The Feel Good Factor(28)

I smile and say yes.

As I head inside, I feel a little buzzed, a little tipsy.

A little like my feet don’t touch the ground.

I’ve seen a whole new side to Derek, one I never imagined existed when I met his flirty, cocky, handsome ass on the bike. Just a few days ago, he was a typical bad boy, dirty to the bone. But I’ve learned he’s determined, straightforward, and giving too.

He cares deeply for his family, and he dotes on his nieces. He’s devoted to his sister.

And we share a passion for work with the community. We both wake up every day and help others. Being a cop—and being a paramedic, I presume—can be thankless, emotionally draining, and woefully underpaid work.

And yet, I wouldn’t change it.

It’s not my hormones banging the drum inside my body as I go into my house.

It’s some other part of me. A part I haven’t exercised in a long time. A part I don’t let out to play very often.

That dumb heart.

Even though I told my brother I have a type, the problem is, that type doesn’t usually work out in the end. I’ve dated, and I’ve had some semi-serious boyfriends, but the last person I liked—really liked—was Nick, who ran a tattoo shop in Santa Cruz. I’d met the growly, inked artist on the boardwalk one weekend when I was there for a girls’ getaway.

Nick and I hit it off in the way that two people who don’t live in the same place can. Our connection was instant and electric. He was 100 percent my type, and I was utterly gaga over him.

So gaga, I managed the three-hour drive to Santa Cruz as often as I could, visiting him on weekends and whenever I had time off, this little arrangement going on for several months.

He was sexy and funny and hot as sin.

Turned out he had a girlfriend too. Just hadn’t mentioned her to me. Slipped his mind.

Oops.

I was the other woman.

Since then, I’ve been as cautious as I can, dating locally, screening men online through and through.

What the hell? Why am I thinking about dating? Derek and I aren’t dating. We aren’t an item. He just offered to make me dinner.

I head to the gym to work out and work off these silly hormones.

Yes, they’re just hormones.

That’s all.

When I return, I don’t see him. I take a shower, loop my wet hair in a ponytail, and tug on shorts and a tank top. I dust on some powder and add a pinch of lip gloss, then head to the living room where I turn on some music.

It’s eight thirty, and I’m ready to eat the table.

What the hell?

This girl has had a long, hard day, and she’s hangry.

That’s when I hear a key clicking in the back lock—the door that leads directly to the room above the garage. Will he go straight upstairs or come downstairs to the kitchen? And why do I care? Why do I even want to see him? I like living alone.

I flip through my sweater patterns, and when his footsteps fade, telling me he went upstairs, I grit my teeth and try to tamp down my disappointment. I shouldn’t be disappointed. In fact, I’m not disappointed at all.

I study my patterns, trying to decide what to make and who to make it for, when I hear water running.

The shower.

He’s taking a shower.

He’s naked in my house.

What the hell was I thinking?

What the hell was Shaw thinking?

I head to the kitchen, pop a frozen pad thai meal into the microwave, and grab it before it’s fully cooked. I take the dish, a napkin, and a fork to my room and shut the door.

Sitting on my bed, I shovel the half-warmed pad thai into my mouth, then I grab my laptop and open up the reports I’ve been working on. Work. That’s what I’ll do. Work on reports to impress the chief.

I don’t think about Elias. I don’t entertain the dash of guilt. And I definitely don’t think about my roomie who ditched me.

It’s not like we had a date.

Not really.

Well, maybe it felt a little bit like one.

And that’s just the problem.





16





Derek





The next day, Hunter slams the door of the ambulance, getting in after our third ER visit, then breathes a sigh of relief.

Scrubbing a hand over his jaw, he says, “For a while there, I thought we were about to be anointed the new angels of death.”

“It can feel that way some days.”

It’s been a rough morning so far. We came close to losing our first patient en route to the hospital after a heart attack, then our second when a woman had a severe allergic reaction to a bee sting, and came even closer with this call—a scary-as-shit workplace accident. The guy lost a ton of blood after falling off a ladder, but we made it through the ER doors in time. He’s in the capable hands of the doctors and nurses now, and all we can do is hope for the best.

My stomach rumbles. “And it’s lunchtime.”

Hunter pats his belly and cocks his head as if listening to his stomach too. “Yup. Mine says it’s time for In-N-Out Burger.”

“Dude, you can’t live off burgers and fries.”

“Like hell I can’t. I’m going to get me two double-double burgers today.”

During my first week on the job, my partner has plowed through an astonishing amount of fast food, devouring enough fried chicken, wings, and burgers dripping with fixings that I feel in danger of a second-hand coronary. “Are you trying out for one of those all-you-can-eat contests?” I ask as he puts the van in reverse to pull out of the hospital parking lot.