“That’s easily the worst thing you’ve ever said to me,” I tell her.
“Just lighten up, will you? We’re here to have fun. Let it be fun.”
I open up a new bag, but it’s only a formality. After being smacked in the face by the garment whose owner never showered, I’m done putting my olfactory nerves in the line of fire.
Only, the smell wafting from the bag is a familiar one, even holding the bag open and nowhere near my face.
I close it up and walk to the picture line.
Annabeth’s behind me a second later.
“You changed your mind in a hurry,” she says. “What convinced you?”
“A long shot,” I tell her.
Of course the shirt smells like Dane.
The line moves fast and, before I know it, I’m trying to figure out what kind of expression says, “It’s not weird that I’m holding your dirty shirt because the smell gets me hot and bothered,” but it’s not that easy an expression to divine.
I don’t know what the picture looks like because I don’t look at the wall. The odds of Dane actually being here are so remote that I don’t even want to know whose shirt I’m holding.
Annabeth walks with me back to the table, and I set the bag down. Annabeth, though, just picks it right back up, opens it and puts her whole face in the bag.
“That’s not bad,” she says. “A little conventional for my taste, but it’s all right.”
“Excuse me,” a man’s voice comes from behind me.
I turn around.
It’s not Dane.
“I saw your picture up there, holding my shirt,” he says. “My name’s Will.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’m kind of new at this, so I don’t really know—”
“Her name’s Leila,” Annabeth interrupts. “She’s single.”
I flash a glare, but quickly turn back to the man.
“I’m Leila,” I tell him. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Would you like to get a drink?” he asks.
“Only if you’re buying,” Annabeth answers for me.
I scowl at her again, but walk with the man to the bar.
“It’s all right,” he says. “It’s my first time at one of these, too. What would you like to drink?”
“Tequila,” I tell him. “Actually, make that a double with a beer back.”
“Hitting it hard,” he says, smiling. “I like that.”
He’s got a cute smile, but he’s not Dane.
I really thought I was doing the best thing for both of us by not dragging things out. Long distance relationships never work and neither of us were ready to give up enough to stay together, so I shouldn’t feel this conflicted.
He orders my drinks and something for himself and we find a place to sit and talk. I could kill Annabeth for just leaving me with a stranger like this.
“So, what do you do?” he asks.
“I’m a stock broker,” I tell him.
“Sounds exciting,” he says. “Are you one of those people on the floor of the exchange?”
“No,” I tell him. “I handle the portfolios of different clients, give them suggestions as to what stocks within their realm of interest and desired risk level might be good choices. I basically try to make people money.”
“That’s not a bad gig,” he says.
I hope he doesn’t think it’s rude that I take both shots and drink half my beer before responding.
“It’s what I do,” I tell him boringly. “What do you do?”
“I’m a fireman,” he says.
Oh shit.
“Really.” No, it’s not a question.
“Yeah,” he says. “It really takes it out of ya, but it’s pretty rewarding stuff.”
“I bet. How long have you been doing it?”
“About five years,” he says.
“That is fascinating.”
Firemen do something funny to me, and I know I’m not alone here.
“Yeah, so what got you into stocks?” he asks.
“Oh, you know,” I tell him. “Being a part of the financial system that runs everything has its perks—so what made you want to be a fireman?”
He smiles, and I’m starting to find that smile more than just cute.
“I always wanted to be a fireman,” he says. “When I was a kid, most of my friends would talk about being rock stars or movie stars or astronauts or whatever, but ever since I can remember, I just wanted to be a fireman. I wanted to be one of those guys that people look to at their most vulnerable times.”
And I think he’s just explained my infatuation with firemen.
“It’s not all heroics and daring rescues, though,” he says. “On the one hand, you spend a lot of time waiting, and when you do get a call, you just hope you get there before anyone’s hurt. I’ve run across some pretty terrible things. But we don’t have to talk about that. Where are you from?”
“Canada,” I answer, batting my eyes. It’s not a conscious act. “So, are you on call?”
“Am I on call?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Like, what are the chances of you having to rush out of here to go save an orphanage?”
He laughs, perhaps a bit uncomfortably.
“Probably not too high,” he says. “I don’t think there are any orphanages around here. I think the only way I’d get a call is if we had something catastrophic.”
“Wow.”
Who am I right now?
Of course, that thought leads me back to standing in Dane’s doorway, and for a moment, I completely forget about the sexy fireman sitting across the table from me, trying to decide whether I’m attractive enough to forgive a little bit of crazy.
“So, what brings you here?” he asks.
“Oh,” I say, straightening up and trying to at least pretend that I’m not a complete flake. “My friend Annabeth,” I tell him. “She dragged me out of the house, put me in a car and told me we were coming here. She’s the one standing in line to have her picture taken with four bags right now.”
He looks over my shoulder and, by the way he’s closing his eyes while his upper body shakes tells me that he’s spotted her.
“She looks…determined,” he says.
“Yeah, she’s a bit of a freak,” I tell him. “So, what brings you here?”
If I can’t think of anything intelligent to say, I can at least bat back the same questions he’s asking me, right?
“My brother-in-law,” he says. “He and my sister come to these things all the time and try to ‘meet’ each other by smell.”
And that’s fantasy number two. Okay, so it’s not why he’s here, but at least he’s familiar enough with the concept of the open-eyed-blind-date that it shouldn’t be too weird if I suggest it sometime in the future.
And now I’m thinking about Dane again.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “They’re really not weird people, I actually think it’s kind of romantic.”
“It is romantic,” I tell him. “It’s just—I’m still in the process of getting over someone right now, and everything is making me think of him.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “If it helps at all, I know what that’s like. I got divorced a few months back. This is actually the first time I’ve really gone out since it happened.”
“It sucks, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he says. “It does.”
We sit through an uncomfortable silence for a little while.
“Would you like another drink?” he asks. “It looks like you’ve got quite the tolerance.”
“Not so much,” I tell him, “but I would love another drink.”
If I’m going to get Dane off of my mind for good, this is probably how I’m going to have to do it: one good-looking fireman at a time.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Tracers
Dane
I don’t know how long we’ve been swimming, but I’m pretty sure I’m starting to play chicken with the “don’t get too drunk” rule. I’m not getting mean or even slurring my words that much, but I have to admit, I’m pretty sloshed.