Compromising Kessen (34 page)

BOOK: Compromising Kessen

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I can’t make this stuff up, not even if I tried. Naturally, the groom was a little ticked off. You could tell by the fact that his face and neck got so red his head looked like it was going to pop right off his body. Next thing I know, my ex-boyfriend was grabbing me, yes grabbing me, by my dress strap, I might add, and tugging me to stand up with him. Sorry, but my loyalty doesn’t run that deep. I briefly contemplated slamming my head against a wall.

You can imagine the ruckus he caused, since the bride not only fainted but took all six of her bridesmaids down with her, simultaneously knocking over the giant candelabrum that set part of the church on fire. The highlight of my day was watching the incredibly muscular fireman put the small blaze out. Sometimes my life is pathetic, I admit.

But back to my snotty-nosed ex-boyfriend, maybe if I sneak away quietly he won’t notice I’m gone. Gathering my purse and coat, I walk toward the door. Sweet freedom. I can see it. I can smell it. And I can feel it.

“Amanda?”

Ugh, I knew I was lying to myself. I never made it out of my house in high school. Why would I be able to sneak out now?

Defeated, I turn around to see who had said my name and noticed an attractive firemen walking my way. Now I’m curious, but I see the ex-boyfriend slowly look my way as well. Oh no. This is not good. Doing what I do best, I smile at Mr. Hot-Fireman, and say, “Hi.”

“You don’t remember me, do you?” The deep voice sent shivers up my spine; it was like melted chocolate. The ex-boyfriend has a crazed look in his eyes and suddenly sprints toward Mr. Fireman and me. Next thing I know, Derek, still snot faced and angry, is on top of the fireman throwing punches Ultimate Fighter style at the back of his head.

“Derek! Get off of him, what are you doing?”

“I’ll fight for you, Amanda! Don’t worry! I love you!” Insert more crazy snot induced sobs here. Men.

The poor hot fireman didn’t even know what hit him. Lucky for him he was still wearing his helmet which blocked part of the blow from Derek. The unfortunate part was, although it did block the hit from Derek, the blow sent the hat flying off of the fireman’s head into the giant cake, sending the bride, yet again, into hysterics and judgmental looks my way. I feel the need to shout,
This is not my fault
!

Derek is finally thrown off of the fireman, and I escort him outside amidst the entire town shaking their heads in disapproval. Thanks for the help guys! No one even bothered to get up from their seats, rude.

“Derek, what the heck are you doing?” He shoves his, now I realize, small hands into his pockets and sniffs, “Well, I just thought maybe since things didn’t go well, you know, today, that we could try again.”

Oh my goodness. This cannot be happening. He is actually serious. This is not his joking face. Is he drunk? He must be drunk off communion wine. It’s the only explanation I can come up with at this point.

“Derek,” I try my stern voice, hoping he’ll get the hint without me having to slap him across the face. I don’t like criers. His tears must stop now. They must stop, I tell you! Okay, calm down and tell him how it is. “You’re an idiot.”

Maybe that was too harsh, make it better. “So, please stop crying! I won’t try again with you when there was nothing to try in the first place. You took me as a date to your best friend’s wedding, then tried to ditch me to hook up with the bride. And now that it didn’t work out as you planned, you want to try with me?” The shrillness of my voice was elevating, and getting louder, but I couldn’t control myself. Tremulously, I try to reclaim some shreds of dignity, so I add, “I’ll have you know there are guys who would kill for an opportunity to date me!” What, just because they aren’t lining up doesn’t mean it’s not true. “How dare you think you can have a second chance with me. You're lucky you had a first.” My fists are clenched so tightly against my sides, I know if I breathe one more word I’ll release them all over his face.

The sobbing baby turns suddenly into a little monster and retorts, “Well, that’s not what I hear. Did you know they had to bribe me to even go out with you? I would be doing you a favor!”

Where did that come from? Where is ‘Mr. I Cry All the Time and Have Feelings Too’ man? My mouth drops open as I’m rendered speechless. Then out of nowhere – like a flash of lightning – Mr. Fireman storms up to us and punches Derek in the nose.

“What?” I yell at the strange, hot man and I lean down to see if Derek is okay. Wow, this guy is going to need therapy after today.

“He’s an idiot,” the fireman states as he rubs his large hands. Not even a scratch from that hit. Nice.

The claim is valid; there’s no way to argue that point. Nice to know I’m not the only sane one here at the wedding.

“Thanks,” I manage to mutter as I meet the craziest green eyes I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Oh good, the room is spinning now. Perfect. Maybe I’ll pass out on top of Derek, looking all kinds of inappropriate. The mayor would love that.

“You’re welcome, Amanda.” Mr. Fireman grins cleverly before he turns around and walks back into the church.

“Who is that?” Derek is still pathetically whimpering on the ground. I feel like kicking him, but I’m not the violent type. I’m outside, so it’s easy to make an escape. I'm sure not going to wait around. On the way home, I keep wondering about Mr. Mystery Fireman. He looked so familiar. Do I know him? How does he know my name? Our town of Nampa, Idaho isn’t very large, we only boast enough people for two high schools. Then again, he could have easily gone to school somewhere in Boise or Meridian. But he was definitely a Nampa fireman.

****

Google is wonderful; which could be construed as stalking, but my curiosity is eating me alive. Yes! Found it, Nampa Firehouse,
click.

Oh be still my rapidly beating heart. They have a calendar for a suggested donation of only ten dollars! Plus, it’s for charity! Who wouldn’t buy the calendar? Of course, he’s Mr. December. Merry Christmas, Amanda. My strict Nazarene grandma is probably rolling in her grave, not that I didn’t give her enough reasons to be in that grave while she was living. What with my dancing and going to movies. She was a dear, sweet lady who I’m thankful now, is with her Lord. I’m silently praying to God that He is the only one who can actually hear my thoughts. Amen. And, girls, if you can see this, A-M-E-N.

You could do laundry on his abs. Is he airbrushed? How can abs look this way? His chest is perfectly chiseled, like God cut him out of a mountain. Those green eyes aren’t even his best feature. His hair is so thick and glossy, it should have its own Facebook page, and I would easily be the number one fan.

I need to refocus. Where is his name? I scroll down to the bottom of the page and see “staff”. I click and pray it will be the correct information. Moving down the page again, I see his picture and click on it. They have stats right next to the names. Wait. No. Well, I just almost swallowed my tongue – didn’t know it was possible, but here you see it documented. It almost happened to a perfectly healthy twenty-seven year old, and my parents would have found me in my apartment, asphyxiated on the floor with my computer screen opened up to a hot fireman. The shame would be unbearable. My poor parents would be humiliated and have to lie to everyone about how they found me.

There’s no way it could actually be him. The irony would be too perfect. I have to look closer to confirm my eyes aren't deceiving me. With a sinking feeling, I remember him when he had braces, ugly sweater vests, and too thick glasses.

It’s Preston, and the memories of egging his house more than once during high school hit me full force. I remember him holding my hand with those sweaty palms as he asked me to prom in front of the entire school. Right now the only one with sweaty palms is me! Oh, no. I turned him down. The sad part is, if he’d ask me now, I’d say yes.

At the time, it was more important for me to look cool. So I said, in front of everyone, “Thanks, but I’m already going with my cousin, Brad”. I don’t even have a cousin named Brad. Just wait. It gets worse. He showed up at prom with his sister, saw me dancing and kissing another guy, and, I’m sure, assumed I probably wasn’t that close with my family.

Ladies, let this be a lesson. People always say you need to be nice to nerds, because you might end up working for them some day. The same goes for nerdy guys who ask you out. You should be nice to them, because one day they might be smoking hot.

Astraea Press

Pure. Fiction.

www.astraeapress.com

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