Page 6 of Wild Fire

I glance down at my frayed hoodie cuffs, which have somehow remained intact despite everything. And that’s when it hits me.

“Fuck,” I mutter, as I realize on top of everything else, I’d brought my duffel bag with most of my clothes—said outfit of seduction—inside with me when I got here. I’d meant to unpack first, but after the long drive and everything else, I was too exhausted. All I wanted was to pass out for a few hours. I could deal with Gram’s affairs after I’d slept and had a coffee. Or two. So I laid down and shut my eyes for five minutes on the couch, remembering all those naps I used to take there with Gram when I was a kid, how warm and cozy I’d felt then…

And then when I woke up, it was to the smell of smoke and burning wood, and now here I am.

Sitting in the ambulance with the pretty paramedic, Lacey, staring at the graveyard of my life.

I have nothing.

No clothes.

No house.

No family.

No boyfriend.

No friends.

Not even a damn dog.

I don’t know if I have the energy to cry any more.

Lacey asks me a series of questions—what year it is, how many fingers she’s holding up, if I know my own name. I know she’s just doing her job, probably trying to check for a concussion or trauma or something, but still. She slips a pulse-ox on me to take my vitals, and I note how cold her hands are. How small they are. Her fingers are long and thin, the nails cut down perfectly and manicured with the basic French tip. Modest, classic. Professional.

I glance up at her, noticing her sweet smile that feels a little too sweet. I also don’t miss the way she looks me over, and I’m not all that sure it’s because she’s being professional. Mom always said I had my Dad’s good looks, which I have to take her word for, being as I’d never met the guy and she didn’t have any photos of him. Sometimes I wondered if she was telling me the truth or if she just didn’t know who he was and it was easier to pretend. Either way, women have always paid attention to me, whether or not I wanted them to. But the men? I’m not Matt Bomer over here. I’m a six-foot scrawny beanpole with two big feet—that does not translate to my cock because again, Mister Unlucky—and no ass.

The only thing I’ve got going for me is I can suck dick like it’s my job.

Maybe it should be.

I break my gaze from Lacey, not wanting to think about that right now, though I can’t deny the thought of a dick in my mouth makes me feel slightly better, even if it’s only for a brief moment.

I look back at Lacey, taking in the sight of her. Her brown hair is pulled back in a perfect ponytail, wisps of hair framing her round face.

She’s pretty. If you’re into women, that is. Which I’m not, nor have I ever been. I’ve tried. I’ve kissed plenty of women, which wasn’t terrible, but I’d rather guzzle window cleaner than go down on one. Vaginas are gross, I don’t care what anyone says. I’ve had sex with one woman in my life, and that was Georgia, my next door neighbor in Kentucky. And that was a disaster, too.

Lacey must take my gawking and momentary walk down memory lane as interest, because I feel her fingers brushing my wrist softly, which pulls me back to the here and now.

“Sorry,” I say, shaking my head. She scoots closer to me in the ambulance; close enough I can get a whiff of her too chemical-flowery scent.

It’s not bad though. Kind of reminds me of Gram, if I’m being honest. It’s soapy and clean, and weirdly comforting in a way.

The pulse-ox beeps and she checks it before pulling it off.

“Vitals are good, and you seem pretty aware.”

I nod, trying to force a smile. “You sure? I mean, I just spaced out when you were talking to me.”

“You’re in shock. That’s normal. I’d be more worried if you weren’t reacting at all.”

“Right, I guess that makes sense.”

Her fingers brush my knuckles, and she doesn’t let go of me.

Not until her phone buzzes. I pull my hand back into my lap, feeling strangely on the spot. I look her up and down, my vision finally clearing from the hazy smoke as she smirks, staring at her phone before she shoots off a text.

“Boyfriend?” I ask, trying to distract myself from reality.