tapped the screen to open the book.
People assume single girls are lonely. People especially assume that single girls with curves are lonely, like we spend our time pining away. But I didn’t do any pining. I could get dates if I wanted them, but sometimes a girl likes to stay home on Saturday night, wearing her pajamas and running her lines for an audition.
Okay, sure, I didn’t get laid a lot. And sure, I’d like it if the fireman on the cover of the book was real. Like I’d be somewhere that was on fire—Morgan Financial Holdings, for example, because I really liked my apartment and didn’t want it to burn down—and just as things got hot he’d burst through the door, shirtless, that hose over his shoulder. Then he’d stare at me, speechless at how gorgeous and sexy I was, and once he’d rescued me—shirtless, let me emphasize that—he’d be so nice to me, and then he’d pull me out of the way to the back of the fire truck and he’d—
My point is that I had a full fantasy life. I also had hundreds of hot books contained on a device that fit in the pocket of my purse. People thought I was lonely, but the fact was, I hardly ever felt lonely at all.
Back in Wisconsin, I’d been lonely. But I didn’t like to think about those days. I didn’t like to think about Wisconsin at all.
Besides, except for the odd visit to my parents, I never had to go back there. Because I was in New York, I had a job, and at the moment I had more than one fireman.
I started reading, and things were getting good. The heroine was hired as a housesitter, and while making toast one day she started a fire with a spark from the broken toaster. Luckily, an off-duty fireman lived next door—he came rushing into the house when he saw the smoke. He saved the housesitter from burning the house down, but now she had nowhere to sleep, and he was thinking about bringing her back to the firehouse with his coworkers, just for a few days…
There was a loud bang overhead, and a thump. Then a voice. “Miss Maple? Are you in there? Are you okay?”
I sighed and flipped my Kindle closed. “Yes, I’m here.”
“I’m an EMT. There are a few of us here. The elevator’s stuck, so we’re going to come down through the ceiling and get you, all right?”
“Okay.” I’d been enjoying my reading time, but now my stomach was rumbling again and I had to pee. They couldn’t get me out of here soon enough. I wondered if the EMT’s were hot and single, but that was too much to hope for. That kind of thing only happened in fiction.
There was more banging, and then a panel on the ceiling of the elevator opened. A ladder was lowered down. I sat up, adjusting my blouse, assuming I’d have to climb up on my own. But before I could get up off the floor, a man started climbing down the ladder toward me.
Correction. A man’s ass started climbing down the ladder toward me. And oh my God, it was spectacular.
He—the man, as well as his ass—was in a navy blue EMT’s uniform, complete with sexy uniform pants. His back was to me as he descended the ladder, but I could see dark, close-cropped hair, nice biceps in the short-sleeved uniform shirt, and great shoulders. And his ass… I kept staring at it. His quick, graceful descent of the ladder made it move in the most fascinating way. It was muscled, and round, shown off to perfection, and right there. Even though I was trapped in this dingy elevator, it was like a Magic Mike show had descended in front of me for those few precious seconds. I savored the sight like only a girl who gets laid twice a year, if she’s lucky, can do.
The EMT got to the bottom of the ladder, and I realized I’d been so frozen in surprised lust that I was still sitting on the floor. Maybe he was concerned because he thought I was passed out down here. He hadn’t turned around yet, so I briefly toyed with the crazy idea of closing my eyes and faking so he’d give me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
Then he turned around, and his eyes met mine, and I stared at him in shock.
Not happy shock. Just shock. And then, on the heels of that, humiliation