Shock - Marie Johnston
Chapter 1
Lia
“And then he did this thing with his tongue—”
The woman whispering at full volume to her friend while picking out condoms and lube glances over at me. Her face flushes, and she bites her lip. I can’t tell if she’s embarrassed or about to come from the memory of the guy with the tongue.
Her friend shoots me an irritated look, but it’s not as if I knew they’d be in their yoga pants and moisture-wicking tees, taking their time picking out his-and-hers KY and trading hookup stories. Aren’t there bars for that? This is the personal hygiene aisle of a grocery store.
“Excuse me.” I try to step around her to grab a box of sport tampons because I refuse to admit a tampon is the biggest thing I’ve had in my vagina for a year.
Her eyes sweep down my outfit, snagging on the star of life on my chest. I’m used to getting second glances when I’m out in my EMT uniform, a white polo and my black tactical pants. I try not to run errands in it, but I have a lunch tomorrow I’m trying not to think about and getting to the store after work is always iffy. I never know what bodily fluids I’ll encounter during a shift.
“Are you with Sunnyville EMS?” The woman who was gushing about her sexcapades faces me with a greedy glint to her hazel eyes.
I don’t mean to, but I glance down at the emblem on my shirt that reads Sunnyville EMS. “Uh, yep.”
Her grin widens and she leans forward so far that I take a step back and clutch the tampons to my chest. “Do you know Ford Monroe?”
I should’ve known. Ford Monroe. Panty-dropper extraordinaire. Master of climaxes and killer of relationships before they start.
Yes, I know Ford. Really well. “He’s my partner.”
And I don’t want to hear about his magical tongue. But I’m going to give him shit about it, and I can’t wait.
She grins and I know what’s coming next. How rude would it be to run? It’s bad enough that I don’t have any girlfriends of my own, friendships that weren’t orchestrated because of our last names and what we could do for each other’s careers, but I don’t want to attract fake friends that only want to scale me to reach my partner.
“Oh.” She oozes excitement. “Can you pass him a message for me?”
The thing about Ford is that he’s also my closest friend. I read between the lines. “Didn’t he give his number to you?”
She pouts. “I’m sure he hit a wrong number.”
He didn’t hit any numbers. I know Ford. He’s a good guy, but he breaks hearts and expectations because he refuses to make any promises he’s not willing to keep. It’s why we work so well together. He’s hung up on his ex and my last relationship was over as soon as my fiancé dipped his dick back into his ex.
Ford and his insane good looks were off-limits the moment I heard his sob story from one of the EMTs we work with. And since we work together, he knows he can’t hit it and quit it with me.
It’s a win-win.
“Maybe you could just give me his number and I’ll text him?” she asks hopefully. Her friend rolls her eyes.
I’m right there with you.
“Sorry, I can’t give it out. HIPAA and all that.” HIPAA’s confidentiality requirements have nothing to do with it. Here’s hoping these two aren’t in the medical field and won’t call me on my bullshit.
“Oh, right. Can you tell him Courtney said he can hit her up anytime? He has my number.”
I doubt it. He deletes numbers if he thinks they’re going to want more, whether it’s breakfast the next morning or a springtime wedding.
But as much as I like Ford and respect the hell out of him as a paramedic, I can’t let this poor thing wait on a message that isn’t coming.
“I can, but I’ve got to be honest. He’s the definition of commitment-phobe and he probably won’t reach out.”
Her expression falters. “Oh. I thought we had a connection.”
“He’s like that, but I can tell you that, truly, it’s not you, it’s him.”
She cocks her head, her gaze sharp. “Are you two together?”
I snort. “No.”
Not only is the idea of dating Ford ludicrous—I mean, we’re partners—but I’m so not his type. I wear my hair in a plain braid every day to work. I use a sports bra to cram the ladies down because I refuse to do what