Five Alarm Christmas: A Firefighter Reverse Harem Romance Page 3

  Hell yeah.

  The only problem was the gym was still dirty from construction: the rubber floor mats were covered with dust and pieces of drywall. That wouldn’t do. I backtracked until I found the supply closet, then carried the vacuum cleaner back to the gym. It wouldn’t take long, and then I could start my morning by lifting weights once the others got here. That would make a good first impression. I was in my element while lifting.

  As I moved the vacuum back and forth across the floor I decided I was going to like it here.

  4

  Christian

  “We’re going to hate it there,” Sparks said.

  “Dude,” I said, “don’t say that.”

  We were finishing packing our belongings in our bunk. At least, Angel and I had finished. Sparks was dragging ass and complaining the entire time.

  “It’s bullshit,” he said, staring into his dresser drawer.

  “That’s how it works sometimes,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, it’s bullshit,” Sparks repeated. His face was as red as his hair this morning. “They can’t break us up.”

  “Break us up? We’re not a band.”

  Angel stood silently with his bag slung over one shoulder. He wasn’t happy either, but he internalized it better than Sparks.

  The fourth member of our unit, Brady, sat on the bed and sighed. “I was the weaker guy. I took a hit on my last review. You three deserve the reassignment, not me.

  Sparks whirled. “Teamwork is more important than numbers on a fucking spreadsheet.”

  “It’s done,” I said. “So unless you want to march down to Chief Elliott’s office and complain, I suggest we leave.”

  Sparks grumbled but threw the rest of his clothes haphazardly into his duffel bag. Then we took turns hugging Brady and saying our goodbyes. He wished us luck, then sat back down on the bed and stared at the wall as we left.

  “Bullshit,” Sparks mumbled in the car on the way to Hialeah. Neither he nor Angel said anything more, so I didn’t try to force conversation.

  Yeah, it sucked that only three of us were accepted into the new peak hours station program. But Brady was right: his scores weren’t as high as the rest of ours. It made perfect sense that he wouldn’t be selected. Hell, we were lucky three of us were chosen rather than just one or two. It was a highly sought-after transfer.

  Brady aside, I was looking forward to the move. The new shift hours were going to be a welcome change, and Hialeah was a nice part of town. I wished the others were excited as I was.

  They would be, eventually. They just needed time.

  The new station was brand new and gorgeous. The glass fireman doors were pristine and gave a picturesque view of the shiny engines inside.

  Sparks whistled as we got out of our truck. “This place looks tight!”

  I smiled to myself. I guess he only needed a few minutes to get excited.

  The common room was new and laid out such that it was one giant room connected to the kitchen. I heard the hum of equipment running somewhere distant. I took a deep breath, savoring the new smells.

  Angel ran straight to the kitchen. “Look at these pans! It’s non-stick rather than cast iron, but it’s the good stuff. High quality.”

  Sparks was already turning on the entertainment system. “Oh hell yeah, they have an XBox. I don’t need to bring mine. And it’s all wired up with internet!”

  “Told you this place would be nice,” I said.

  Nice was an understatement. This place rocked. Individual bedrooms with private toilets. Soft mattresses and windows to let in light. That was a surprising luxury: since firefighters slept at chaotic hours most bunk rooms had no windows, in case someone needed to sleep during the day. But since this was a peak hours station that wasn’t needed. It was a small thing, but it made it feel more like a home rather than a military barracks. I’d stayed in some pretty dingy stations before.

  This was a huge upgrade.

  I walked down the hall to the garage and paused in an open doorway. It was a fully stocked workout room with weight equipment, an elliptical and bike for cardio, and even televisions in the corners. I practically lived in the weight room at our old station.

  But what grabbed my gaze was the woman bending over in the middle of the room. She was thick in the good way, with a firm ass and thighs tight against her navy blue pants. As she rose I saw that she was tall and wore her blonde hair in a ponytail. She was like a muscular viking goddess.

  She picked up the vacuum—which must have been the humming noise I heard—and turned around.

  “Oh,” she said.

  Now that I wasn’t staring at her ass I realized she was wearing the blue Class B firefighter uniform. This was our new partner?

  I hadn’t expected someone so… hot.

  “Hi,” I said.

  Sparks came up behind me. “Hell yeah! This place comes with a maid too?”

  Dude, I thought.

  The woman’s face darkened. “Excuse me? I’m not a maid.”

  “Uhh, then why do you have a vacuum in your hand?”

  She looked down as if just realizing she was holding it. “The construction crew left this place dirty, so I was cleaning up.” She put it down and said, “I’m Amy Pederson.”

  Sparks was frozen next to me, so I stepped up and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, Amy. I’m Christian Nygaard, and this is Sparks Johnson. The guy fondling the frying pans in the kitchen is Angel Martinez.”

  She returned my firm handshake and then turned to extend her hand to Sparks. He stared down at her hand like it was a scorpion.

  “You are the new person in our unit?”

  She lowered her hand. “Uhh, this is a new unit. We’re all new.”

  Sparks snorted. “Not really.”

  Amy clenched her jaw and looked at me. “Do you guys all know each other already?”

  This wasn’t going well. Sparks had an abrasive personality on good days, and today wasn’t a good day. “The three of us…”

  “We’re a unit already,” Sparks said. “You’re the new guy. Though I guess technically you’re a gal.” He walked away and said over his shoulder, “Give my room a quick cleaning while you’re at it.”

  “Wait…” I began, but Amy was already shoving past me with an angry look on her beautiful face.

  Yeah. This wasn’t going well at all.

  5

  Amy

  Oh hell no.

  I’d dealt with this kind of shit in the past, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to deal with it today.

  I shoved past Christian—who, to his credit, seemed friendly and warm—and followed Sparks back to the common room. “I’m not your maid.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Relax. It was a joke.”

  “You’re being an asshole.”

  He turned to the third man. “She’s sensitive, Angel, so watch what you say.”

  Angel was indeed inspecting the cookware like Christian had said. He was a Latino guy in his 20s, with a sexy angular face and a blank expression. He nodded at me and said, “Hey.”

  Another lukewarm greeting. It might have just been shyness, but after Sparks’s reaction I wasn’t inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “What kind of a firefighter are you, anyways?” I asked. “Where I come from they don’t allow beards.”

  “Sounds like you come from a shitty place,” Sparks said. He brushed his short beard with his finger and thumb. “Our masks are a positive-pressure system. Don’t need a perfect seal.”

  “You don’t need it, but it helps. The last thing you want is to inhale a lungful of smoke.” I looked at Christian, who shrugged.

  “Long story. He won a poker match against our old Captain for the right to grow it out. Now he’s sort of grandfathered in.”

  “Great,” I said. “A new unit mate I’m gunna have to drag out of a building because he’s too stubborn to shave.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Trust me, honey. I won’t need your help.”


  “Do you have a problem with me being a woman?”

  He crossed his arms over his muscular chest. They were all muscular, as firemen tended to be, but Sparks more than most. His fiery red hair was parted down the side and there was a smattering of freckles across his placid face.

  “And there it is,” he said. “The sexism card.”

  “You have got to be kidding me. You’re the one who just called me honey, and…” I stopped myself. This wasn’t helpful. He seemed like a dick, but I was rising to the bait. That wasn’t how you dealt with these kinds of guys. Better to let insults roll off your back and dish it out twice as hard.

  “Let’s start over,” I said to the group. “I’m Amy Pederson. Your names were… Christian, Angel, and Sparks? Nice to meet you guys.”

  I paused to breathe before apologizing for my rash reaction but was interrupted by a new voice.

  “Oh good. You’re all here already.” A man in his Class A uniform and a Captain’s gold bugles stood in the entrance door. “I’m the assistant to Chief Elliott, Captain Billson. Welcome to Station 47. Let’s get you all situated.”

  There was no more arguing among us as he showed us around the station. It was a tour of what we’d already seen. Common room, weight room. Eight bedrooms, which could accommodate two four-person shifts. “Although you’ll be the only shift for now,” Billson said.

  “No other shift?” Sparks asked. “So, what? We’re working seven nights a week?”

  “Only five. Once the trial period is over and we have data on your station’s effectiveness we’ll hire a second shift and split the days. But for now it’s just you.”

  Christian nudged Sparks in the ribs. “I know you could use the overtime pay.”

  “Not that much overtime.”

  Billson led us into the only area I hadn’t seen yet: the engine room. There were three vehicles: an all-purpose truck and two big pumpers. One of them was as shiny as a new penny.

  “My old unit is going to be so jealous,” I said. “We’ve been requesting a new engine for months. Can’t wait to drive it!”

  “Angel’s the driver tech,” Christian said simply.

  There was no time to argue because Billson was leading us into the room with the dispatch radio and other electronics. It was connected to speakers throughout the station and looked like any other communications equipment.

  “As a peak hours unit, you exist solely to respond to fires. No other EMS calls.”

  That was both good and bad. It meant we could focus on what we did best and not waste time on useless calls—of which there were a lot on any given day. But it also meant we would have a lot of down time during our 12 hour shift. Time dragged on when there was nothing to do.

  “Aww, man,” Sparks said. “Rescuing kittens from trees is Angel’s specialty.”

  I snickered, but Sparks glanced at me and rolled his eyes like I wasn’t allowed in on the joke.

  “That’s that,” Billson said, clapping his hands together. “Time to head over to the training.”

  Christian gave a start. “Training? I thought our first shift begins at 8:00am.”

  It turned out that our first shift wasn’t until tomorrow. We spent the rest of today in training with the dispatch teams and other station Lieutenants. Part of having a new peak hours station meant going over who would respond to what calls, and when. Because of the overlap we had with other stations there were new protocols on response time, turnout delays, and shift coverage.

  The four of us also spent two hours sitting down with a city planning analyst. Traveling to a fire didn’t just mean plugging the address into Google Maps. There were more efficient ways for a huge fire engine to travel, routes with fewer stop lights and stop signs, places where we ran a higher risk of being delayed. The analyst had charts and maps and dozens of examples to show us which ways were the best to travel when heading out to fires. 4th Avenue was better than taking route 953 north thanks to construction traffic. Heading southeast or northwest meant getting to route 27 as quickly as possible, although the interchange by the airport was to be avoided at all costs.

  The training took almost all day. By the time we were leaving I felt like my brain was mush.

  “I figured we’d grab groceries on the way back,” Christian said as we piled into the station’s new Ford F-150. The Station 47 logo painted on the side was fresh and vibrant.

  “Good. We need beer,” Sparks said.

  “Cheers to that,” I added.

  That was something fire units were given autonomy over: what food they stocked. It was an important bonding activity between me and my last unit. Everyone picked a night to make dinner for the team. Not to mention arguing over which snacks and beer to get. Nothing brought people together like food.

  Christian grabbed a cart as we walked into the store. “Split up and get what you want.”

  That wasn’t what I was used to. This was supposed to be a team effort. They all stuck together as they went down the first aisle though, so I followed along too.

  Now that the shock of meeting them had worn off, I gave them a longer look. Sparks was the most buff, but Christian and Angel were no slouches in their uniforms. Angel had a great ass which rolled mesmerizingly as he walked, and his hair managed to look both messy and perfect at the same time. Christian’s hair was the blond equivalent of Sparks’s: straight and parted down the side.

  A blond, a brunette, and a redhead walk into a fire station. I wish I’d thought of that joke earlier today. It might have made a better first impression than getting called their maid.

  “I don’t want Cool Ranch this time,” Sparks complained.

  “It’s the best flavor,” Angel said simply.

  Sparks looked back and noticed me tagging along. “You need something?”

  I bit back an insult. Play nice, Amy. “I was just thinking of what we should make for dinners. How do you guys usually do it?”

  “We’re pretty chill about what we eat,” Christian said. It didn’t really answer my question.

  “How about I make my penne al vodka tonight?” I suggested. “I make it with grilled chicken.”

  “We always have tacos on Tuesdays,” Angel said.

  That would have been nice to know before I suggested something. “Taco Tuesday, nice. Sounds good to me. Maybe I’ll make my penne tomorrow?”

  “Cool,” Christian said. “We’ll let you go get the stuff you need for that and meet up a few aisles over.”

  I walked away feeling unwelcome. They had their own thing and I was the noobie. Rather than coming together as new people, I was being forced into their pre-existing unit. Not a great start to a new job.

  It’s only the first day. Give it time.

  I grabbed my own hand basket and gathered the ingredients. Two pounds of raw chicken, then three bags of dry pasta. Two big jars of vodka sauce. “Spices!” I said as I passed the spice aisle. Our place wasn’t stocked with any of the basics. I grabbed garlic powder, onion powder, salt and pepper, Italian seasoning. Olive oil too. All the little necessities. On the same aisle were baking mixes, so I grabbed my favorite brand of pancake mix and syrup. That reminded me that we needed dairy, so I swung by that aisle and grabbed butter and milk.

  I found the guys at the canned goods aisle. Their cart had the stuff for tacos, but they also had a crapload of frozen meals. Those glorified TV dinners that cost $9.99 and only fed one person.

  But I didn’t want to seem like a nag, so I said nothing. We could discuss the station’s food budget later.

  “Oh, spices!” Christian said when he saw my hand cart. “I wouldn’t have thought of that.” Angel’s eyes widened and he ran off.

  Sparks snorted and said, “Good thinking, mom.”

  I chose to take it as friendly banter rather than an asshole comment. “I’ll go grab the beer. What do you guys drink?”

  “I’m not picky,” Christian said. “But Sparks only drinks Bud Lite.”

  “Dude, seriously?”

  “What?
It’s literally the king of beers.”

  “The marketing claims it’s the king of beers. In reality it’s like piss. Have you ever had a nice IPA?”

  “Don’t get us started,” Christian said. Angel came back with a handful of spices and bobbed his head in agreement.

  “Alright, alright,” I said, sneering at Sparks. “I’ll get Bud Lite. You want a sippy cup for it, to make sure you don’t spill?”

  Sparks’s face went beet red. Christian tried, and failed, to suppress a laugh. Angel grinned from ear to ear.

  I walked away before Sparks could think of something to say.

  *

  It didn’t take long to unload the truck with four sets of hands helping. The three of them began putting food away in the pantry and fridge automatically like they had a system. I tried not to be anal about it even though Sparks was throwing stuff onto the shelves in a seemingly random manner. Mostly I remained silent because I didn’t want him calling me mom again.

  Angel tossed the ground beef on the counter and pulled out a frying pan and spatula. I sidled up to him and said, “Anything I can do to help?’

  The handsome Latino shrugged. “It’s pretty simple, but thanks for offering.”

  “She can cut the onion,” Christian called from the pantry. He stuck his head out and tossed me the vegetable, which I caught one-handed. “Angel has sensitive eyes.”

  “I’m on it.”

  I found a wooden cutting board and a sharp knife and got to work. Peeling, cutting into slices, then dicing those into fine bits. The smell and sound of browned ground beef filled the air while Angel stirred. Sparks found a cheese grater and started on a big block of cheddar, while Christian warmed the tortillas in the oven and began cutting up tomatoes.

  We were starting to feel like a team while we silently completed our tasks. Or are they a team, and I’m merely clinging on?