Chapter 2
TWO’S COMPANY, THREE’S A CROWD… OR IS IT?
ABBY
“Ican’t make it today.” Cami’s words echo through the speaker of my phone as I finish putting on the last of my mascara.
“What do you mean you can’t make it today?” I ask, pausing to glare at her through the blank screen, even though she can’t see me.
Cami often joins me on my community drop off days to help record everything, so the videos aren’t just selfies of me and whoever I am interviewing.
I always like to take time and give the donee time to talk about their services or what they do.
Obviously, in this case with a fire station, it’s self explanatory.
But I still like them to share their stories and give them time to give people insight into their lives.
“I’m sorry, my sister has an emergency and I need to take my niece to her recital today,” Cami explains with an unusually somber tone and now I feel bad I was so judgy.
“Oh no, hopefully everything is okay?” I pause, to give her a chance to share any details if she wants to, but she doesn’t. “Okay, well I don’t want to keep you from that and I’ve got to finish getting ready but call me later if you need help or anything, okay?”
“Definitely,” she replies like she wants to say more, but doesn’t.
“Okay, are you still coming over later for our traditional Christmas Eve movie night binge?” I ask, hopeful.
“I’m going to try, as long as everything is okay with my sister and I don’t need to watch my niece.”
“Sounds good. I hope your sister is okay, and I mean it, I can help with anything,” I offer again, because I’d rather go to the recital, or help run errands for Cami, than be alone on Christmas Eve.
“Sounds good, have fun and let me know how it goes,” she says, before hanging up and my phone beeps three times to signal the disconnect.
She’s been acting a bit strange since everything blew up between me, Sam, and Sienna.
She and I became really close a few years ago, then she introduced me to Sienna.
I know she’s feeling torn between maintaining both friendships because Sienna’s been pressuring Cami to stop talking to me completely.
Which is so stupid. Sienna broke the cardinal girlfriend rule. You don’t sleep with your friend's boyfriend. Yet, I’m the one being punished and outed like I did something wrong.
I glance down at my home screen that appears now that the call is over. It’s a simple picture of a breathtaking sunset that I took from the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. A few rides from the pier are silhouetted, just showing their outlines while the pink and orange sky glows in the background.
My screensaver used to be one of Sam and I but I picked this one as a replacement after I caught him with Sienna. Now I realize this picture was also taken when I was with Sam and it pisses me off because I love the photo so much. I don’t want to change it.
I haven’t seen him since the Farmers Market a couple weeks ago. He’s been texting me, but I’ve just been ignoring him. His absence has been hard, and I’ve realized, it’s not because I miss him, it’s because I feel so alone again.
When we first met, he made me feel so needed and desired.
But now that I look back on it, the constant collaboration posts and bringing me into his newly established business was all he wanted me for.
My follower count. I should have recognized his narcissistic vain personality from a mile away, but love—or what you think is love—makes you do crazy things, I suppose.
Admittedly, I’ve been thinking about the mysterious, kissing god from the Farmers Market more than Sam.
But, I stop myself before I go down that rabbit hole again. He’s far too easy to daydream about and a productivity killer.
After cleaning my make-up products off my bathroom counter, I spritz my hair with some texturizing spray.
Giving myself a once over in the standing mirror that sits in the corner of my room, I appraise the outfit I chose.
Black leggings and a burgundy sweater with a black lace cami underneath.
The sweater hangs off one shoulder and the color compliments my tan knee high boots perfectly.
It’s casual and fun, but still hides some of the extra padding in my hips.
I’ve never been a ‘skinny’ girl and I’ve come to the conclusion I never will be.
I’ve had hips and boobs since I hit puberty in the seventh grade and have dealt with both guys and girls making comments about both since then.
Girls thinking I stuffed my bra, guys thinking it’s okay to make comments about a woman’s body.
Incessant comments about how I should dress or backhanded compliments like, “you’re not fat, you’re curvy” or “you carry your weight well.”
I’m over it.
I dress appropriately for my body type and over the years I’ve finally grown to accept it for what it is. My body is my greatest instrument and I need to be kinder to it with my words.
Ironically, the more I love it, the less other people tend to pay negative attention to it.
Grabbing my purse and keys, I exit my condo and head downstairs to the garage. I’ve already loaded all of the donated items into the back of my truck, last year's model of the Ford Bronco, and my first obsession in life.
When I went to the dealership to purchase one, they had this mint colored beauty still waiting to be purchased and since they were bringing in all the next year’s models, they massively discounted this for me.
Plus, they recognized me from my Social Share account and threw in some perks to shout out their dealership.
Perks that Sam would always benefit from and it’s clear as day, now, why he pursued me.
I’ve realized over the past couple of weeks, I’m feeling hurt and betrayed by him using me, as opposed to heartache over the loss of our relationship.
I never thought I would have to consider being used for popularity, my follower count or for benefits only something like that could bring you. But seeing how Sam treated me and what he gained, I know now that I need to be extra cautious with who I get involved with.
I start up my truck and tap my throwback playlist. Usher’s Hey Daddy, spills out of the speakers with a melodic tone and instant catchiness.
Hm, I wonder if Usher has a daddy kink.
Jesus, I need to get laid I think.
My mind has been wandering too easily in that direction and I’m certain I need to do something about that before I start humping the nearest light pole.
I’ve always had a healthy sex drive, but lately, I can’t seem to stop thinking about it. I even invested in some more toys to spice things up.
Jesus. Listen to me talking about spicing up my solo sex life. Yeah, I need to throw myself back out there and stop letting the fear of what Sam did to me hold me back.
Sex toys and romance books are a decent substitute, but this can only go on so long.
The drive to the fire station is only fifteen minutes. In my research, I found that there is typically one fire station that they use for training and other stations that are strategically placed throughout the city.
Most firefighters work out of one station consistently, but in some cases if they’re shorthanded, they could be assigned to work out of a different one.
I chose the smallest location since I heard people usually donate to the county's main training station or the larger ones.
I pull up and park at the curb, glancing into the tinted double doors, but can’t see if anyone is in there. It always seems like stations are always desolate until all of a sudden their garage doors burst open and their sirens blare as they pull out of their stations, literally ass on fire.
Grabbing one of the boxes, I step back from my Bronco and close the door.
I glance up at the clanging of metal on metal as the American Flag whips around the flagpole, the large post is buried in tan bark at the corner of the entrance.
The wind is crisp and doesn’t feel as powerful as it should considering how aggressive the fabric of the flag is slapping around.
I walk up to the front door and balance the box on my bent knee as I knock on the tinted glass.
When I called earlier in the week, they just said to stop by anytime because someone was always here, but as a minute ticks by I wonder if that’s true.
I balance the box on my knee again and raise my fist to rap my knuckles against the door, then suddenly it opens, startling me.
A gorgeous man in navy cargo pants and a fitted T-shirt, that sticks to his chest like a second skin, stands in front of me with a dumbfounded look.
His flawless, tan skin is only covered by the perfectly groomed beard that’s long enough to cover everything but short enough to look like he just might have forgotten to shave.
His sharp jawline matches his intense eyes as he silently questions why the hell I’m at his door.
“Hi, I’m Abby, I called about the social media donation earlier this week.
” My statement comes out like more of a question since the last few words squeak out of me with uncertainty.
Usually I’m much more confident, but this man intimidates the hell out of me.
Even his hair is thick and wavy in all the right places.
Inspecting his face, he looks about my age except the scowl he’s currently wearing ages him by ten years.
Glancing down at the box in my arms, he finally speaks and his voice is as deep as the pinch in his eyebrows. “And so you brought us a box of kid toys and a ragged cabbage patch doll?”
I look down and I realize I should have grabbed one of the other boxes. This one I sorted with board games and the cabbage patch kid that a teenager donated with the most amazing story that absolutely broke my heart.
I stand to my full height, even though the box is heavy as hell, because I’m here to donate items and do something kind, and Mr. Grumpy Pants here is being a total dick.