Page 52 of Homewrecker


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I adjust my skirt for the climb into the cab of his truck. "Thanks, but you don't have to do that."

"It's the way my mom taught me. It's just good manners. I know you can open the door yourself."

Getting into a tall pickup truck when you're wearing a tight tank dress isn't the easiest maneuver in the world. I move slowly, keeping my knees pressed tightly together to avoid giving him a crotch shot. I must look absurd, but I do prevent him from seeing my underwear, so overall it's a win.

After I'm carefully settled into my seat, he closes the door and walks around to his side. I get a nervous flutter in my stomach as I wait for him to return, then pinch myself hard on the arm to remind myself to cut that shit out. This is ridiculous. He's my designated driver tonight, my neighbor who is giving me a ride to a bar. He's not trying to win my affection.

I wait until we're off the farm's property before starting a conversation. This will be a long ride if I don't say something and, if I know Seth, he'll be content to sit in silence the whole way.

"So you had a bad day, too?" I say, remembering what he mentioned earlier about needing a beer.

"We had some rough calls. A little girl who was in anaphylaxis. She wasn't in good shape when we dropped her at the hospital, but I heard she made it. Later we got called for a drug overdose, and it was too late when we arrived. Kid was only nineteen."

He's quiet then, and I know he's far away, replaying the events of the day in his mind.

"I could never do what you do." I shift in my seat as I imagine the intensity of what he experiences on a regular basis. "I'm not good under that kind of pressure."

"Unfortunately, I thrive on it."

"Is every day at work this hard?"

Seth thinks for a moment. "Sometimes it's boring, you don't get a call for a while, and the day seems long. Then you're suddenly thrown into a situation that can be life or death, and every decision you make is crucial. It's a lot like being in the military, in some ways, which is why I enjoy it, I guess."

"It sounds stressful."

"We also get calls that aren't emergencies. Miss Vivian, who's about ninety-five, called our dispatcher today when she heard a noise coming from her closet."

I smile, secretly studying his profile in the darkness of the car. "Did you go over there and check it out?"

"Yeah, and it's a good thing we did. One of her cats got into a box of gift wrapping and couldn't get out. Pretty sure we saved his life."

We both laugh, and it's nice to feel like we've let our guards down.

"To me, teaching high school would be hard," he says. "I wouldn't have the patience for dealing with teenagers all day. I was such an asshole to my teachers."

"I haven't thrown any chairs in my classroom yet, but then again I've never taught you."

"I was truly awful."

I remember the picture in Renata's office of young Seth, an awkward boy who hadn't grown into his good looks yet.

"I can't imagine you were that bad. You were probably really quiet with a perma-frown, am I right?"

Seth laughs. "I was quiet and completely lazy when it came to doing the work. If I was interested in the subject, I'd listen and ace the test. If I wasn't interested, I'd put my head down and fall asleep or zone out. Not the best student."

"School is challenging for some kids. Your teachers probably knew you were smart and were frustrated they couldn't get you to do the work."

Seth smiles. "Not sure they thought I was smart, but I'm sure they found me frustrating. I know my mother did. I passed my classes to please her, but after she died, that motivation was gone. I barely squeaked through and graduated."

I have to stop myself from reaching out and touching his face.

"She'd be proud of you now."

"I hope so."

We fall into a comfortable silence, and some of my stress from the day melts away. If we were on a date, I'd move closer and put my hand in his, but we're not, so I don't.

"I bet the boys in your classes have a crush on you," he says quietly.