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Chapter 8
Police officers...because firefighters need heroes, too.
-Trance, age 8.
Viddy
“You stupid piece of crap.” I said to the machine in front of me.
Placing my hands on the top of the machine, I pushed with all my might, but only managed a small bump in the behemoth.
So I started kicking it.
“Give.” Kick.
“Me.” Kick.
“My.” Kick.
“Cheetos!” Punch.
My Cheetos were hanging on by a thread. The machine was the devil reincarnate. It stole something of mine at least once a week, and one would think I’d know better by now. But I didn’t. No, I fed my dollar into that stupid machine over and over again throughout the day.
Luckily, it was after school, otherwise, I would’ve never been able to do this.
I was waiting for a ride from my sister, who was over an hour late. I could have called a cab...if my phone wasn’t dead. I’d have called her cell phone...if I remembered numbers.
I hadn’t memorized a number since the summer I turned 15 and got my first cell phone. The only one I remembered off the top of my head was the one man I wasn’t talking to because I was too embarrassed.
To make matters worse, I couldn’t remember anything from the night before.
I was alone when I’d woken, in my own bed, and thoroughly disappointed.
I’d called my sister immediately to see what happened the night before, and all she’d had to say was that I’d gotten drunk and had to ride home with them because Trance was worried I wouldn’t be able to hang on for the ride home.
Which had deflated something inside of me.
I’d been at Trance’s place for going on three days at that point, and being in my own house by myself really blew.
“Need some help cupcake?” A droll voice said from behind me, making me jump and lose my footing. Mostly because my foot was in motion towards the machine for another kick.
I was stopped from falling down to the floor, which would’ve surely hurt like a mother, by Trance’s hard, muscular body.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I said breathlessly.
“I’m sorry. I thought you heard me come up. I wasn’t being quiet.” He apologized, still not letting me go.
I shook my head, latched onto his forearm as if my life depended on it, and stood up straight. “No, I was in the zone.”
He chuckled and helped me stand back on my own two feet.
Turning, a small breath of exhilaration left my lungs at the sight of his muscled body in his tight uniform. My God but the man was stunning.
His hair was unruly, as always.
The dimples in his cheeks and the cleft in his chin started a fire burning low in my core.
The uniform he was wearing was black, and the gold shield on his left breast shone brightly against his chest. The belt at his hips accentuated their trimness, and lead down to muscled thighs.
