Chapter 4 #2
His buddy Mike O’Rourke shrugged. “Damned if I know. I’ve been married for ten years. Dating etiquette has changed.”
“Should I have just asked for her phone number and then called to ask her out? Maybe a private message on social media was too impersonal? A telephone call seemed like an unnecessary step.”
The other Mike, Mike Diamond, almost choked on his garlic bread. “Dude. That was probably the most impersonal way you could ask. Besides, girls like to think they’re worth an extra step or two.”
“Shit.” Noah frowned. “Have I blown it?”
Mike D chuckled. “If she likes you enough, she’ll give you another chance. Do you have her phone number?”
“Yeah. That’s why I was surprised when she said no. Maybe she wanted me to text her.”
“Jesus, Fierro. She wants to hear your voice,” his captain said. “You can’t really convey that you’d be excited to see her again with an emoji.”
“No? Not even the eggplant emoji?” O’Rourke asked, grinning.
All the guys laughed. “Especially not the eggplant emoji. You’re supposed to be interested but not desperate,” Captain Merrick said.
“I am interested but not desperate.” The guys gave him sidelong glances. “Okay, I’m a little desperate.”
The whole group burst out laughing. Noah didn’t mind having a good laugh at his own expense, but it was time to shut this down before it got out of hand.
“You schmucks don’t know what it’s like. You’ve never met a gorgeous doctor and felt like you’re reaching way above your station in life.”
“I asked out an actress once,” O’Rourke said. Everyone quieted down.
“What happened with that?” Noah asked.
“She said she was flattered, but Hollywood and Massachusetts were just too far apart. I said I’d move, but then she cc’d her agent on her next ‘thanks, but no thanks’ email. I guess she thought she was letting me down easy, in case I was a stalker.”
Everyone laughed again, and Noah cringed. That was why he almost hadn’t brought it up. He didn’t want to be the butt of their jokes. “Forget it, guys. I shouldn’t have asked.”
The captain stopped on his way to the sink with his empty plate and clamped a hand on Noah’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Fierro. We’d help if we could, but who knows what women want? We certainly don’t.”
“You could ask a female friend—if you have any,” O’Rourke said.
Noah took a big bite of spaghetti and chewed on both the food and his predicament.
That might not be a terrible idea. He’d be seeing most of his sisters-in-law on Sunday.
His mother was too old to understand the social media stuff, but the next generation down should be able to help him figure out what dating etiquette was acceptable these days. Who can I ask?
Sandra and Miguel had been together since high school, so they’d never had to deal with it. Two of the others were freakin’ dragons. Who knew what dating had been like for them? He needed to ask a normal girl.
Maybe Misty would be able to help him out. She was only twenty-four. Even though she was with their older brother Gabe now, she was single and dating before that—he assumed. And she was a nice girl who would want to be treated with respect, like Kizzy.
“Yeah. I might do that,” he said after he finally swallowed.
Just then the tones rang out, and he didn’t have time to do much more than toss the leftovers in the trash.
Noah was on tower ladder 3. The dispatcher announced the address of the fire in one of the taller but older buildings nearby—probably built in the seventies.
Noah secretly hoped it was a false alarm.
A firefighter’s worst nightmare was a high-rise fire.
His older brother Ryan had been in one before and lost his life.
Well, temporarily. Anyone other than a phoenix or dragon caught in a backdraft explosion wouldn’t have seen their next birthday.
And since it was such a public “death,” Ryan had to relocate to Ireland after he reincarnated.
His picture had been in the papers and on the news for days afterward.
They all donned their turnout gear in seconds. As the trucks rolled out onto the street, he found himself thinking of Kizzy again. Get your head in the game, Fierro. Even a small distraction could put him or his fellow firefighters in peril.
The Federal Street location was mostly offices on the lower floors, then residential condos from there skyward.
The fire was reported to have started on a low floor of a twenty-eight-story building.
People were still spilling out onto the sidewalk as the trucks arrived.
Noah hopped down from his seat behind Captain Merrick.
“I don’t know why you guys are here,” cried a portly man wearing a white apron. “It was just a small grease fire, and I put it out with a fire extinguisher. I don’t even know who called you.”
“And you are?” the captain asked.
“Head chef, Roberto Carelli. That’s my restaurant.” He pointed to the ground floor of the concrete-and-glass corner building.
A small kitchen fire was one thing, but if it spread upward, it could spell disaster.
Even though the chef said he’d snuffed it out, Captain Merrick wouldn’t take any chances.
Just because people couldn’t see the flame anymore didn’t mean it was out.
Fire could hide in the walls only to erupt later.
A woman wearing a bathrobe approached. “Please check the whole building,” she said timidly. Her young husband or boyfriend kicked at the curb, hands in his jeans pockets.
The captain eyed her. “Which floor do you live on?”
“Six,” she said.
“Fierro and O’Rourke, check the floors above the restaurant. Pay close attention to six.”
“Yes, sir,” Noah said. He grabbed the irons in case they needed to pry open a locked door with the halligan bar or hack their way through a wall with the ax. The two of them passed the last of the descending residents on the stairwell as they ascended.
The hallway of the second floor seemed deserted, and all was quiet. There was no smoke. They walked along, placing their bare hands against the walls, looking for a change in temperature.
“Nothin’,” said O’Rourke as they reached the end.
“Same here. On to the next floor,” Noah said.
It was slow and repetitious, but being thorough now could prevent a disaster later.
Walking up twenty-eight floors would tire out a human, but shifters had paranormal stamina.
As that thought drifted through his head, Kizzy’s face reappeared…
thrown back in ecstasy. Not now, dammit. Pay attention, Fierro.
“What do you think you’re going to do about that girl?” O’Rourke asked as they reached the sixth floor and repeated their inspection.
Noah groaned. He was about to say he didn’t know, but then his hand met a spike in warmth.
“Whoa. I think I have something.” He pounded on the door.
“Boston Fire Department!” When there was no answer, he tried the knob.
Locked. He used the halligan tool and pried open the door.
Smoke drifted through the entry. “Radio the captain!”
O’Rourke reported they had found smoke in a residence on the sixth floor. The captain said he was standing by. They traced the source of the smoke to a small, unfinished room in the condo.
Noah came upon what looked like a bathroom renovation and flames in the pipe shaft. “Shit. Another amateur plumber.”
“Captain. We have fire in a bathroom. Looks like they were soldering pipes in here. Some insulation may have caught and spread up the shaft.”
The captain’s voice crackled over the radio. “Try and hold it until I can get you a line up there.”
Noah began hacking down the wall to expose what was burning. Flames licked up the wall to the ceiling and beyond.
O’Rourke had “the can” with him, a two-and-a-half-gallon water-filled fire extinguisher.
He had to use his precious water sparingly, yet they blasted water up the pipe shaft as far as it could reach.
More sirens screamed in the background. It wasn’t unusual to call in a second alarm if a high rise was involved.
Noah was glad more help was on the way, even though he dearly hoped it wouldn’t be needed.
The small room was filled with steam and smoke. Even though the smog was dissipating, it was hard to see what might still need attention on the higher floors. Noah wished he could send O’Rourke on an errand, shift, and fly up the shaft. Not gonna happen. Ten guys were probably on their way up.
“Let’s take a look. There’s only a little water left in the can,” Noah said.
O’Rourke let up on the trigger. Getting as close to the pipe as he could, Noah faced upward and scanned the darkness for a telltale flickering yellow-orange flame. He saw nothing but black. “I think we got it,” he said triumphantly.
O’Rourke whooped. “Thank God. This could have been a mutha.”
“I know, right?” He patted O’Rourke on the back.
“It’s out, Captain,” Noah announced into the radio.
“No, it ain’t,” the captain answered bluntly. “I’m looking at the reflection of flickering light far above you. If it’s not an orange lava lamp, it’s fire.”
“Shit,” Noah muttered. He poked his head back into the shaft and looked skyward again. Way, way up, he saw a tiny flicker of yellow. “Fucker. I missed it.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Fierro,” O’Rourke said. “Captain? Where do you want us?”
“Wherever the fire is.” He didn’t say the word dumbass, but it was implied.
Noah rolled his eyes. “We’re on it.”
They charged up the next several flights of stairs, checking the area above the seat of the fire carefully. O’Rourke kept the captain updated over the radio until they finally felt a hot wall on the thirteenth floor.
“Give me the halligan,” O’Rourke said.
What? Am I incompetent now? Noah wondered, but ignored his friend and attacked the door instead. It splintered as he popped it open. Smoke poured out.
“Fire on thirteen,” O’Rourke reported.
The captain called loud enough for the guys on the ground to hear, “We’ll set up a command center on seven.”