Chapter 1 #2
Two steaming mugs and a bag full of apple fritters later and I was climbing back into Big Bertha, still reeling from my run-in with Reid.
It was so unlike me to moon over a guy, for fuck’s sake, but there was something about him that had caught my attention from day one and never let go.
Today’s encounter had only served to pique my curiosity.
I’d always thought him older, maybe mid- to late twenties, but he said he’d only been at Castle Hill for four months.
Maybe that meant he was fresh out of college?
Or could be he’d relocated from somewhere.
Definitely somewhere still in the South, since he seemed to have the manner of someone who’d grown up with parents who drilled in the Yes, sirs and No, thank you, ma’ams so telling of this part of the country, though his accent didn’t betray much of a twang.
“That has got to be the biggest, dumbest grin I’ve ever seen on your ugly mug,” Mike said, staring at me like I’d grown two heads. “Did you finally do it? Did you ask him out?”
I tossed the bag of fritters and soda into Mike’s lap. “Feel free to choke on those.”
“Ahh, I’m gonna take that as a yes, then. He shoot you down?”
After setting the coffees in the console, I fastened my seatbelt and waited for Mike to get the hint we needed to get moving.
“The hell, man?” he said. “You gonna leave me hangin’?”
I arched my brow in his direction, and when I didn’t say anything, he gave a grunt and started up the rig.
“One of these days, Ollie,” he grumbled, pulling out of the gas station. “You know all my personal shit. See if I spill my guts anymore.”
“You wouldn’t know what to do if you couldn’t talk about Deb twenty-four seven.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault I scored a good one. Just letting everyone know what they’re missing out on.” As Mike slowed down behind traffic, he glanced over at me and waggled his black eyebrows.
“Make sure to do us a favor and hand out barf bags the next time you get started.” I nodded at the bag of pastries in his lap. “And don’t tell Deb I’m doin’ a horrible job of keeping you accountable.”
“Nah, she likes my love handles.”
“Bullshit.”
He laughed and tore into the bag of fritters with one hand, while keeping his other on the wheel.
When he’d made me swear last week that I’d keep him on track while he “cut the crap,” I’d thought he was nuts.
Even with an extra twenty pounds on his strong six-foot build, Mike was as attractive as ever.
Black, close-cropped curls, a permanent tan, and dimples that only seemed to have deepened the past few months.
The hot ones are always straight. At least they are in Floyd Hills, Georgia, I thought, my mind drifting back to the man I always made sure to run into during the workweek.
And yeah, I got that straight vibe from Reid too, though even he couldn’t deny the spark that had ignited when our hands had brushed against each other.
That wasn’t enough to hang any hope on, though, much as I wanted to.
“His name’s Reid,” I said, breaking up the quiet in the cab, and when Mike’s head jerked in my direction, a fritter half shoved in his mouth, I was unable to keep the smirk off my face anymore. “Teaches music at the middle school.”
As I casually sipped my coffee, Mike’s jaw practically hit the ground. “No shit.” A horn sounded from behind us, and Mike stepped on the gas, shaking his head. “About damn time. What else did you talk about?”
“Nothing. Joe came over to give the coffee machine a concussion, and that was the end of that.”
“Dammit, Joe. Way to cock-block.”
“Nah, he didn’t know.”
“Well, you have an opening now,” Mike said, winking at me. “And that was only a pun if you want it to be.”
“Oh, Jesus. I’ve done it now.”
“What?”
“Created a monster who uses puns against me.”
Mike laughed as I flipped on the radio to drown out any other comments his sugar high wanted to lob out, but when Bing Crosby began to croon about a winter wonderland, Mike groaned and jabbed at the buttons to change the channel.
“I can’t believe they’re still blasting Christmas music in January. Didn’t they get the memo that Santa Claus already came to town, and all he brought me was a damn snow blower? When the hell am I gonna use a snow blower around here? I think my in-laws called in a favor.”
Chuckling, I brought my coffee up to my lips and blew softly, while Mike continued to flip through the stations until a country song began to play.
He started to sing along, something about naming babies and dogs, which would normally have me eye-rolling him to death.
But since his mouth was now otherwise occupied and he wasn’t digging for more information out of me, I didn’t bother putting up a fight to change the channel.
Let him belt out “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” for all I cared.
Until a call came in, my mind would be preoccupied by… other things.
A quick tone alert came through the radio, and I punched the music off as a call came through from dispatch.
“Unit 110, please respond Code 3 to the intersection of Mercer and Thomas on a multi-vehicle accident with injuries. Fire responding for possible extrication.”
I picked up the receiver. “Ten-four, Unit 110 en route. ETA less than two minutes,” I said, as Mike dropped the plastic bag on the ground at my feet and flipped on the lights and siren.
“Not how I’d want my day starting out,” he said, cutting through an intersection to make a left on Mercer.
“Saddle up,” I said. “I have a feeling it’s gonna be a long one.”
Traffic going east was already beginning to back up, the roads congested at the height of morning rush hour.
Now with the accident up ahead and the cars unable to move to the side, Mike had to pull us into the suicide lane to get by.
From the opposite direction, a backup unit, along with two police cars and a fire truck, veered toward the intersection, though it looked like we’d get there first.
I could see the smoke rising up ahead, and as we got closer, it seemed to be coming from beneath the hood of a black four-by-four truck that had smashed into a—
“Oh shit… Ollie…” Mike’s voice trailed off as we both caught sight of the crushed passenger side of the car that had been T-boned.
The crumpled car had been no match for the bigger vehicle; it looked like they’d skidded into the middle of the intersection during impact.
The car’s hood punched up at an awkward angle with the truck half inside, and broken glass littered the road.
I’d seen the sight so many times before, but never had the breath left my lungs in a rush, never had a faint ringing sound filled my ears, and never had a wild sense of panic seized my chest like it did right then.
Because the mangled car, the one I was responding to, was none other than Reid’s bright red Mazda3.