Page 36 of Ripped & Shipped
And, am I going to California? That’s something I’m not even going to answer right now. Considering how nonchalant Drake is being about this whole collab, I’m going to need something a bit more concrete thanCome to Calito start me making official plans. Though, that party is the place to be. I really should try to make that happen somehow.
I shoot back a short and sweet response.
@Fab-U-lous_EllaMae
Saturday works. Thanks.
Genesis chimes in right away.
@GenesisAssistsStars
Drake, I’ve got all this. I’ll arrange the deets from here. You arrange showing up, mkay? Ella Mae, thanks for being flexible. We’ll get you everything you need. And if Drake stands you up again, I’ll make his life miserable. Send me your dinner receipt. I saw your live. Genius. And that man. Whew.
I chuckle. Genesis obviously has job security. She told Drake. And she watched my live? Hmmm. She’s another fan of Chris. Whatever spikes my popularity. And tonight it was definitely Chris’ presence with me at the diner.
Drake gets back in the thread after Genesis’ response.
@DrakesDaMan
Gen, please save your roasting for our private message thread.
I know I blew it, k? And I’ll be there Saturday. Ella Mae made something good of the night with that friend of hers. No harm. No foul. All a W. See you Saturday, E.M.
Well, well. He actually knows he messed up. I have to keep in mind the power of Genesis for future reference. I reread Drake’s last message. I smile at him calling me E.M. I think we’re going to have a blast when we finally do film together Saturday.
Don’t ask me why my mind travels to a soldier who’s probably crawling into his well-made bed right about now. I bet he bounces a quarter off the sheets before neatly untucking them and slipping in.
Did we have a blast? I don’t know if I’d call it a blast. But it was way more fun than I’d ever expect out of someone who can’t be bothered to eat Pop-Tarts.
CHAPTER14
Chris
Sweat beadson my forehead and neck, drenching my shirt as I push through another set of reps with the barbell. I thrust the weights up and onto the rack, and grab for my towel.
“Something extra on your mind today?” the rookie fireman asks.
I’m a creature of habit. Our friend, Brooks, moved to Bordeaux a few years back and he, Duke, and I used to work out here in the firehouse. It’s a decent weight room. When Brooks quit his job here and Davis joined the squad, I just kept coming to the firehouse to do my workouts.
“Nah. Nothing’s on my mind, Rookie. Something on your mind?”
Truth is, I’ve got too much on my mind. But I’m not one to spill my guts, especially not to someone I’ve only known less than a year.
I can usually easily command my thoughts to fall into formation. I learned that mental discipline in the military. Daydreaming can get you killed in the wrong setting. Sure, I’d let my mind drift at times, but I chose the time and place, how far it wandered, and when to call it back in line. Over time, I learned to primarily focus on the thoughts that helped me get the job done.
Today, my brain is as unruly as a bunch of new recruits on the first day of boot camp when an attractive female officer walks by. Only, the focus of my wayward attention is on one loud, quirky, blond social media influencer. I can’t seem to shake images of her smile, the sound of her laughter, or the way it felt when she wiped my face.
She.wiped.my.face.
And as surprising as our night together was, the most humiliating thought is how I let my guard down. I went on social media, of all things. If anyone I know at work or in my personal life finds out I was on that live video, I won’t live it down. I might even be in trouble, though it wasn’t TikTok, so I’d probably only get some sideways glances, and maybe a warning. The nature of my job means I need to keep a low profile. Yesterday was anything but.
What was it about Ella Mae that caused me to abandon all usual rational thought and throw caution to the wind?
I’m almost angry as I think about it. Not at her. She has no idea the restrictions I live under. She didn’t even ask me to film with her—as per her usual M.O.
I offered.
I’m angry at myself. I know better than to go soft like that.
