Every Girl Does It(12)

“Nope, but I’m sure you're going to tell me,” I joke, half kidding, half totally serious.

“One of them knows you.”

My heart stops. Someone call an ambulance; my heart just stopped. I know who it is. It has to be Preston. Because come on, if we’re honest this is how my life is going right now. It has to be him, how did he do this? Why is he weaseling his way into my life like this?

“His name is Preston, he’s one of the firefighters from the calen—”

“Right,” I cut her off. “Well, sounds great. See you Monday.”

“Wait!” She shrieks on the other end making me pull the phone away from my ear. “I have to send all of them to you this afternoon so we can get the measurements for the shoot tomorrow. That’s why I’m calling. You should expect them around two.”

I look at my clock and pale. It’s one forty-five.

“Jane!” I warn loudly not even bothering to hide my frustration. “Why didn’t you call sooner?”

“Sorry, I was busy. Plus, I thought you were one of those people who went to church. Geez, calm down.”

I’m hyperventilating into the phone. Must. Get. Air.

“So that’s all. Make sure you get all of their measurements. They have to take off their shirts, too, so we can see the correct fit of the muscle T’s. Makes me wish I had your job. Have fun.”

She hangs up, leaving me in a state of panic and disarray. I look down and moan. Yup, still in the sweat pants. I hear my door bell and feel myself say in slow motion, “Just a sec!” Only it sounds low, like you see on TV when they do the really dramatic scenes. Luckily, my body is still moving at normal speed, so I dive into my room like a tornado and throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, grab my measuring supplies, and return to unbolt the door.

February. It’s Mr. February. I remember because he has blue eyes you can get lost in, yet he looks way older than me, most likely in his fortys.

“Hey, sorry to barge in, but the girl at the store said–”

I cut him off with my hand. “No, it’s fine. Come on in.”

“Oh okay, thanks.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and ducks, yes I did say ducks, into my family room. “Nice place.” He turns to smile at me, but his teeth were, well, let’s just say, not straight. Now I know why he didn’t smile in the calendar picture. He does have a good smolder, but a good smile? Not so much. I did his measurements and sent him on his way.

January was next, then March, April, June, May, September, November, July, and August.

All I had left was October and December. I was hoping that Mr. October would arrive before Mr. December, then maybe I could bolt my door closed and say something in a creepy accent. “She no here no more, she die.” Then Preston would be forced to leave and get his measurements done elsewhere, anywhere. I don’t even care. I’ll give references, or better yet, I’ll have my own personal seamstress call him.

The doorbell rings again. I take a deep breath, open it, and came face to face with my past.

“Bobby?”

I didn’t see that coming. He wasn’t in the calendar. Not once did I see him in the calendar. What’s he doing here? He couldn’t be one of the male models. Yeah, that would be ironic. He pushes his fingers through his curly still sandy brown hair and gives me the smile, dimples and all. Nope, I know he’s not in the calendar. I wouldn’t have bought it had I known or seen him.

“What are you doing here?” I ask a little too rude for someone I hadn’t seen in over five years.

His smile fades as his eyes scan me up and down.

“I thought this was where Jane said to come for the measurements?”

“For the male models,” I say slowly. The poor guy, maybe he’s confused, not that he couldn’t be a male model.

“Yeah, um, I got that part. I’m Mr. October, Nampa Fire Department? All of us are doing the shoot?”

“I thought you were going to be a pastor?” I manage to say with heavy sarcasm as I widen the door for him to enter. What a weird twist of events.

“Yeah, about that,” he looks sheepish almost.

What had happened to my Swedish fish loving ex-boyfriend who thought I was materialistic?

“It wasn’t really for me. I quit after my first year in seminary and decided to become a fireman. In a way, it’s still like being a pastor. You know, saving people from the fiery pits, just not the spiritual ones.” He winks and shrugs his massive shoulders. Fire fighting had been good to his body; that much was obvious. But I didn’t remember having seen him as Mr. October. However, I didn’t want to admit to him I’d actually seen part of the calendar, so I’d have to wait until it came in the mail.

Nodding, I grab my measurement tape. “Okay, so if you could just take your shirt off now.”

He looks at me as if I just ask him if he could please eat my cat, and pales as I wait for him to do what I ask. Sighing, I explain, “To get the measurements for the muscle T-shirts. I can’t do that with your bulky sweater on. So if you’d be so kind as to take it off, I’ll make this experience as painless as possible. It's okay. I'm a professional.”

He hesitates slightly before taking off his shirt, revealing chiseled abs and a nice spray on tan. Trust me, I know. I begin measuring and notice that, not only is he extremely close to me, but his body is radiating heat, too much heat. Wanting to look up and see what his problem is, my brain kicks into gear and reminds me it wouldn’t be wise. Wait a second, is that a Rolex watch? What in the world! And he called me materialistic. I snort out loud in disgust.