Page 46 of Book and Ladder
“Please,” he chokes out. “And thank you.”
“Can’t say he doesn’t have manners,” Dustin whispers from my left.
I grin a closed-mouthed smile. Greyson’s got a heart of gold. You just have to mine for it through all the craggy exterior.
“Don’t tell me we all have to oil up,” I practically moan to Dustin.
“Just pretend you’re at the beach,” he supplies easily.
I wish I were more roll-with-it like he is. Nothing seems to faze Dustin ever.
We’re not alone in our display of humiliation. Townspeople have gathered in the doorways, some pretending they didn’t know what was going on and just happened upon a calendar shoot. Others, toting lawn chairs and beverages,were bold enough to show up an hour before the scheduled start to grab a “good spot.”
I glance at the small crowd, and then I see the last person I want to see walking up the driveway with her friends. My neighbor—the woman who won’t let bygones be bygones—Daisy.
She catches sight of me and her eyes drift down from our connected gaze to my pecs and abs. I’m tempted to subtly flex, but if she caught me, I’d hear about it until my chest looked like a low-hanging raisin. Not that I plan to decay in any way, but it happens to the best of us.
When I try to catch her eyes in alike-what-you-see?smirk, she’s turning to Winona, with purposeful avoidance. I saw it, though. She did like what she saw. And, while I’m not a superficial man, I can’t complain when my hard work makes a woman like Daisy incapable of withholding a show of appreciation.
Greyson finishes posing. If you want to call it that. He stood near the engine and did as he was told. He brushes by me and Dustin on his way to the showers. “Become a fireman, they said …” he mumbles in passing.
Dustin laughs. I shake my head.
“I kinda thought all stations did these,” Dustin says while the next fireman—a guy from the other crew—steps up to the set for his photo session.
“Firemen calendars?” I ask.
“Yeah. I thought it just went with the job.”
“Not here. You know small towns. Whatever you do sticks with you for life.”
“Well, if something’s going to stick with me for life, it may as well be the canonization of these guns.” He flexes and I chuckle.
“You know canonization means when someone is declared a saint?” I ask.
He flexes again. “Tell me these aren’t heavenly.”
I laugh lightly.
Cody shouts across the bay to Emberleigh, Dustin’s girlfriend, who is standing next to Daisy. “You really need to do something about this one.”
Emberleigh shouts back, “As if I could.”
A few more guys get their photos taken—Mr. June wearing a snorkel and fins and holding a glass of lemonade and Mr. July wrapping the American flag around his shoulders and holding a firework—but still shirtless, since that seems to be the theme.
“Drop and do fifty,” Dustin says quietly. “Pretty sure a certain bookshop owner will appreciate the show. You can thank me later.”
“Great. Because what I’ve always wanted was an audience,” I argue.
What I’m not saying? If there’s any way I’d impress Daisy, I’ll walk the road of humiliation to get there.
“And everyone’s hanging your pics in their house and shop for an entire month next year,” Dustin adds. “You do you, but I think a good pre-pic pump will be something you won’t regret.”
Against my better judgment, I drop and do fifty pushups.
“Attaboy,” Dustin says when I stand, dusting my hands from the grit on the concrete floor. “Looking practically edible.”
I feel myself blush. To think, this guy was our rookie less than a year ago. Technically, he’s still the rookie—the last guy hired. But he’s far outlasted that title by now, and he dishes out as much as he takes. He’s also become one of my closest friends over the past year. Not that I’ve told him about the podcast, but he’d probably be one of the first I’d tell if I were going to let that cat out of the bag.
