Linc groaned inwardly. A bunch of ladies—and Brian’s brother—in search of a fat check would probably expect the fire department to hold a car wash—ideally, a shirtless one.
“You were conveniently located when I went looking for volunteers.”
“We didn’t volunteer.”
“Well, I volun-told you. Do whatever you want. Walk some dogs, do a boot drive—just get these ladies off my back. Scott.”
Linc straightened. “Yes, sir?”
“Two of the department volunteers just quit. I need you on call tomorrow and Thursday.”
“Yes, sir.” He’d been hoping to pick up a few more shifts, but on-call paid half of actually being in the station.
“Good man.” The chief eyed the box of donuts. “And next time, buy more fritters.”
* * *
Looking forward to a few hours of sleep, Linc headed home when his shift ended. His anticipation turned to dread, though, at the sight of the red Miata in the visitor parking. Chelsea was here with Jordan, so there went his decent night’s—or day’s—rest.
He could hear them as he came up the hall, and it made the backs of his eyes ache. He was too old for this roommate crap. But housing was short in Seacroft, unless you had money to rent one of the teetering beach houses for the off-season—which Linc didn’t—and the ad on Craigslist seemed welcoming enough.
For Rent: 1 br in 2 br apartment facing the ocean. Steps to amenities and services. Single 27yo guy looking for other single dude who isn’t a jackass. Access to living room, kitchen, and all common areas of the unit. No laundry. Don’t be a dick.
How bad could it be?
“Yes! Yes! Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah.” The woman’s voice rose, and the space between the words melted together.
Thatbad.
As he entered the apartment, a framed photo of Jordan, his roommate, greeted him. In it, Jordan hang ten’d the photographer and clutched a parachute. The picture swung on its nail in time with the thumps coming from the other side of the wall, amplifying his excitement.
“Yes. Yes. Yes yes yes yes.”
Linc pinched the bridge of his nose and slammed the door.
The commotion in the bedroom paused.
“Hello?” Jordan’s voice called.
“It’s me.”
“Hey! I thought you were working a twenty-four today.” Jordan was a paramedic, so he understood the pain of Linc’s erratic schedule. Unfortunately, Jordan’s coping mechanism for his own occupational hazards was getting busy with his girlfriend whenever he had a day off, even if the only overlap in their schedules was first thing in the morning.
Or maybe they were still going at it from the night before.
“Nope. I’m home now.”
He could still hear their frantic whispering, although not as distinctly as Chelsea’s enthusiastic cheerleading a moment earlier.
“We’ll, uh, we’ll be right out.”
“It’s fine. I’m going to bed.” He poured himself a glass of orange juice and sucked it all down in one gulp.
“Oh, okay. See you later, then.” More whispering followed by Chelsea giggling and some choked-off shushing.
They took longer than usual to get started again. Linc was nearly asleep before he heard Chelsea’s high, happy sigh.
“So good, baby,” Jordan groaned.
Linc found the pair of foam earplugs on his nightstand and stuffed them into place. They were imperfect. He’d tried sleeping with his gaming headphones, but he’d only succeeded in rolling onto them and snapping the mic off. He still hadn’t had time to buy replacements and was stuck using a shitty in-line auxiliary cable mic for the last few weeks when he had the chance to game—which wasn’t often.
“Spank me! Do it hard!”
He gritted his teeth, wrapping the pillow over his head.
He was going to have to do something about this situation.
