Shock: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World) Read online

  Shock

  An Everyday Heroes World Novel

  Marie Johnston

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  © 2020 KB WORLDS. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

  Published by KB Worlds LLC.

  Cover Design by: Secret Identity Graphics

  Developmental Editing by: Razor Sharp Editing

  Copy Editing by: Rebecca Hodgkins and Double Author Services

  Proofing by: My Brother’s Editor

  Published in the United States of America

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Also by Marie Johnston

  Also by K. Bromberg

  Sunnyville was just a place to stop for a while and resuscitate my life—until I met Ford Monroe. To all the other women in town, he’s a player. To his ex, he’s a failure she doesn’t want around their kid. But to me, he’s a paramedic and my partner and my best friend. Dating isn’t worth ruining the best relationship I’ve ever had, no matter how hot he is.

  But when my ex-fiancé comes to town to woo me back and Ford’s ex-fiancée claims he’s a poor role model for his son, Ford has an idea. An idea so crazy it might just work to get both our exes off our backs.

  Fake dating the only woman who can resist my charms shouldn’t have backfired. But I’ve spent more than a year trying to pretend Lia Wescott isn’t the sexiest, smartest woman I’ve ever met. It’s not long before working together isn’t enough and we’re no longer pretending to date—we’re doing the real thing.

  I’m getting the life back that was taken away years ago and enjoying time with my new girlfriend and my son. Until my ex drops a worst case scenario on me, and I’m suddenly faced with choosing between the two most important people in my life.

  Marie Johnston’s Shock is a friends-to-lovers contemporary romance written in K. Bromberg’s Everyday Heroes World project.

  Introduction

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to the Everyday Heroes World!

  I’m so excited you’ve picked up this book! Shock is a book based on the world I created in my USA Today bestselling Everyday Heroes Series. While I may be finished writing this series (for now), various authors have signed on to keep them going. They will be bringing you all-new stories in the world you know while allowing you to revisit the characters you love.

  This book is entirely the work of the author who wrote it. While I allowed them to use the world I created and may have assisted in some of the plotting, I took no part in the writing or editing of the story. All praise can be directed their way.

  I truly hope you enjoy Shock. If you’re interested in finding more authors who have written in the KB Worlds, you can visit www.kbworlds.com.

  Thank you for supporting the writers in this project and me.

  Happy Reading,

  K. Bromberg

  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 nex
t 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 my mom calls the Baywatch Bounce walking up to a scene. And I don’t wear a lick of makeup. Stroke patients don’t care if I have mascara on or not. After the way I grew up, it’s freeing and I love it.

  “Really? Like, never? You’re gorgeous.”

  I relax. She’s not going to shoot the messenger, and I’ll take a compliment from a woman any day over a dude. She wants in Ford’s pants, not mine. “Thanks, but I have my own baggage. It’s why we work so well together.” I give a smile before glancing at my watch. “Oh, crap, I gotta go.”

  I rush through checkout and fly to the ambulance garage. Ford’s in a huddle with the two guys on the outgoing shift of the ambulance we’re assigned to.

  Ford lifts his vivid blue gaze from the conversation and grins. “Wescott. You’re late.”

  I give him a mock glare. I’m five minutes early and he knows it. It’s just not as early as I usually am.

  I swagger toward the group and hit them all where it hurts. A woman’s period. “I had to stop for some lady plugs. You want to do it for me next time?”

  His brows pop. “You’re a lady?”

  Mitch’s grunt shakes his fledgling gut. He jokes about putting on the pounds with his wife while they were expecting their second kid—who’s ten now—but the paramedic could still haul a stair chair down eight flights on his own if he was allowed to.

  His partner, Arnesh, an EMT like me, clears his throat and looks around the plain garage bay like he wishes he was anywhere else but here, discussing the periods of someone he knows. He’s a rookie like me, but I’m a few years older.

  “Relax, Arnesh. Ford here is insecure because I have bigger muscles than him.”

  Ford scoffs. “In your mouth, maybe.”

  Mitch’s eyes go wide, no doubt worried about a harassment charge based on proximity.

  Ford throws his hands up. “Totally not what I meant.”

  I laugh and pat his shockingly hard shoulder. “I know, and you’d never know anyway.” Since Arnesh pales like he’s going to faint, I spin the conversation back around to work. “Anything new?”

  “Nah,” Mitch answers. “It’s been a pretty mellow day. But now people are gearing up for Saturday night stupid. It’s going to be busy.”

  The guy has a sixth sense when it comes to the chaos level of the workday. If he says it’s going to be busy, it usually is.

  “But nothing like next week will be,” Arnesh interjects and gives us an ominous stare. “It’s a full moon.”

  We all groan, but then Ford and I share a triumphant look. The last full moon that landed on a weekend was one of the most memorable of my career. Three seizure calls, a guy wandering the street buck naked and bleeding from his nose with a blood alcohol limit over point three, and a five-car pileup on the interstate that had us working until nearly our next scheduled shift.

  And we’re off next weekend.

  Mitch catches the exchange. “Aw, you fuckers. You’re not working? Want some extra hours?”

  “I have to do my nails,” I deadpan. I don’t wear polish and I don’t care what length I’m allowed on the job, they’re always trimmed short. Not suffering another manicure is one of the perks of moving away from San Francisco. I might still polish my toenails, but these guys will never see me outside of my Under Armour boots.

  Ford grins. “I have a date.”

  “Yeah,” Mitch rumbles. “When don’t you have a date?” He juts his chin up at Arnesh and they head to the break area, where they’ll grab their belongings and leave.

  I start for the rig. “Speaking of dates, I ran across one of yours in the store. I gave her your phone number.” When color leaches from his face, I can’t help chortling. I don’t let him suffer long. “Just kidding. I told her not to get her hopes up.”

  “You’re the best.”

  “As long as you remember that.” I stop with my foot on the first step into the patient compartment. “But what is that thing you do with your tongue that she was gushing about?”

  His brows draw together. “Give them an orgasm?”

  “Oh, so that’s why they all chase after you? There’s a serious lack of female orgasm-giving males in the world?” My own life has a serious lack of orgasms, thanks to my cheating ex. Whenever I try to get myself off, I hear the moans coming from my ex’s office last year.

  “Apparently. It’s not like I’m a catch.”

  I roll my eyes, but he doesn’t see me. That’s his ex talking. “Don’t spout her poison, Ford.”

  That he opened up to me about his ex and how she raked him over velvet-covered coals still surprises me, but I don’t take his trust for granted.

  I start our equipment check. Mitch and Arnesh never fail to restock the ambulance, but we always check when we start our shift. Even if it weren’t policy, we’d do it anyway. There’s nothing worse than being on a call and opening a compartment or a bag to find the supplies we need are missing. Not only is it potentially dangerous for the patient, it’s embarrassing as hell, and the firefighter first responders on the scene have a long memory.

  At every emergency services’ grill-out, I still hear Hey, Wescott. Got a Band-Aid?

  I had a pediatric case. Unlike Ford, I suck with kids, but this little guy loved Band-Aids. He had a high fever and while Ford got his IV in, I distracted him with bandages. Then later that shift, a fireman cut his finger and asked for one.

  I couldn’t find a single one and they’ve never let me forget it. An ambulance with no Band-Aids? Riots of laughter.

  With our precheck done inside, we do a walk-around before Ford climbs behind the wheel. He always drives first. I had a few partners during training, and some never failed to point out how they’re the paramedic and I’m the EMT, and not just any EMT, but the basic level that can’t insert IVs or intubate. Some wouldn’t let me do much more than drive. But not Ford. For a player, he has surprisingly little ego.

  My phone buzzes as soon as I shut the door. Since we’re still in the bay, I sneak a peek. Dread sweeps through me at the name on the screen.

  I stare at it, letting it ring.

  Ford shamelessly leans over to look. He lets out a long whistle. “What the hell does he want?”

  “It’s still campaign season,” I mumble. My ex is running for state senator. A big step in his political climb. “And he wants my mother’s backing. He probably thinks he can sweet talk me back.” Samuel never quit trying to reconcile. It’s hard not to fall for his sincerity. He already has my mother’s support—more than I do.

  “Answer it and tell him to fuck off.”

  My mind hangs on the answer it part and I hit the green button. Panic seizes my lungs. Oh, shit. Now what? “Hello?”

  I stare at Ford, horrified that I went so far. He mouths, whatever it is, no.

  “Aurelia,” Samuel croons in that smooth-as-French-silk-pie voice I used to crave hearing, and dammit, I still do. Ford has his baggage. Samuel is mine. “I wasn’t sure you’d pick up.”

  I quit telling him years ago to call me Lia like everyone else. I’m not everyone else and neither are you. The guy flings platitudes like parade candy. “I’m just starting my shift. What do you need?”

  A bite of smugness fills me at the mention
of my job. Being an EMT is a far cry from my UCLA political science degree. Samuel blames himself for the sudden change in my career, but it was the best decision I ever made and I made it for me alone.

  “I’ll be near Sunnyville tomorrow and thought I could swing by. We can do lunch.”

  The panic roars back. He’ll be in Sunnyville? “Uh—”

  “I just want to talk.”

  There’s that soft tone, the one that reminds me of how storybook romantic he could be and just how special I felt when we were together. Up until I wasn’t. “Samuel.”

  “Please, Aurelia.”

  The genuine remorse in his voice gets to me. He fucked-up and he knows it. He regrets it. It would’ve been one thing if I’d just been a rung on the ladder climb of his career, but we’d been in love. Only, I’d loved him more. It took me walking away to show him how much he loved me and not just my political connections.

  I wish falling out of love were as easy as falling in love.

  “Just lunch.” Beside me, Ford is shaking his head and I avoid eye contact. I have to be strong in the ways I know how. I can’t keep running from Samuel forever. “Where?”

  “I saw that Sunnyville has a country club. Let’s eat there. Eleven?”

  “I’ll meet you there.” Samuel doesn’t know where I live, meaning my parents have respected my wishes and kept it private despite how much they were looking forward to having Samuel as a son-in-law. If he knew my address, I have no doubt I’d be getting floral bouquets that would make the queen of England proud. Or worse—he’d show up on my doorstep. He’s too smooth, too repentant, for me to last long against that.