in an empty chair. I resist the urge to throw up. “Breathe. Just take deep breaths. Is everything okay? The boys aren’t hurt, are they?” My boys. I shoot to my feet. I need to get to Eli and Ezra.
“Sorry. I’ve got to go. Heather, if anyone calls here for me again do not give them any information, okay?” She nods. A worried frown fills her face.
“You know I wouldn’t, hun. You sure you’re good to drive?”
“I’m fine.” I’m not, though. I turn and race down the hallway, thankful it’s still early enough not to be crowded full of visitors. Pushing out a side exit, I shove the door with all my force, only it doesn’t fully open. A pained grunt sounds instead. A man dressed in scrubs pulls the door the rest of the way open. One hand covers his face. I don’t recognize him, but a great many people work in this hospital.
“Shit, you really got me there.” His eyes blink rapidly, and though I can’t see all his features, his ice blue stare pulls my attention.
“Oh, my goodness, I’m sorry. I’m in a rush and I didn’t see you. Are you hurt?” It’s then I notice the blood seeping between his fingers. “Oh, crap. I think you’re bleeding.”
“You think? You sure you made it through med school with those deduction skills?” he jokes and pulls his hand from his nose. Even though blood trickles down his frowning face, he’s very handsome. And young. And with a full head of hair. This must be Hottie Doc, or whatever they call him.
“Well, I didn’t go to med school, so there’s that.” I pull several clean tissues from my bag and press them firmly over his nostrils. “I did graduate nursing school, so you’re in good hands.”
He moves to hold the tissues in place and our hands brush in the exchange. His eyes widen and goosebumps run down my arms at the contact. I instinctively pull away. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.”
I brush past him, careful not to touch again. My hands tingle from where he grazed them, and I chastise myself for getting caught up with a stranger at a time like this. I need to get to the boys’ school. See them with my own eyes. Touch them. Only then will I have any chance of getting sleep. I unlock my trusty Camry and toss my bag in first before sliding in. The cool, crisp October morning signals the best Arizona weather is just around the corner.
I take care at each turn and light, refusing to give thought to the earlier phone call lest I get in an accident. My body is tight, muscles taut, and I have to remind myself to inhale.
The boys’ school comes into view. I pull up to the red painted curb and throw my car into park. I don’t give a damn that it’s illegal. I run to the door and press the button to be buzzed inside.
“ID and name, please,” the scratchy voice calls from the speaker. I flip open my wallet, slide the license from its clear plastic holder, and lift it to the tiny camera. “Carly Reynolds, for Ezra and Eli.” The seconds tick by like hours until finally there is a loud click from the door. I reach out and pull it wide.
“Mrs. Reynolds, what can I do for you? Are you here to volunteer in one of the classrooms?” The receptionist smiles.
“No. Actually, I’m here to hug them.”
“Hug them? Mrs. Reynolds, surely you realize we can’t pull children out of class for that sort of thing. It disrupts their morning.” She pins me with a patronizing stare.
“Yes, I do. But I don’t care. They’re my children and I need to see them immediately. I also need to speak with the principal before I leave.”
“Well, Mrs. Bell is in a meeting. I’ll have to get back to you to arrange a time in her schedule.” She pulls the phone to her ear and calls each of the boys’ teachers, then requests my sons come to the office. When she replaces the receiver in its cradle I step to the edge of her desk.
“I will not leave until I speak with Mrs. Bell. I’ll sit here all damn day if I have to.” My patience is thin. I’m sleep deprived, and the mama bear inside has been awoken from her den. No curly haired, middle-aged secretary will stand in the way of protecting my cubs.
“Are you threatening me, Mrs. Reynolds?” She gasps and rolls her chair away. My boys come into view and I drop to my knees.
“Mama!” they squeal and I open my arms, catching their hugs. I squeeze my eyes shut as tears threaten. I refuse to cry in front of them. My entire being settles. A feeling of peace consumes the worries from before. They’re safe.
I open my eyes and meet the accusing gaze of Ms. Gatekeeper. “No.” I murmur. “Not a threat. A promise.”
Please enjoy this excerpt from bestselling Hook & Ladder 69, a collaboration of eighteen authors set in one sexy firehouse, all to raise funds for the Burned Children Recovery Foundation.
I work out every day.
I’m built like a tank. Ink covers my entire back and most of one arm.
I fight fires for a living.
And I’ve been told I’m a good looking mother fucker. I can thank my Irish ancestors for the thick dark locks and baby blue eyes. But at twenty-nine, only days shy of thirty, I have one major problem.
I can’t talk to women.
More specifically, the woman I’m attracted to. And so I stand here, like the fucking joke I am, decked out in my county fire shirt and ball cap, stumbling to remember my words.
“Hey, hot stuff. What can I get you today?” Jenny says. Her lips pull up at the corners and she approaches the high counter that separates us.
Jenny is my neighbor. My gorgeous, sassy, super friendly, and single neighbor. She moved into the apartment across from mine six months ago and has the uncanny ability to make me forget my first name with the power from one of her smiles. She’s also one of the butchers at Bergdier’s and maybe the reason I volunteer to shop for chow when I’m on shift. I’m glad it’s Jenny working today and not the other chick.
“The usual?” she says.
“Big sausage.” I blurt.
“Excuse me! Is that anyway to talk to a lady?” she smarts with a grin.
I clear my throat and try again. “Five pounds of the Italian spicy. Please.” There. I did it.
“Mmm… Love me some Italians.” She laughs, pulls the meat from the encased glass cooler, and wraps it in paper. “Whatcha making?”
Fuck. She’s always so friendly. I clear my throat again. “Pasta e fagioli.”
“Oh, God,” she moans and my dick jumps at the sound. “That sounds amazing! I’m a horrible cook. You guys eat better than anyone I know. Maybe sometime you can bring me over some leftovers.” She slaps the printed sticker on the order.
Yes. Or better yet, I’ll cook for you. How’s my place, tomorrow?
Instead I grunt, “Sure. Yeah. Maybe.”
Jenny’s eyes snap over my shoulder and Joe’s smooth tenor invades our conversation. “Hey, Jenny from the block, how you doin’?” I don’t have to turn to know the booter is doing his chin nod, half lid eye, and smirk number. It pisses me off how easy it is for him to talk to her. Normally I couldn’t care less who Joe hits on. Hell, he hits on every woman we encounter, but this is Jenny. M
y Jenny.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
“Get outta here, Chavez!” She laughs, her hands going to her hips. “Your man whore ways don’t work on me.”
Joe steps next to me and slaps his chest. “Oh, that hurts, baby. I thought we had something special.”
“I fondle all the customers’ meat.” She winks, hands over my order, and my tongue gets stuck in my throat. Thankfully, I still have control of my motor skills and take the white paper package with what I hope resembles a smile.
Joe’s booming laughter fills the store. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He grips my arm and practically drags me away. “Later, Jenny!” he calls.
I wave and open my mouth but all that comes out is a croak.
“Later, Joe. Bye, Brennan. See you around?” She does the thing—the one where her eyes soften all sweet for a moment and I just know, under all that brash she’s got a little romantic hidden inside. If her long brown hair weren’t brushed back and under that hair net I’m sure she’d be twirling the ends around her index finger.
“Stop growling at the pretty lady,” Joe says low so that only I hear. It snaps me out of my Jenny induced stupor and I turn to walk away.
“Enjoy your sausage fest!” she shouts, causing the elderly women shopping nearby to scowl as we pass.
Joe shakes his head. “I don’t know what’s with you, B. You need to hit that! Under that god awful white butcher’s coat, she’s hiding a bangin’ bod.”
Wait! Joe and Jenny? My stomach sinks with disappointment. “How do you know? Did you and her ever—?”
“Fuck no!” Joe shakes his head.
“Why not?” Shit. Maybe there’s something wrong with her. Joe taps almost anything that moves.
“Just freaks me out, man.” He gives a little shiver as I roll the buggy to the check-out line.
I stop, my brow pulls into a deep scowl. “Freaks you out?” I try for casual; disinterested even. In the firehouse any sign of weakness, especially crushing on a girl, is fair game for teasing, harassment, and relentless torture. I don’t want Joe to pick up on my interest in Jen because I’ll never hear the end of it.
Joe loads our groceries on the conveyor belt and flashes the cashier a charming smile before he meets my stare. “Dude, have you seen the look on her face? The act of dismembering meat all day with her giant ass knives fills that woman with pure bliss.” He shakes his head again, “Ain’t right, B. Just not natural. I’d never let her anywhere near my dick.”
I burst into laughter, one part from relief that he’s never been with Jenny, and another from the way Joe’s mind works.
The cashier gives us our total and I pay with the bills I grabbed out of the kitty. Joe and I carry the grocery bags outside. The mid-morning sun blinds and I squint, only to have my day grow exponentially worse.
“Brennan,” the sickly sweet voice coos.
Shit! Mayday! Mayday! I glance at Joe and his own eyes grow wide and mirror my alarm. Her hips swing with a strut that can’t be ignored, her blonde locks bounce with each step, and her overly painted face smiles bright as she blocks our path.
Amber. My ex. A classic hose chaser who was able to ignore my inability to talk or ask her out. She took the lead in our relationship and I thought I’d met my dream girl. With her double D’s and perfectly manicured nails that dug into my ass while I pounded her at the end of our first date, what could go wrong?
The answer would be everything.
She didn’t mind the fact I didn’t talk. Mostly because she never shut up. The constant yammering put me at ease for about two dates, and then became a pulsing headache, the kind that snuck up and wouldn’t go away. Except I found a way to shut her up. Kissing, eating her out, and fucking were the three ways to keep her voice from grating on my nerves, so that’s what I did.
Turns out that was a counterproductive plan.
She became obsessed, both from the fact she snagged a fireman, and from endless orgasms. But after four weeks I finally manned up, grew a pair, and cut things off with her. Hasn’t deterred her level of persistence though.
“Hey, Amber.”
“How are you, baby?” she purrs.
“I’m not your baby.”
“But you could be if you wanted to.” Amber teeters closer in her five inch heels. Practical footwear for grocery shopping. She places her hand on my chest and lifts her chin to whisper loudly, “We were good together. Remember?” She drags those nails down my chest. Fuck. I have to remind my dick we don’t like Amber because all he remembers are the nails. She knows my weakness.
Joe has my back, though. “Hey, Amber. Didn’t I see you at O’Connell’s last week with Curtis? Or you move on to Miller? It’s hard for me to keep track what with your tendency to slut—excuse me—I mean sleep around.”
Her eyes widen and she drops her hand to shoot him a glare. “You really are a prick sometimes, Chavez.” Turning on her heel, she struts inside the store.
“Nice seeing you again!” he calls after her with a laugh.
“Thanks, man. I owe you one,” I say, and unlock the truck.
“Hook me up on a date with your sister and we’ll call it even.” He smirks.
“Fuck off, man! She’s married.” I laugh. “Come on. Let’s get back to the house.”
Please enjoy this excerpt from Uncovering Desire, book two in the Uncovering Love series, by Kacey Shea.
I end another call and toss my cell on the bed. She rolls out of the headstand she’s been holding for several minutes. I’m drained from all the talking and sharing, but she grins my way and reaches out to pull me up from where I sit.
“Come on. Break time. Let’s grub.”
“Kate, I really don’t feel like going anywhere.” I turn to reach for my phone but she’s a quick little thing and reaches out to swipe it first. She backs out the door, my phone gripped behind her, and waggles her brows.
“If you want it, you’re gonna have to come get it.”
“Kate, give me my phone. I’m not in the mood for keep-away or any of your games right now.” I’m lashing out. I know it, yet I don’t stop myself. She doesn’t even acknowledge my snarky tone.
“Be mad all you want, big guy. I know you’re in serious danger of hangry right now so I won’t hold it against you.” She’s in the hall now and prances out to the living room. I follow begrudgingly.
“Hangry? What the hell’s hangry?”
“You’re hungry and angry. It’s scientifically proven to be a real state of mind. So let’s go. Slide on those flip flops.” She’s now standing at the door in a pair of cut offs, a tank top, and sandals, with her bag and car keys in tow. It’s the most casual I’ve ever seen her leave the house. Even her makeup is understated. She’s beautiful.
“Come on, Jon, let’s go!” She jingles her keys with a bright smile and I roll my eyes, slide on my shoes and pull on a ball cap from my desk.
“Where are we going? I don’t want to see anyone today.” She laughs as I follow her out the door and to her rental.
“Don’t worry. The only people we’ll see today are hung over.”
We drive to a little hole in the wall Mexican food joint, Armando’s, and park. We walk inside, door jingling, and the smells of carne asada over an open grill waft throughout. My stomach grumbles in response.
“See. Hangry.” Kate slaps my belly before she walks up to the counter and orders while I study the menu. When it’s my turn I point to the grill, “That, inside a burrito, please.” The man at the counter smiles and rattles off our total. I reach in my pocket to get my wallet but remember I left it back at the apartment. I look up to find Kate’s already paid. She shoves a Styrofoam cup into my chest.
“Lunch is on me, Army.” We fill our cups and find a table in the back corner. Kate was right. The only people in here look like they’ve just woken from a hard night of partying. The non-intoxicated customers only stop in for takeout.
“Sixty-nine!” The man behind the counter yells out.
<
br /> “Oh, that’s us!”
“You wish,” I grumble and she pauses before leaving the table.
“Jonathan Beltran, did you just make a sex joke?” She’s teasing and a smile tugs at the corner of my face but I hold it back.
“Whatever. Let’s just eat.” I roll my eyes.
“That’s what I thought.” She smirks and then skips to the counter to retrieve our food. I don’t know how she does it. The lightheartedness. I want to crawl into a cave right now and shut everyone out. I saw her eyes. I know she gets my pain. But how can she be this happy?
A tray is slid in front of me and the smells fill my nostrils. I close my eyes and sigh. This is gonna be a good cheat meal.
“Spicy or sissy?”
“Huh?”
“Spicy or sissy?” Kate holds two squeeze bottles of hot sauce. One has a single flame drawn on the front, the other a danger sign that looks eerily similar to those poison tags people put on cleaning supplies, warning not to ingest.
“I’m no sissy.”
“Hell yeah, I knew there was a macho man under that warm fuzzy cuddle bear.” I arch my brow. She’s delusional.
“Let’s have a contest. See who can handle the heat and who still can’t grow chest hair.”
“I don’t want you to grow chest hair. Your chest is perfect.”
“You know what I mean.”
As I unwrap my burrito, she unwraps hers and after I take one bite, she reaches over to squirt a generous amount of sauce inside. She does the same to hers.
“I don’t like the fact you feel comfortable enough to ejaculate stuff all over my food.” Kate coughs and sputters and I grin in triumph before I take my next bite. The sauce burns all the way to my belly. I blink back the tears that threaten. Beads of sweat gather on my forehead but I’m still grinning like an idiot as Kate can’t seem to recover.
“I think my evil ways are wearing off on you!” She takes another long sip from her drink. “But don’t think you’re out of the challenge, mister.” She continues to cover our food in sauce. Bite for bite, we go head to head while trading jokes in between. We finish our burritos, declare a tie, and my mouth is on fire. It feels good to laugh. I shake my head. She’s done it again.