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I nodded. “Yes, I got his phone number, not that I will be using it anytime soon.”
Ophelia let out a sigh and fell backward on her bed. “Maddy, a kiss doesn't define everything,” she muttered under her breath.
I shook my head and turned back to my computer. If only I could admit that I felt the same and that I was hoping I would use Milo’s number in the future.
Chapter Four
-Milo-
The ambulance was hot. And quiet. My partner, Elliot, was behind the wheel with a Whopper in one hand and his oversized drink sitting on the dash. The only sound was the crumbling of our wrappers. I tossed my paper, with the pickle still nestled inside, in the fast-food bag and leaned my head against the seat. It had been three weeks since my blind date with the most amazing woman I had ever met, three weeks of constant thinking of her and trying to figure out how I could convince her to try a second date. Madeline seemed perfect. She was easy going and fun to talk to. Her smile lit up the dim ambiance of the bar, and her green eyes were captivating; I could still see them when I closed my eyes.
I knew exactly what went wrong, and I knew it was my fault. Damn, that first kiss was perfect—then I had to go and make it more awkward. Granted, being twenty-two and more focused on changing my life left me little to no experience in the dating—or kissing—field. Not that I hadn’t been on dates—I had—and not that I’ve hadn't kissed any girls—Ihad—but life had shifted focus after my mom’s sudden passing. School didn't seem as important anymore. Besides, who needed student loan payments?
Life without my mom was empty, and depression set in. I worked less, stopped leaving the apartment, and completely ignored my phone. My dad had grieved in his own way; losing the love of his life was a complete shock. He moved from Portland to a small coastal town, buying a small two-bedroom house, making sure to always keep the guest room ready for my visits. He wasn’t that far but not seeing him every day only added to my emotional well-being. I knew I wasn’t alone; I had Clay, who was the best roommate a guy could ask for, always there as a shoulder to lean on while I mourned my mother, but the majority of the time, Ifeltalone.
Clay had mentioned Ophelia’s roommate several times, that she was a “cute and sweet” undergrad who was just as much of a hermit as I was. After months of him trying to convince me to go on a date, I finally agreed—and realized how out of it I really was.
Madeline was everything I thought—Iknew—I would want.
Meeting Madeline, even just one night, seemed to pull me back into reality. I began working normal hours and tried to focus on life again. A stable career, a possibility of dating, and family in my future. Even if it wasn’t with Madeline, I knew she was to thank for pulling me from that depression.
I sighed and dropped my head back. I closed my eyes and tried to shift into a comfortable position. Sleeping in the ambulance was frowned upon, but I wouldn’t lie and say it never happened. Elliot was here; he could take any call and wake me if something came through. Stretching my neck from side to side, I crossed my arms over my chest and inhaled.
“Oh, no. You slept last night,” Elliot muttered, forcing my eyes open, the mental image of Madeline gone in seconds. “It’s my night to rest.” He crumpled up his Whopper wrapper and tossed it in the trash bag, smashing that down as well.
“I just need someone to call us,” I groaned, staring at the receiver.
Elliot turned and shot me a glare, one eyebrow raised higher than Jim Carrey. “Youwantsomeone to call 9-1-1?”
I furrowed my brow. “Well, when you put it like that,” I leaned forward, grabbing my phone off the dashboard. I hit the small, round button on the bottom, hoping for any kind of notification, slumping my shoulders when I saw only the time.
Elliot grabbed his drink and took a long gulp. “I hate to break it to you, but if she hasn’t texted you by now, she most likely won't. It’s been what, five weeks?”
“Three,” I corrected, side-eyeing him and curling my lips. “I wasn’t looking for a text from Madeline.”
“Sure you weren’t,” Elliot mumbled sarcastically, turning the engine over and cranking up the AC, giving us a ten-minute cool down. “I’ve known you for a while now, and this is the only girl you’ve been hung up on. And from what you’ve told me, nothing is going to come of it.”
Elliot had been my partner for the past year. Where Clay was my best friend and knew everything the second it happened, Elliot was a close second. Spending hours in the same vehicle as someone, seeing some of the things you see as an EMT, pulled you closer than you’d like to admit. Elliot knew about Madeline and how I wanted to contact her again. He also warned me not to.
I shook my head, ignoring his comments and placing my phone back on the dash. The receiver crackled, and the dispatcher’s muffled voice said, “Car accident on the interchange of 405 and 5, multiple injuries.”
I sat up and buckled in. Elliot did the same, popping the ambulance in drive while I flipped on the lights and sirens.
“Well, you wanted someone to need us,” he said as we began our five-minute route to the scene.
I took deep breaths, mentally preparing myself for what was waiting on the 405. Car accidents and I didn't mix.
I got back to the apartment late and figured Clay would be in bed. Working twelve-hour shifts always screwed up the roommate dynamic, but thankfully, Clay didn't seem to mind my odd hours.When I opened the door, I was somewhat shocked to see him still awake, sitting on the couch, Xbox controller in hand, textbooks spread out on the couch and coffee table around him.
“Taking a break, are we?” I asked, closing the door and hanging up my key. I dropped my bullet-proof vest—a city requirement I had yet to need—and made my way to the small kitchen.
“Well, the numbers started to run together,” Clay said, not taking his eyes from the television screen.
Clay was a finance major at the university, and how he loved numbers so much was beyond me. The math I had to do for work was enough. If given the choice between numbers and words, I would take words any day—preferably accompanied by drawings of my favorite characters.
“Ah, hence theCall of Duty.” I grabbed a Sprite from the fridge and sat next to him, hoping he had an extra controller out in case I got home in time to play a few rounds. I closed up his books, hoping one was underneath, and lo and behold, there it was. “Can I join the next match?”
“Sure,” he scooted up on the couch as he hit the trigger button, taking down an enemy. “How was the shift today?” he asked.
