CHAPTER 4
CHEVY
The thing about falling for someone you've never seen: it makes you honest in ways you’re not accustomed to.
Three weeks into talking toCursive&Caffeineand I've told this woman things I've never told anyone. Not Aiden, who's been my best friend for over a decade. Not Mami, who I tell almost everything to. Not bartenders, the hookups, or the therapist I went to twice before deciding I could just "handle it"—which, I’m sure is not what they recommend.
But this woman gets it out of me. She asks questions that don't have easy answers, and she waits. She doesn't fill the silence with chatter or rush me toward a punchline. It’s as if she knows there's more underneath and she's got no problem hanging around while I find it.
I told her about my dad. The real story….not the surface stuff I give most people: "He left when I was four, no biggie, my mom's a rockstar, I turned out fine." I told her about how I used to sit on the front porch waiting for his truck to pull into the driveway, even though Mami had already told me he wasn't coming back. And that I stole a photo of him from her dresserand kept it in my pillowcase for two years because I thought if I wished hard enough, he'd feel it and come home.
He didn't, obviously. Turns out deadbeat dads are immune to the psychic pleas of six-year-olds. Who knew?
We talked about how I’ve been underestimated my whole life. That people look at my face and decide they already know my story. I'm the hot one, the fun one, the one who keeps things light. Nobody expects depth from me. And after a while, you stop trying to show them they're wrong. You just become the version they already decided you are. It's easier.
Lonelier, and much less fulfilling, but easier.
She listened and tried to relate without sarcasm or pity. She just said: "That sounds exhausting. Performing a version of yourself so people are comfortable."
And I sat there like she'd reached into my chest and stroked my heart.
Then I tried to make a joke. Something about how at least the performance comes with good hair.
And she replied: "You just did the thing where you make a joke so you don't have to feel the emptiness. I’m onto you, hon."
Nobody has ever said that to me before.
The other thing I love about Cursive, is how fun it is to get her riled up. And I'm extremely good at it if I do say so myself. That night a week back—the one where I walked her through undressing and touching every inch of her—that was the hottest conversation I've ever had with a woman. Bar none.
It was different from other sexual experiences I’ve had. This was her trusting me enough to admit she wanted it. And all I wanted to do was make her feel good, please her, and allow her the fantasy.
I said goodnight to her that night like a gentleman.
Then I laid flat on my back, and absolutely lost my mind.
I didn't even make it thirty seconds. Just closed my eyes and replayed everything—her responses, the way she said "hell, yes," the image of her lying on her bed, aching for more—and I stroked my cock until I came so hard there were actual fireworks behind my eyelids.
I reread that conversation every night. Sometimes twice. Sometimes with my hand already moving before I've finished scrolling.
But it's not just the heat. I can handle that. I'm a firefighter. I'm built for heat. It's the softness underneath that gets me. It’s how she tells me about her day as if I'm the person shewantsto tell. How she asks about mine like the answer matters to her. And the way she says goodnight and I lie there in the dark, smiling from ear to ear, makes me feel less alone than I have in a long time.
Today though, the universe decides to remind me that my actual job involves running toward danger, and I can’t just daydream about the sweetest woman on the internet.
We get a call around two in the afternoon. It’s a structure fire in a residential area on the east side of Deepwood. When we roll up, the house is almost completely engulfed. Flames are blowing out of the second-story windows and the smoke is black and ugly, meaning everything inside is burning hot and fast.
We do our thing. The Captain’s calling commands, Aiden’s on the hose, and I'm doing a primary search of the first floor with Jasper because there's a report of someone possibly still inside. Turns out the house is empty, but the floor is compromised and I don't know it until my boot goes through.
Just my foot. Just for a second. Jasper grabs me, hauls me back, and we get the hell out.
It's not a big deal. It's the kind of thing that happens. You train for it, you shake it off, you move on.
But my hands are shaking in the truck afterward, and I can't make them stop.
Aiden catches it. The man notices everything, which is annoying when you're trying to be stoic and unbothered.
"You good, brother?" he asks quietly, while the rest of the crew is loading equipment.
I give him a smile. The one that's served me well for thirty-four years. "Yeah, man. All good. Just need a shower and a beer."
