Grabbing my purse and keys, I exit my condo and head downstairs to the garage. I’ve already loaded all of the donated items into the back of my truck, last year's model of the Ford Bronco, and my first obsession in life.
When I went to the dealership to purchase one, they had this mint colored beauty still waiting to be purchased and since they were bringing in all the next year’s models, they massively discounted this for me. Plus, they recognized me from my Social Share account and threw in some perks to shout out their dealership. Perks that Sam would always benefit from and it’s clear as day, now, why he pursued me.
I’ve realized over the past couple of weeks, I’m feeling hurt and betrayed by him using me, as opposed to heartache over the loss of our relationship.
I never thought I would have to consider being used for popularity, my follower count or for benefits only something like that could bring you. But seeing how Sam treated me and what he gained, I know now that I need to be extra cautious with who I get involved with.
I start up my truck and tap my throwback playlist. Usher’sHey Daddy, spills out of the speakers with a melodic tone and instant catchiness.
Hm, I wonder if Usher has a daddy kink.
Jesus, I need to get laid I think.
My mind has been wandering too easily in that direction and I’m certain I need to do something about that before I start humping the nearest light pole.
I’ve always had a healthy sex drive, but lately, I can’t seem to stop thinking about it. I even invested in some more toys to spice things up.
Jesus. Listen to me talking about spicing up my solo sex life. Yeah, I need to throw myself back out there and stop letting the fear of what Sam did to me hold me back.
Sex toys and romance books are a decent substitute, but this can only go on so long.
The drive to the fire station is only fifteen minutes. In my research, I found that there is typically one fire station that they use for training and other stations that are strategically placed throughout the city.
Most firefighters work out of one station consistently, but in some cases if they’re shorthanded, they could be assigned to work out of a different one.
I chose the smallest location since I heard people usually donate to the county's main training station or the larger ones.
I pull up and park at the curb, glancing into the tinted double doors, but can’t see if anyone is in there. It always seems like stations are always desolate until all of a sudden their garage doors burst open and their sirens blare as they pull out of their stations, literally ass on fire.
Grabbing one of the boxes, I step back from my Bronco and close the door. I glance up at the clanging of metal on metal as the American Flag whips around the flagpole, the large post is buried in tan bark at the corner of the entrance. The wind is crisp and doesn’t feel as powerful as it should considering how aggressive the fabric of the flag is slapping around.
I walk up to the front door and balance the box on my bent knee as I knock on the tinted glass. When I called earlier in the week, they just said to stop by anytime because someone was always here, but as a minute ticks by I wonder if that’s true. Ibalance the box on my knee again and raise my fist to rap my knuckles against the door, then suddenly it opens, startling me.
A gorgeous man in navy cargo pants and a fitted T-shirt, that sticks to his chest like a second skin, stands in front of me with a dumbfounded look. His flawless, tan skin is only covered by the perfectly groomed beard that’s long enough to cover everything but short enough to look like he just might have forgotten to shave. His sharp jawline matches his intense eyes as he silently questions why the hell I’m at his door.
“Hi, I’m Abby, I called about the social media donation earlier this week.” My statement comes out like more of a question since the last few words squeak out of me with uncertainty. Usually I’m much more confident, but this man intimidates the hell out of me. Even his hair is thick and wavy in all the right places.
Inspecting his face, he looks about my age except the scowl he’s currently wearing ages him by ten years.
Glancing down at the box in my arms, he finally speaks and his voice is as deep as the pinch in his eyebrows. “And so you brought us a box of kid toys and a ragged cabbage patch doll?”
I look down and I realize I should have grabbed one of the other boxes. This one I sorted with board games and the cabbage patch kid that a teenager donated with the most amazing story that absolutely broke my heart.
I stand to my full height, even though the box is heavy as hell, because I’m here to donate items and do something kind, and Mr. Grumpy Pants here is being a total dick.
“Actually, there’s an amazing story behind these toys andthatdoll.” I tilt my chin at it. “Also, there are more items in my car that you can help me with.” One of his eyebrows lifts and a slight smirk flashes across his face so quick I almost miss it. I can’t tell if he’s pissed or impressed.
I set the box down in front of the door that he’s holding to prop it open and sashay, with confidence, back down the pathway to the curb where my car is parked.
I press the button to open the trunk of my Ford and it beeps before the automatic door pops open as the glass top lifts. As I turn around, I see him in my periphery, trailing behind me.
Maybe he’s not a heartless jerk after all.
As he rounds the corner and ducks under the glass partition, his neck cranes back and he says, “Wow.”
I can’t help but smile with all the donated items we received from the community.
Lots of non-perishable foods, a blender, Instapot, even an extremely expensive Breville espresso machine, tons of workout equipment, appliances and computer equipment. Someone even donated a Playstation 5. Even more of what he can’t see are tickets from some of the local sports teams for different hockey and baseball games throughout the season for their off time.
