PROLOGUE
HONNNNNK! HONNNNNNNNNNK!
The deafening blare of a car horn honked angrily behind me.
“What the--” I glanced up at the rear-view mirror and immediately locked eyes with the pissed off driver who had been tailgating me for the last mile and a half. He was driving so close to the bumper of my car that I couldn’t even see his headlights.
Any closer, and he’ll be riding in the backseat…
My eyes flicked from the rear-view mirror to the speedometer on the dash. I was driving 40 mph in the 35 mph zone.
Just how fast is this speed demon behind me trying to drive, anyways?!
Before I could ponder that question, Mr. Impatient put his fist down on the horn again. Then he poked his head out of the driver side window and shouted:
“LEARN HOW TO DRIVE, YOU TORTOISE-ASS BITCH!”
That’s a new one. I couldn’t help but grin as I rolled my eyes and lifted my hand, offering him the middle finger salute through the rear windshield of my car. He returned the gesture by punching his horn three more times.
“So that’s how it’s going to be, huh?” I muttered under my breath as a sly smirk turned up the corners of my lips. “That’s fine. I can play this game…”
As I prepared to drive through an intersection, I saw the traffic lights over the road flick from green to yellow.
Perfect timing!
I had plenty of time to tap the gas and make it through the lights before they flicked to red, but I wasn’t in any hurry. Instead, I tapped my foot down on the brake pedal and let the car coast to a stop. I inched up to the white line and watched the light flick from yellow to red.
“Rhode Island, huh?” the driver shouted, reading off the license plate on the back of my car. “Well you’re in Connecticut now. Learn how to drive or stay off our roads!”
I pushed out a deep exhale and watched the lights flick from red to green. Before I could step down on the gas, Mr. Impatient gunned his engine and squealed forward. His shitty Nissan careened around me, rocketing forward and leaving me behind in a cloud of burnt rubber.
Well he was right about one thing, I scowled. I’m definitely not in Rhode Island anymore…
I was visiting the constitution state to scope out a new job offer. The opportunity to work for the Hartford Fire Department had landed on my desk a few days earlier. Now, according to the GPS app on my cell phone, that opportunity was less than a block away...
“Prepare to turn right onto Bishop Street,” the automated voice chirped from my cell phone. I steered towards the right side of the road and flicked on my turn signal obediently, then I rolled around the turn onto Bishop Street.
“Your destination will be on the right in 500 feet.”
I set my eyes on the right side of the road, and then I saw it: a tall building, all red brick, dropped in the center of a grassy field. Since I had already lost Mr. Impatient, I slowed to a crawl as I drove towards the building.
When I got closer, I hit the button on my door panel to roll down the automatic windows. Then I gazed out to read the big white sign that was posted in front of the building:
HARTFORD FIRE DEPARTMENT: FIREHOUSE 56
“Impressive,” I observed out loud.
The station looked very impressive. Besides the power-washed brick building, the grounds were manicured and neat. As a summer breeze fluttered through the open car window, I sniffed in the sweet smell of freshly clipped grass. Then I smelled something else: the moist scent of hose water.
Still chugging forward at a snail’s pace, I flicked my eyes towards the station and saw a member of the crew hoisting a thick length of hose towards a bright red fire truck glinting rays of silver white sunlight.
There were two things that immediately stood out: one, the fireman was shirtless. And two, the fireman was shirtless.
He had the kind of abs that I thought only existed in boy band music videos from the 1990s, and his skin was sun kissed and glistening with sweat.
“I’m definitely not in Rhode Island anymore,” I gulped, sliding my aviator sunglasses down the ridge of my nose to get a better look.
The fireman gripped the hose under his arm, then he flicked a valve. White water immediately rushed out of the hose, blasting the candy red truck. I watched as he gripped the hose and pointed it at the truck, moving it side to side like it was his own personal Super-Soaker.
Once he had soaked the side of the truck, he flicked off the hose and dropped it onto the concrete driveway in front of the firehouse. Then he reached into a bucket and pulled out a soapy sponge. He squeezed the sponge between his hands, wringing out all the milky white suds.
Then he gripped the sponge in one hand and started making swipes over the exterior of the truck. I gulped again and pushed down harder on the brakes, bringing my speed down to approximately .00000000001 miles per hour. Approximately.
I couldn’t look away. I sucked in my bottom lip and tried to ignore hot and bothered the fiery-hot fireman was making me as he covered the exterior of the truck in white foamy bubbles.
The car inched forward so that I was directly in front of the station, and then the GPS chirped loudly.
“You have arrived!”
The car windows were down, and the GPS must have been just loud enough… because the fireman immediately froze and started to glance my way.
Shit!
I immediately jerked my foot from the brake pedal to the gas and prepared to speed the hell out of there, but then I heard a voice call out from the firehouse.
“Hey, Mr. March!”
The fireman’s head flicked away from me and back towards the firehouse, just as another fireman sauntered out.
I used the distraction to make my escape. I mashed my foot down on the gas, then I took one last parting glance at Firehouse 56 before I sped away...