Just One of the Guys
Page 9
“Hi, Chas!” a few of the other members of C Platoon call as they catch sight of me.
I walk over to the booth, which is situated right under a photo of the tragic Lou Gehrig, pride of the Yankees. “Hey, guys!”
“What are you doing here, pretty girl?” Santo asks.
“Dinner,” I tell him, smiling. Dropping in at Emo’s for dinner is becoming something of a sacred tradition for me. I hate to cook. Cooking is wasted on one person, and Matt works so much overtime these days that, even if I could manage to create something tasty…well, no point in even following that train of thought. I’m my mother’s girl when it comes to the kitchen.
“My girl! Just the person I wanted to talk to,” Dad says. An empty shot glass and a pint of Guinness sit in front of him, and he already seems a little tipsy. “Don’t anyone talk about Chastity’s little incident at the toy store, okay, boys?” he orders.
“Gee, thanks, Dad. You’re a master of subtlety.”
“Have a seat, Chastity,” Trevor says, getting up to grab a chair. I genuflect briefly in front of St. Lou and join the table.
C Platoon consists of my dad, the captain, and Paul, Santo, Jake and Trevor. Also Joey “Hoser” McGryffe, but he’s been out with a knee injury, and today Matt is covering for him.
“How about a Bud and some wings, Stu?” I call to the bartender. He nods agreeably.
“Have you spoken to your mother?” Dad demands.
“Sure,” I say.
“Everyone thinks it’s a bad idea, her dating,” he continues. Jake, an ass-kisser, nods emphatically. “Are you really going to do that singles crap with her, Chastity?” Dad continues. “Go cruising for seedy men you barely know?”
I sigh audibly and with great exaggeration. My father has called me no fewer than eleven times to discuss this matter. Stu brings me my beer. “Thanks, Stu, old buddy. Dad, I’m just keeping her company, okay? Trying to make sure she stays safe,” I say, hoping he’ll remain silent on my own single state. “I’ll keep an eye on her, don’t worry.”
“Good girl, good girl,” Dad nods. “Listen, Porkchop, why don’t you do this? You get the name of any scumbag interested in your mother, and you give it to me. I’ll take care of the rest.”
I glance at Trevor, who makes a subtle “cut him off” sign to Stu. “I don’t think so, Dad.”
“Why? You want your mother attacked by some pervert?” Matt snorts.
“I don’t think Betty would go for some pervert,” Trevor murmurs.
“Shut up, you. She’s not going for anyone,” Dad snaps.
“Excuse us, we’re gonna shoot some pool,” Santo says, rising along with Paul. “Jake? Want to play?”
“Not really,” Jake says, but Paul grabs him by the collar and drags him up.
Stu delivers my wings and slips my dad a glass of seltzer water.
“Listen, Dad,” I say, trying to keep my voice friendly. “I’ll watch out for Mom, but I’m not spying on her. Sorry. Matt, get your hand away from my plate or draw back a bloody stump.”
“You will be sorry, when you have some lecherous creep for a stepfather.” Dad takes a sip of his water and sulks.
“I’m not getting a stepfather,” I say with great patience, taking a bite of chicken. “She’s just trying to get you to retire. Pulling the jealousy card.”
“Retire!” My father snorts as if I’d just suggested he smother kittens. “Why would I retire?”
I roll my eyes and slap Matt’s hand as he tries to steal another chicken wing. I can’t help noticing that Trevor changed before coming here, unlike the rest of his platoon. He’s wearing a white T-shirt that makes his eyes look even darker. Molten chocolate, God help me. His hair is tousled—needs a trim, probably—and my hand is twitching to smooth it. The sleeves of his T-shirt stop right on the curve of his brawny biceps. Beautiful arms. Damn. I force my eyes away to the dimples of Lou Gehrig. Trevor and I were together once. Didn’t work out. End of story. No point in tormenting myself.
“Chastity!” Jake calls from the pool table, rescuing me. “Come over here! I need you, babe.” He grins wickedly at me, and I smile back gratefully. Not that Jake means anything by it…anything with a pulse and two breasts, that’s his motto. I take my beer, leaving Matt the last chicken wing, and join him. “Atta girl,” Jake says. “Now, you can see what a mess I’ve gotten into. Can you sink that little baby over there?”
“Of course I can,” I answer, sucking some sauce off the side of my thumb. “Stand back and learn, boys. Five ball, center pocket.” I take the cue, bend over and shoot. There’s a satisfying smack as the cue ball hits the orange five ball, which bounces off the rail and glides to the center pocket.
“Well done,” Jake murmurs from behind me.
“Don’t you be looking at my daughter’s ass!” dear old Dad bellows from twenty feet away. “Jake! You wanna lose some teeth?”
“Sorry, Cap! Force of habit.” Jake grimaces. “No offense, Chastity.”
“None taken, Jake,” I say, batting my eyelashes.
Trevor joins the four of us by the table to watch. “You guys may as well pay up now,” he tells Santo and Paul with a grin.
“Six ball in the corner pocket.” I lean, bridge, shoot, sink. Paul grimaces and takes out his wallet.
“I don’t want my daughter to end up with some jamoke firefighter!” Dad continues.
“Don’t worry, Dad. I won’t,” I say. “Two in the center.” Clack, spin, thunk.
Trevor winks at me. “Here she goes.”
I squint at my next victim. “Six ball in the back corner.”
“You’ll never make that shot,” Paul says.
“Ten bucks says she can,” Trevor says right back.
“Done.” Paul folds his arm smugly. It is, granted, a tough shot. Mr. Six Ball will have to bank just shy of the eight ball, which is only a couple of centimeters from the pocket, then cross the entire length of the table to the left rear pocket. I’ll need to give the cue ball a good bit of English, but I’m not concerned. I’ve been playing pool with my brothers since I was five. I set up, study my angles, take the shot and, because I’m so incredibly cool, turn away for a sip of my beer before the six ball reaches its destination. It sinks into the pocket with a most satisfying thunk.
“Shit!” Paul exclaims, and I blow my dad a kiss. He’s not looking, staring at the table glumly.
“Thanks, Chas,” Trevor calls, taking Paul’s ten dollar bill.
“Eight ball, side pocket.” I lean over once more and win the game. “And I think we’re done, here, Jake.”
The guys applaud, and I grin.
“Thank you, gorgeous. I mean, thanks, Chastity.” Jake grins and accepts the five dollars from Paul.
“I earned that, don’t you think?” I ask. Jake raises an eyebrow, hands me the five and gives me a lecherous look. Suddenly I feel kind of beautiful. I mean, after all, here I am, surrounded by men, some of whom are nonrelatives and single. Being one of the guys has occasional benefits.
“Don’t you marry a firefighter,” Dad growls as I return to the table. “Bunch a’ jamokes, if you ask me. You’d just end up all bitter and dried up and angry, like your mother.”
“There’s a happy thought,” I murmur. Not that a firefighter would dare ask out the O’Neill girl, mind you. I kiss my dad’s bristly cheek, grab my jacket and head for home. Trevor will make sure Dad gets home okay. They only live half a block from each other.
CHAPTER SIX
THE NEXT NIGHT AFTER WORK, I take Buttercup on her nightly drag. I suck in a few breaths of the clean mountain air, and admire the neighbors’ gardens, which are bursting with daffodils and grape hyacinth. Buttercup stops to sniff a flower, then attempts to collapse upon it. “Come on, Butterbaby,” I say, tugging at the leash. She flops, just missing the flower, and gives me a mournful look, sighing deeply. A squirrel, correctly assessing her energy level, darts right over her front paw. Buttercup doesn’t move, just flops on her side, moaning. “Come on, Buttercup!” I end up hauling her to her feet and practically carry her home as she moans and wags. I think she kind of likes this form of transportation. “You’re pathetic,” I say laughing. She wags her tail agreeably.
Ten minutes later, I’m showered, changed and on my way out again. Buttercup gives one mournful howl, sounding very much like a werewolf or the hound of the Baskervilles, then doubtlessly flops down for a snooze.
Tonight is my first EMT class, and though I’m quite unsure that I want to attend, I’m also pretty sick of making an idiot of myself every time someone has a boo-boo. My whole life, I’ve been queasy (putting it gently) around blood. It’s time to take charge. I’d really like to be more like…well, like Aragorn. Now there’s a guy you can count on in times of trouble. After the toy store debacle, after making a fool of myself in front of Kim and Dad and Trevor, I’ve decided that knowledge is power. Desensitization time.
I obediently report to Eaton Falls Hospital, where class will be held once a week. Once again, the notion that I’ll meet a friendly guy here pops into my brain. So far, Tara and Sarah, good sisters-in-law though they may be, have turned up squat on the date front. Every man they know seems to be married or related to me. Maybe I should take out my high school yearbook and take a flip through. Give a few guys a ring. I sigh. Hi, it’s Chastity O’Neill! How are you? I’m back in town, thought we could meet for a drink, shoot some hoops…and by the way, are you married?
I walk in the hospital’s main doors, lost in thought, and slam into someone coming the opposite way. “Sorry!” I exclaim.
“My fault,” he says, and holy crap, it’s him! It’s the guy from Emo’s! Mr. New York Times! Mr. Cheekbones! The one who didn’t send me a drink!
“Hi!” I sound like a breathless teenager upon glimpsing Justin Timberlake. He smiles distantly and continues on his way, as I, open-mouthed, watch him go. Beautiful. He’s beautiful, even from behind. Make that especially from behind. His hair blows in the evening breeze, his suit jacket ruffling. A suit, but no briefcase. Does he work here? Visiting? Probably visiting his supermodel wife, who just gave birth to perfect twin girls.
“Do you happen to know who that man was?” I ask the elderly woman at the reception desk.
“Which man, dear?” she asks.
“The one who just left?”
“Sorry, I didn’t see him.”
Damn. Can’t catch a break these days. I head to the meeting room where our class will be held once a week for the next eight weeks. Maybe I’ll meet someone here, I remind myself.
I don’t. Well, not that kind of someone. There are six of us, three men, three women, and I try not to be disappointed that none of the men is going to be my husband, being that two are in their fifties and all are married. Perhaps the teacher is some hunky paramedic or E.R. doctor…but no. In strides a brisk-looking middle-aged woman with wiry gray hair and sturdy shoes. She whips out a clipboard and peruses it intently. “O’Neill?” she barks, looking at the list.
“Here,” I answer.
“I meant, are you one of the O’Neills?” She cocks her head, birdlike.
“Um, if you mean one of Mike and Betty’s kids, then yes.”
She bursts into a smile. “I’m Bev Ludevoorsk. I know your dad,” she says. “And your brothers, let’s see…Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, right?”
I nod, simultaneously proud and irritated. Proud of my brothers, irritated at being pigeonholed.
“What great guys!” Bev barks.
“I can see you don’t know them well,” I joke.
“Hahahaha! You should certainly sail through this class, with the family history you’ve got!” she booms approvingly. “And look at you! Just as big and strong as your brothers. Patient lifting won’t be a problem for you, now, will it?”
“I guess not,” I mutter, trying to feel flattered.
“What’s your first name?” she asks. “Charity?”
“Chastity,” I correct. One of my classmates smiles. “My father thought it was funny,” I explain. “My middle name’s Virginia.”
“Ouch,” the woman says.
“Tell me about it.”
“Chastity’s whole family works in emergency services,” Bev barks. “Right, Chastity?”
“Three firefighters, a bomb detonator and a chopper paramedic,” I confirm.
“And isn’t Trevor Meade somehow related to you?” she asks.
“No, actually. An honorary O’Neill, but no relation.” I feel my face warm at the thrill of discussing Trevor, loser that I am. For Pete’s sake, I’ve known Trev my whole life. We were together romantically for roughly seventy-two hours. You’d think I’d be over that.
“Right, so anyway, why don’t we introduce ourselves and say why we’re here. I’m Bev, as I already told you, hahahaha, and I love doing this job because we help people. Simple as that. Got to think on your feet, move fast, keep a cool head. It’s a great job. Who’s next? O’Neill? How about you?”
I hesitate, unsure of how much truth to parcel out. “Well, as you just heard, my family is in emergency services, and I thought it was time I joined the herd. Oh, and by the way, I’m, um, kind of surprising them with this class, Bev, so if you see one of them, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this.”
I walk over to the booth, which is situated right under a photo of the tragic Lou Gehrig, pride of the Yankees. “Hey, guys!”
“What are you doing here, pretty girl?” Santo asks.
“Dinner,” I tell him, smiling. Dropping in at Emo’s for dinner is becoming something of a sacred tradition for me. I hate to cook. Cooking is wasted on one person, and Matt works so much overtime these days that, even if I could manage to create something tasty…well, no point in even following that train of thought. I’m my mother’s girl when it comes to the kitchen.
“My girl! Just the person I wanted to talk to,” Dad says. An empty shot glass and a pint of Guinness sit in front of him, and he already seems a little tipsy. “Don’t anyone talk about Chastity’s little incident at the toy store, okay, boys?” he orders.
“Gee, thanks, Dad. You’re a master of subtlety.”
“Have a seat, Chastity,” Trevor says, getting up to grab a chair. I genuflect briefly in front of St. Lou and join the table.
C Platoon consists of my dad, the captain, and Paul, Santo, Jake and Trevor. Also Joey “Hoser” McGryffe, but he’s been out with a knee injury, and today Matt is covering for him.
“How about a Bud and some wings, Stu?” I call to the bartender. He nods agreeably.
“Have you spoken to your mother?” Dad demands.
“Sure,” I say.
“Everyone thinks it’s a bad idea, her dating,” he continues. Jake, an ass-kisser, nods emphatically. “Are you really going to do that singles crap with her, Chastity?” Dad continues. “Go cruising for seedy men you barely know?”
I sigh audibly and with great exaggeration. My father has called me no fewer than eleven times to discuss this matter. Stu brings me my beer. “Thanks, Stu, old buddy. Dad, I’m just keeping her company, okay? Trying to make sure she stays safe,” I say, hoping he’ll remain silent on my own single state. “I’ll keep an eye on her, don’t worry.”
“Good girl, good girl,” Dad nods. “Listen, Porkchop, why don’t you do this? You get the name of any scumbag interested in your mother, and you give it to me. I’ll take care of the rest.”
I glance at Trevor, who makes a subtle “cut him off” sign to Stu. “I don’t think so, Dad.”
“Why? You want your mother attacked by some pervert?” Matt snorts.
“I don’t think Betty would go for some pervert,” Trevor murmurs.
“Shut up, you. She’s not going for anyone,” Dad snaps.
“Excuse us, we’re gonna shoot some pool,” Santo says, rising along with Paul. “Jake? Want to play?”
“Not really,” Jake says, but Paul grabs him by the collar and drags him up.
Stu delivers my wings and slips my dad a glass of seltzer water.
“Listen, Dad,” I say, trying to keep my voice friendly. “I’ll watch out for Mom, but I’m not spying on her. Sorry. Matt, get your hand away from my plate or draw back a bloody stump.”
“You will be sorry, when you have some lecherous creep for a stepfather.” Dad takes a sip of his water and sulks.
“I’m not getting a stepfather,” I say with great patience, taking a bite of chicken. “She’s just trying to get you to retire. Pulling the jealousy card.”
“Retire!” My father snorts as if I’d just suggested he smother kittens. “Why would I retire?”
I roll my eyes and slap Matt’s hand as he tries to steal another chicken wing. I can’t help noticing that Trevor changed before coming here, unlike the rest of his platoon. He’s wearing a white T-shirt that makes his eyes look even darker. Molten chocolate, God help me. His hair is tousled—needs a trim, probably—and my hand is twitching to smooth it. The sleeves of his T-shirt stop right on the curve of his brawny biceps. Beautiful arms. Damn. I force my eyes away to the dimples of Lou Gehrig. Trevor and I were together once. Didn’t work out. End of story. No point in tormenting myself.
“Chastity!” Jake calls from the pool table, rescuing me. “Come over here! I need you, babe.” He grins wickedly at me, and I smile back gratefully. Not that Jake means anything by it…anything with a pulse and two breasts, that’s his motto. I take my beer, leaving Matt the last chicken wing, and join him. “Atta girl,” Jake says. “Now, you can see what a mess I’ve gotten into. Can you sink that little baby over there?”
“Of course I can,” I answer, sucking some sauce off the side of my thumb. “Stand back and learn, boys. Five ball, center pocket.” I take the cue, bend over and shoot. There’s a satisfying smack as the cue ball hits the orange five ball, which bounces off the rail and glides to the center pocket.
“Well done,” Jake murmurs from behind me.
“Don’t you be looking at my daughter’s ass!” dear old Dad bellows from twenty feet away. “Jake! You wanna lose some teeth?”
“Sorry, Cap! Force of habit.” Jake grimaces. “No offense, Chastity.”
“None taken, Jake,” I say, batting my eyelashes.
Trevor joins the four of us by the table to watch. “You guys may as well pay up now,” he tells Santo and Paul with a grin.
“Six ball in the corner pocket.” I lean, bridge, shoot, sink. Paul grimaces and takes out his wallet.
“I don’t want my daughter to end up with some jamoke firefighter!” Dad continues.
“Don’t worry, Dad. I won’t,” I say. “Two in the center.” Clack, spin, thunk.
Trevor winks at me. “Here she goes.”
I squint at my next victim. “Six ball in the back corner.”
“You’ll never make that shot,” Paul says.
“Ten bucks says she can,” Trevor says right back.
“Done.” Paul folds his arm smugly. It is, granted, a tough shot. Mr. Six Ball will have to bank just shy of the eight ball, which is only a couple of centimeters from the pocket, then cross the entire length of the table to the left rear pocket. I’ll need to give the cue ball a good bit of English, but I’m not concerned. I’ve been playing pool with my brothers since I was five. I set up, study my angles, take the shot and, because I’m so incredibly cool, turn away for a sip of my beer before the six ball reaches its destination. It sinks into the pocket with a most satisfying thunk.
“Shit!” Paul exclaims, and I blow my dad a kiss. He’s not looking, staring at the table glumly.
“Thanks, Chas,” Trevor calls, taking Paul’s ten dollar bill.
“Eight ball, side pocket.” I lean over once more and win the game. “And I think we’re done, here, Jake.”
The guys applaud, and I grin.
“Thank you, gorgeous. I mean, thanks, Chastity.” Jake grins and accepts the five dollars from Paul.
“I earned that, don’t you think?” I ask. Jake raises an eyebrow, hands me the five and gives me a lecherous look. Suddenly I feel kind of beautiful. I mean, after all, here I am, surrounded by men, some of whom are nonrelatives and single. Being one of the guys has occasional benefits.
“Don’t you marry a firefighter,” Dad growls as I return to the table. “Bunch a’ jamokes, if you ask me. You’d just end up all bitter and dried up and angry, like your mother.”
“There’s a happy thought,” I murmur. Not that a firefighter would dare ask out the O’Neill girl, mind you. I kiss my dad’s bristly cheek, grab my jacket and head for home. Trevor will make sure Dad gets home okay. They only live half a block from each other.
CHAPTER SIX
THE NEXT NIGHT AFTER WORK, I take Buttercup on her nightly drag. I suck in a few breaths of the clean mountain air, and admire the neighbors’ gardens, which are bursting with daffodils and grape hyacinth. Buttercup stops to sniff a flower, then attempts to collapse upon it. “Come on, Butterbaby,” I say, tugging at the leash. She flops, just missing the flower, and gives me a mournful look, sighing deeply. A squirrel, correctly assessing her energy level, darts right over her front paw. Buttercup doesn’t move, just flops on her side, moaning. “Come on, Buttercup!” I end up hauling her to her feet and practically carry her home as she moans and wags. I think she kind of likes this form of transportation. “You’re pathetic,” I say laughing. She wags her tail agreeably.
Ten minutes later, I’m showered, changed and on my way out again. Buttercup gives one mournful howl, sounding very much like a werewolf or the hound of the Baskervilles, then doubtlessly flops down for a snooze.
Tonight is my first EMT class, and though I’m quite unsure that I want to attend, I’m also pretty sick of making an idiot of myself every time someone has a boo-boo. My whole life, I’ve been queasy (putting it gently) around blood. It’s time to take charge. I’d really like to be more like…well, like Aragorn. Now there’s a guy you can count on in times of trouble. After the toy store debacle, after making a fool of myself in front of Kim and Dad and Trevor, I’ve decided that knowledge is power. Desensitization time.
I obediently report to Eaton Falls Hospital, where class will be held once a week. Once again, the notion that I’ll meet a friendly guy here pops into my brain. So far, Tara and Sarah, good sisters-in-law though they may be, have turned up squat on the date front. Every man they know seems to be married or related to me. Maybe I should take out my high school yearbook and take a flip through. Give a few guys a ring. I sigh. Hi, it’s Chastity O’Neill! How are you? I’m back in town, thought we could meet for a drink, shoot some hoops…and by the way, are you married?
I walk in the hospital’s main doors, lost in thought, and slam into someone coming the opposite way. “Sorry!” I exclaim.
“My fault,” he says, and holy crap, it’s him! It’s the guy from Emo’s! Mr. New York Times! Mr. Cheekbones! The one who didn’t send me a drink!
“Hi!” I sound like a breathless teenager upon glimpsing Justin Timberlake. He smiles distantly and continues on his way, as I, open-mouthed, watch him go. Beautiful. He’s beautiful, even from behind. Make that especially from behind. His hair blows in the evening breeze, his suit jacket ruffling. A suit, but no briefcase. Does he work here? Visiting? Probably visiting his supermodel wife, who just gave birth to perfect twin girls.
“Do you happen to know who that man was?” I ask the elderly woman at the reception desk.
“Which man, dear?” she asks.
“The one who just left?”
“Sorry, I didn’t see him.”
Damn. Can’t catch a break these days. I head to the meeting room where our class will be held once a week for the next eight weeks. Maybe I’ll meet someone here, I remind myself.
I don’t. Well, not that kind of someone. There are six of us, three men, three women, and I try not to be disappointed that none of the men is going to be my husband, being that two are in their fifties and all are married. Perhaps the teacher is some hunky paramedic or E.R. doctor…but no. In strides a brisk-looking middle-aged woman with wiry gray hair and sturdy shoes. She whips out a clipboard and peruses it intently. “O’Neill?” she barks, looking at the list.
“Here,” I answer.
“I meant, are you one of the O’Neills?” She cocks her head, birdlike.
“Um, if you mean one of Mike and Betty’s kids, then yes.”
She bursts into a smile. “I’m Bev Ludevoorsk. I know your dad,” she says. “And your brothers, let’s see…Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, right?”
I nod, simultaneously proud and irritated. Proud of my brothers, irritated at being pigeonholed.
“What great guys!” Bev barks.
“I can see you don’t know them well,” I joke.
“Hahahaha! You should certainly sail through this class, with the family history you’ve got!” she booms approvingly. “And look at you! Just as big and strong as your brothers. Patient lifting won’t be a problem for you, now, will it?”
“I guess not,” I mutter, trying to feel flattered.
“What’s your first name?” she asks. “Charity?”
“Chastity,” I correct. One of my classmates smiles. “My father thought it was funny,” I explain. “My middle name’s Virginia.”
“Ouch,” the woman says.
“Tell me about it.”
“Chastity’s whole family works in emergency services,” Bev barks. “Right, Chastity?”
“Three firefighters, a bomb detonator and a chopper paramedic,” I confirm.
“And isn’t Trevor Meade somehow related to you?” she asks.
“No, actually. An honorary O’Neill, but no relation.” I feel my face warm at the thrill of discussing Trevor, loser that I am. For Pete’s sake, I’ve known Trev my whole life. We were together romantically for roughly seventy-two hours. You’d think I’d be over that.
“Right, so anyway, why don’t we introduce ourselves and say why we’re here. I’m Bev, as I already told you, hahahaha, and I love doing this job because we help people. Simple as that. Got to think on your feet, move fast, keep a cool head. It’s a great job. Who’s next? O’Neill? How about you?”
I hesitate, unsure of how much truth to parcel out. “Well, as you just heard, my family is in emergency services, and I thought it was time I joined the herd. Oh, and by the way, I’m, um, kind of surprising them with this class, Bev, so if you see one of them, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this.”
