Frank
A blast of heat hits me in the face as heavy double doors swing shut behind me. I recoil from the fireball radiating off the pavement and loosen my tie. “Shit, man.” I double check the mic on my earbuds, minimize my calling app, and drop my hand to my side. “It’s hot as Hades out here.”
Jason’s laugh sounds tinny and faraway. “It’s the end of June in downtown Denver. What did you expect?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say as I fiddle with my earbuds. “Maybe an actual spring?” Cars creep by on the street in front McDougan & Kent—the architectural design firm where I work—a mixture of taxis, buses, and your regular Joe Blow on his way to wherever.
“Hey, listen,” Jason says, finally loud enough for me to hear over the hubbub of cars and pedestrians. “Since you’re already out there sweating your balls off, think you could grab me a coffee from The Coffee Spot? It’s air conditioned and wonderful up here on the thirty-first floor. I’d hate to go to all the effort of getting up from my desk, waiting for the elevator, then suffering in the heat just for a caffeine hit, especially since you’re gonna walk right past the place. Kind of. It’s only a block or two away from your gym, right?”
The Coffee Spot is actually four blocks away, and Jason knows that as well as I do, but he also knows—all too well, apparently—that I don’t mind going out of my way for my friends. I slide my phone into my pocket and hike my gym bag over my shoulder before I blend into the river of people flowing down the sidewalk.
“Sure,” I say, sarcasm engaged. “We all know that’s why McDougan & Kent hired me. It was nothing to do with my skills as an electrical engineer and everything to do with my true calling as your personal assistant, at your beck and call whenever you even think about needing something. I’ll even go so far as to run that coffee right up to you before I hit the gym. How’d that be?”
“Great man. I really appreciate it.” Jason’s laugh tells me he knows I won’t be bringing him that coffee, although who knows? Maybe I’ll surprise him. “You gonna be at Derby’s tonight?” he asks.
“You know I’ll be there. Can’t wait. Been counting down the hours all week. You can still hear the sarcasm in my voice, right?”
I glance at the bar in question as I approach the crosswalk. Every week, the engineers, architects, admins, and draftsmen meet at the bar across from our firm and pretend we’re friends for a couple hours. Brian McDougal and Mike Kent, the men whose egos demanded they name their firm after themselves, basically require we go, though I’ve never once seen either of them there, hobnobbing with the likes of us.
The weekly get together is supposed to be good for morale, and I suppose it is, especially when someone gets a little drunk or a lot inappropriate. There’s nothing quite as satisfying as seeing a coworker make a fool of themselves and then getting to laugh about it for the next week or so of workdays.
Jason scoffs. “You can stop pretending you hate it. You and I both know you love having a chance to impress people. Besides, Bree will be there,” Jason says, knowing full well how much I can’t stand to be in the same room as that woman.
“Even better.” I roll my eyes.
“Addiction is a harsh mistress and you, my friend, are Bree Marshall’s drug of choice.”
I sigh and step into the crosswalk. “Color me thrilled.”
“And just think how she’ll swoon when you flash that fat wad of cash and buy the first round for everyone.”
“Right. Because that’s why I do it. To impress crazy-ass Bree Marshall. It has nothing to do with the fact that I like doing nice things for the people I work with.”
“Whatever man. We’ll still love you, even if you stop buying us drinks.” Jason chuckles as he shuffles papers in the background. “Okay. Fine. Maybe we won’t love you, but we’ll definitely still like you.” He pauses and I know exactly what he’ll say next. “Maybe.” I mouth the word as he speaks.
The shriek of squealing tires devours my response.
Beside me, someone screams.
A horn blares.
The sickening thump of metal against metal fills the space, bringing the hubbub of activity around me to a grinding halt. People stop and stare, jaws hanging open. Cars dart around the crumpled mess in the intersection without bothering to stop and check on the occupants of the mangled vehicles.
“What the fuck was that?” Jason’s voice is too loud in my ears. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Look, I gotta go, man.” I pull the earbuds out of my ears and shove them in my pocket before running toward the accident. I pause and appraise the scene as a portly man climbs out of what used to be a pristine Mercedes, rage in his eyes and hate in his voice.
“Stupid cunt came out of nowhere! Just flew through a red light and motherfucker! Would you look at my car!” He pauses in front of his hood—now firmly buried in the passenger door of someone else’s car—and threads his fingers into his thinning hair.
I rush to the driver’s side of the other vehicle and find a woman with dark hair slumped over the steering wheel. She stirs, lifting her head as I approach, a trickle of blood working its way down her forehead.
“Call an ambulance!” I yell as I drop my gym bag to the pavement, yank open her door, and crouch. “Hey. Are you hurt? Can you move?”
The woman blinks, her gaze unfocused. “Huh?” She wipes at the blood on her forehead and stares at the vermillion smear for a long second before wiping her hand on her jeans.
I straighten. “Did anyone call 911?” I yell as the man from the other vehicle comes into view.
“Believe me.” He waves his phone with a smirk. “The cops are on their way.”
And sure enough, the wail of sirens sounds from somewhere down the street.
“She okay?” asks the man, gesturing toward the bleeding woman.
“I don’t know, man. She hasn’t said much. How about you? You good?”
The man nods, then grimaces and runs his hand along the back of his neck. “I hurt, but I’ll live. She better have fantastic insurance. I’m going to sue her straight to oblivion.”
I crouch in front of the woman again. “Hey.” I put my hand on her thigh. “You okay?”
She drops her head back on the headrest and takes a long breath in through her nose. “Yeah. I think I’m okay.” She wipes at her forehead again and then fumbles with the latch on her seatbelt.
I reach into the vehicle and shut off her ignition, overly aware of our proximity as my body stretches across hers.
“Good idea,” she says and then groans, resting her head in her hands. “This is so not good,” she murmurs before bending down to rescue her phone from its place on the floor next to an empty Rockstar energy drink.
“What’s your name?” I ask, intent on getting her focused on anything other than the accident. I don’t think she’s hurt, but the last thing she needs is to panic. Focusing on familiar things like her name and the casual introduction of a stranger will keep her calm. I don’t know how I know that, but I do. The human psyche is an interesting thing, picking up bits and pieces of information along the way. Storing them in the subconscious mind until they’re needed.
“I’m Sarah.” Her voice is low and sultry, like sunlight filtering through amber. Her raven-colored hair hangs in long waves in front of her face. She tucks a strand behind her ear and peeks at me, her light blue eyes glazed and unfocused.
“It’s nice to meet you, Sarah.” I reply with the most pleasant voice I can muster, as if I’m not crouching in the middle of an intersection, sweat trailing down my spine as heat radiates from the asphalt, the passenger door of Sarah’s car sitting firmly in the passenger seat. “I’m Frank.” I consider shaking her hand but touch her shoulder instead, hoping the more intimate contact will soothe her. She sighs with shaky breath. Closes her eyes and inclines her cheek toward my hand. Her features soften and for a moment, it’s as if I’ve known her forever but I blink and the moment’s gone.
An ambulance inches around the corner, fighting the throng of bystanders and vehicles with drivers too concerned about making it to wherever they’re going to offer assistance. The emergency vehicle pulls to a stop. EMTs hop out and swarm the scene. I step back, allowing them space to work as they check out the woman and the driver of the other car.
Police turn the intersection into a beacon of flashing lights and men in uniform standing around with clipboards. I offer my assistance, providing as much information as I can, and then step away and let the professionals do their work. Sarah stands, obviously shaken, but looking stronger and more aware of herself by the minute. The EMTs check the injury on her forehead and gesture toward the ambulance, but she shakes her head, squaring her shoulders as she declines care.
I stay longer than I should, eager to help.
Maybe I can get Sarah’s last name.
Her phone number.
Offer her…what? What could I possibly offer her?
She’s beautiful. Even injured and shaken, she holds herself with a level of confidence that intrigues me. She gathers her hair over her shoulders and glances my way, lifting a hand in gratitude before turning her attention back to the police officer. The man places a hand on her arm as if he has the right to touch her.
Jealousy flares in my stomach.
Clenched jaw.
Tight fists.
One step off the sidewalk and into the street.
Before I make a fool of myself, I take a breath. Surely, the officer is using the same techniques I did, a calming touch to soothe frayed nerves. Besides, I have no claim to Sarah. No reason to be jealous.
I’ve never seen this woman before and I’ll never see her again.
As the throng of people dissipates and I continue to linger, I feel more and more out of place. I catch Sarah’s gaze, nod once, and then head back to work.