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“So you don’t plan on staying at the Fire Department after you graduate?”
“Nope. It was never an end game for me. The chief knows that. See, I want to do something that I enjoy, and firefighting comes with a lot of tragedy. Sure, we save lives, but sometimes we lose them, and that’s more often than not nowadays. All that death is just too much. Don’t you ever get sick of it?”
“What do you mean?”
“People call 911 when there is an emergency. I’m sure you have had your fair share of people dying on your watch. Doesn’t that affect you? Make you want to switch lanes and find something else?”
My job is stressful and sometimes a bit too much to handle, but it is where I can make the biggest impact without sacrificing my life. His job is dangerous. There is a stigma being firefighters. The women at work say they all have a hero complex, but I’m not sure that’s a bad thing. Since when does wanting to save people become a bad thing? We should celebrate it, because without them, how many people would die? If there is no one to fight the blazes, houses and businesses would go up in flames and collect many lives.
“I like my job, but sometimes it gets to be too much. There is something else in my future. I just don’t know what that is just yet.”
The royal blue sky has fallen upon us and the moon lights the sky with it’s glory. I lean back on my hands, and think about how far I’ve come since the assault. For a while, I wouldn’t leave the house in fear that it would happen again. I thought I had the word weak written across my forehead for everyone to see. The shame and guilt that corrupted my mind because of what Thomas did. The fear of becoming a victim again consumed me, and it kept me from everyone. I didn’t know who I could trust anymore. My therapist did wonders on me, and helped me overcome some of the anxiety I had about being out after dark, leaving my house alone, and even taking self defense classes. Without all of that, I would probably still be holed up in my house, working an at home job, and a recluse.
He turns over onto his side, his hand against his head. “What about your parents?”
Isn’t that a loaded question?His eyes wince when he finds out my mother passed away when I was twelve. She was the best mother, attended all my games, and cheered me on. My father… well that's a different story entirely. He was the soft hearted one. I laid down on my back, not wanting to see his face when I told him more. If he is going to judge me, I’d rather it be on our first date than our ninth. This will help me see how he reacts.
“My father died about six years ago. When I was a teenager my house was broken into and he got roughed up pretty bad. It caused health issues that eventually took his life.”
His hand brushes mine. My first instinct is to pull it away, but I don’t. Happiness, remember? Now, it’s placed on top of mine and squeezing. He cares. This isn’t about sex. He wants to get to know me, and that tells me he’s different from the guys that Jennifer dates. She is always going on and on about how all everyone wants is a hook-up. No one ever wants to settle down or be in a thriving relationship. But Theo. I get the impression he wants love, passion, and support.
“My grandfather passed away recently. Right before that wreck actually. So, I have no one left. It’s weird to think about that. Realizing that everyone else is gone and it might be your turn next.”
I turn on my side and face Theo. “Where do you see yourself in five years?”
He laughs. “Well isn’t that a million dollar question. I’d like to have a successful business, a family, and just be happy. Pathetic, huh?”
On the contrary. The fact that he has an answer is riveting. I’ve always lived day by day. Not caring much about goals or planning my future because of fear, but it’s time to change.
“It sounds perfect.”
His eyes lock on mine, and for a moment I think about getting up and running away. This ache in my chest, starving for his attention, it’s new. Theo is what I have been searching for. I lean in until my lips are mere inches away from his. He doesn’t move. I did freak out earlier so I’m not surprised he’s not taking the hint. When everything in my head is telling me to stop, I close the gap between us and press my lips against his. A tingle in my chest appears, but I’m hooked on the taste of the wine. His hand cups the back of my head as his tongue explores mine. My whole body turns warm and I never want this to end. Why have I been shying away from this?
He breaks the kiss and runs his thumb over my lips. “Your hesitancy tonight has me wondering what else you aren’t telling me. But with due time. Right now, it’s getting late and that kiss is a great way to end the evening.”
I brace myself on my knees and get up, helping him fold up the blanket, and then walking to my car. My stomach churns, not knowing what to do next.Do we kiss again? Just get in my car and go?
“I look forward to doing this again sometime. Get home safe, Felicity,” he says, leaning in and kissing me on the cheek, leaving me leaning against my car.
Where has Theo Navaldi been all my life?
14
THEO
Being the gentleman I am, I wait for her to leave the parking lot before taking off. I’m not going to leave her here in the dark. Right as I start my car, I get a text.
Nathan: hanging out at Jack’s. Swing by.
Bars aren’t necessarily my thing. An occasional alcoholic beverage, I’m all for, but not all the clingy ass women that huddle around looking for free drinks. Not sure why guys fall for it. They buy them drinks all night and get pissed when they don’t go home with them. New flash, in this day and age, no one should sleep together or going home with anyone if drunk. So many people have gone to jail or prison for sexual assault. Major factor in a majority of cases is alcohol consumption. Or maybe I’m just a stickler for a woman who is looking for more. One night stands aren’t really my thing.
But they are Nathan’s. I can’t even remember the count on how many women he has taken home from Jack’s over the years. An obscene amount. I’m not one to slut shame but he needs to be careful.
From the moment I walk in the door at Jack’s, I can’t even hear myself think. The murmur of voices, a patron telling some story to one of the bartenders, and the fight blaring on the television is all at full volume. Maybe this is why I hate coming to places like this. It always end up with me having a migraine.
I see Nathan at the end of the bar, and join him on a wooden stool butting up against a brass foot rail.
“What can I get ya?” the bartender asks, rolling up his sleeves.
