Yearn A. Ellis (carter reed .TXT) 📖

Dre narrowed his eyes at me as if waiting for me to take back what I’d said. I hated that he knew me even close to well enough to know it was killing me to think that our team wasn’t reaching our top-notch performance level.

But I didn’t say anything else. We’d already spoken too many words; already stirred up too many thoughts and emotions. Needed to shut that shit down. Stat.

“Let’s take a look at the challenges and get some plans made,” Dre said.

Not wanting to draw attention to the new initiative and our plans before Julia announced it to the whole crew, we moved to our shared bunk room.

I wasn’t sure if Julia gave Dre and I one of the three semi-private rooms because she considered us her top team or because she was a sadistic bitch who secretly wanted us to suffer. Either way, it was both nice and terrible that our room was just two beds. Nice because I didn’t have to deal with more people around me when I was trying to sleep. Terrible because, well duh, Dre.

I pulled out the desk chair and sat down while Dre flopped on his bed and kicked off his shoes.

“Nice socks,” I muttered and immediately wished I’d kept my mouth shut.

Dre beamed. “Thanks. I gotta have my color where I can get it.”

“Those can’t be comfortable in boots.” Why couldn’t I shut the fuck up?

“I’ve got nice thick ones underneath, these are just for aesthetics.” Dre winked and my heart gave a little leap.

Fuck, no. I whipped my head to read the list.

Cook a meal.

Work out.

Volunteer at the library.

Volunteer at the hospital.

Volunteer at the homeless shelter.

Volunteer at the animal shelter.

Clean the kitchen.

Clean the bathroom.

Clean the common room.

Play a game.

Talk to a class at the school.

Create your own challenge.

For each item you complete, snap a picture and put it on the bulletin board in the correct section. Posting on social media with the hashtags #RemingtonEMSTeamChallenge and #RemingtonEMSPowerTeam will earn five bonus points for each platform.

Get creative and earn even more points with the Create Your Own Challenge section.

“I say we get some of these done as soon as possible and build up some points,” Dre suggested. “I wonder if on the create your own we can just do different versions of the existing ones.”

Cocking a brow, I waited for him to explain.

“We get the points for cooking a meal, right? Can we get points again by creating our own challenge of cooking a meal in drag or some shit like that?”

I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of my mouth. “That’s actually genius. I think we don’t overdo it on the alternate versions, but I think it’s a good way to earn extra points. Plus, the create your own challenges get five extra points.”

We added to our list:

Cook a meal in drag.

Visit a pre-school class.

Safety-check an auto shop.

Clean the kitchen shirtless.

“Okay, keep thinking on these. We’ve got some good ones, but I bet we can add more.” I folded up the paper. “Can you ask Cooper if he can set us up at the pre-school and see if his mom would be okay with us coming in to talk to her class? Maybe his dad, too? He teaches middle school, right?”

“Will do. You going to let Jesse know we need to safety-check his shop?” Dre smirked.

“Yeah, he’s pretty easy-going, I’m sure he’ll be game. Plus, it will be like promo for him when we put it on social media.” Tucking the paper into the tiny desk drawer, I continued thinking out loud. “Logan can probably put us in contact with people at the library, animal shelter, and homeless shelter, yeah?”

Dre nodded. “I’d think so. At least give us a name. He’s involved at some level with all of them.” He scanned his paper again and smiled broadly. “What about we do some sort of interactive thing at Aunt Bev’s bingo night? Like, we could call numbers and talk to the folks about safety measures. Most of them are way past sixty-five so it might help to hear tips from us.”

“That’s great. Can you check with Bev?” I was just about to flop onto the bed for minute when a call came in. “That’s us.”

Dre yanked on his boots and we rushed to the rig.

“Unknown injury involving hot grease,” Dre repeated the info we’d been given. “That’s never good.” His calm, cool demeanor during any and every call we’d ever been on was one of the things I liked best about working with him. The tap, tap, tapping of his thumb on the steering wheel was the only indicator that he was pumped up. I still would have opted out of being his partner if given the chance, but if I was being honest, I knew I’d been paired with the best.

“That address isn’t residential, fast food?” Adrenaline was building in my veins. I never wanted anyone hurt badly, but the accident had already happened and I couldn’t change that. The unknown was nerve-wracking, but playing through scenarios in my head helped keep me focused as we pulled into the local chicken place. “I swear, if this is gross or super bad and I can’t ever eat here again, I’m gonna be pissed,” I grumbled as I climbed from the rig.

The scene would go down in the books as one of those how in the hell did that even happen as well as damn, that could have been so much worse.

The injured party had somehow ended up with his foot in the large commercial fryer. Through some pretty serious pain, he told us he’d climbed up on a work station to check a mouse trap above it…yeah, never mind on ever eating there again…and misjudged and tripped or something and his foot went right into the boiling vat of frying oil.

He’d instinctively yanked his foot out, lost his balance, fallen to the ground, and landed hard, messing up his wrist and elbow. Assessing the situation, we