Burn Read online

  I’m leaving with the firefighter.

  Judah who?

  Chimney Fire

  Fast and intense fire in a chimney flue in which accumulated creosote, and other combustion byproducts ignite. These often extend fire into the roof or attic, especially with defective chimneys or when the mortar becomes hot enough to melt.

  With his hand on mine, Caleb guides me back to the booth.

  I love his hands. Mine fit inside of his perfectly. Judah had small hands. Caleb’s, they’re meant for rescuing people. I’m sure of it.

  Oddly enough, I only just met this dude, but I feel completely safe with him. Like I’ve known him for years.

  I guess in some ways a man giving you an orgasm by dancing warrants a certain closeness.

  Scarlet and Owen are still at the booth, and she’s on his lap. Slamming a shot glass down on the table, she smiles at me.

  “Girl, where’d you go?” she slurs, and it’s evident the ten or so shot glasses around them have taken a toll or her sobriety.

  “Dancing.” My cheek presses to Caleb’s shoulder. I refuse to let go of him now.

  Scarlet’s glossy eyes lift to mine. “Why are you all red faced?”

  Caleb smirks, and I elbow his ribs. I half expect him to tell her what just happened, but he doesn’t.

  “It’s hot in here.” To make my point, I fan myself.

  Motioning to the bench across from them, Scarlet yells, “Sit down. We’re doing shots!”

  Caleb twists his head and looks down at me over his shoulder. I realize just how tall he is now. I’m even wearing heels and he’s still got at least four inches on me.

  Our eyes meet. There’s no smile. They’re hard and assessing, and they say he loves me. No, I’m kidding. They say he wants to fuck me and that’s totally okay. There’s nothing wrong with that because it’s what I want tonight.

  He hasn’t said anything, so I’m the first to say, “We’re gonna take off, actually . . .” And my words hang there in the air.

  Caleb winks and then nods to his friend. “See you at home?”

  So they live together. Hmm. I wonder if they’re brothers or something. There’s no real resemblance though.

  “Maybe not.” Owen licks a line of salt of Scarlet’s forearm and then reaches for a shot. “Might go home with this chick.”

  Scarlet laughs. “Will you show me your fire pole?” she asks, nodding south.

  “Fuck yeah.” Owen leaves the shot on the table and reaches for his belt, which considering Scarlet’s on his lap and they’re both incredibly drunk, is difficult. “I’ll show you right now, honey.”

  After reaching for his jacket on the bench, Caleb grabs my hand and yanks me with him. “That’s my cue to leave.”

  I wave to Scarlet, stumbling along behind him. “I’ll call you later.”

  I follow Caleb through the club to the bar where he stops and knocks his knuckles against the bar. “Hey, I’m taking off. You good?”

  He’s talking to a bartender, a girl with long jet-black hair that’s tied back in a ponytail and the wideset cornflower-blue eyes hidden behind black-framed glasses. She turns to him, pushing the glasses up her nose. “I’m good. I’ll walk home.”

  Caleb laughs, once, as though that’s funny to him and adjust his black hat. “No, you won’t.”

  The girl shrugs and nods to the end of the bar where a man is sitting with a glass half-filled with a clear liquid. “I’m good, Caleb.”

  He tips his head to the left, chewing on his bottom lip but he doesn’t say anymore and begins to walk away. I sneak one glance at the girl, but our eyes don’t meet; she’s focused on a couple yelling their order at her.

  “Who was that?” I ask once we’re outside.

  Please don’t say girlfriend. Hey, at this point in my game, I wouldn’t be surprised by it.

  Caleb’s eyes move to the street, making a sweeping once over and then return to me. “My roommate.” He nods up the road. “What are you hungry for?”

  I think for a minute, wrapping my arms around my waist as the crisp night air hits my body. Suddenly the heat I felt inside is gone completely, and I’m freezing and have no idea where my jacket I had on earlier went. I’m constantly losing jackets.

  He steps into me and out of the street’s light. The shadows on his face give him an edge that’s reckless and sexy. “Here, you’re cold.” And then he hands me his jacket. “Wear this.”

  I don’t tell him no because I’m that cold. “Thank you,” I say, slipping my hands inside the sleeves of the leather jacket. The smell of leather and man hit my sense immediately, a smell that should totally be an air freshener. I’d buy that shit up like crazy.

  “Why’d you hit that guy earlier tonight?” I blurt out, not thinking but wanting to know.

  Even in the dim lighting of the street, I can see the flicker in his eyes, the tightening of his chin, a subtle shift of his shoulders as he shrugs, eyes straying to the door of the bar. He tilts his head just enough to let me know he probably doesn’t know the answer to it. “Had it coming.”

  “Why?”

  His eyes return to me, and a knot of tension in my throat rises. He shoots me a glance, one that tells me he’s done with my questions. “I thought you were hungry.” He grabs my hand again and drags me up the street. “I know a place.”

  He takes me up the street about four blocks, the entire time we say nothing to each other, and then he points to a storefront crowded with people out the door. “Hope you’re really hungry.”

  Oh, you have no idea, dude.

  Thankfully I don’t say that, and I smile, my hand gliding over the hard plains of his broad chest. “Oh, trust me. I’m hungry.”

  I hope he knows the meaning behind those words and by the smirk. The way his eyes drag over my body, he gets it.

  “This place any good?”

  He nods to the overflowing hole in the wall burger joint. “Think the crowd speaks for the quality.”

  “It better be or I’m holding you responsible.” I turn and reach for the handle only to have him knock my hand away and open the door for me.

  Ah, nice of him.

  There’re so many people you can barely move, and I’m a bit overwhelmed by it. This has to be over regulation for how many people are allowed inside this building.

  “What’s good here?” I ask, looking at the menu chalked out on the wall.

  I’m shoulder to shoulder with bodies but the only one I see or feel is the one who’s acting like I’m the only one in the room, his intense stare locks on mine, and I realize I asked what’s good here.

  “Everything.” He wraps one arm around my shoulder and then points to the wall with the menu. “I usually get the fig and pig burger, but it’s a hard choice for me. The trotter is amazing too.”

  Fig and pig? Trotter? What crazy names for burgers.

  Slowly, I glance at where he pointed to the wall. My eyes scan the menu and the ingredients of both. Onions, fig, apples, bacon . . . I’m going to have horrible breath no matter what I pick, but I’m starving since I never ate lunch today.

  “I think I’m gonna try the trotter.” I look to him for approval. I hate that he’s wearing a hat. It makes it so much harder to see him. I hope he’s not bald and that’s the reason he’s wearing a hat.

  Maybe he can read my thoughts because just then he takes his hat off, runs his hand through a mop of dark wavy hair and then replaces it, adjusting the way it fits.

  I smile, still watching him. I’m so glad he’s not bald.

  He smiles, too, cute and boyish, pretty green eyes roaming over my face and then landing on mine. I hate how much his smile pulls me in, like the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood saying, “Come here, my precious.” Or wait . . . shit. Was that Gollum in Lord of the Rings?

  Our gazes lock. Hold. Question without speaking. “Good choice,” he finally says.

  Pretty eyes, flirty, charming, God, Mila, pull yourself together. This guy is trouble.

  But I don’
t. I’m brainwashed by alcohol and need food. Maybe after I eat I can resist him. Not likely.

  “What are you getting?” We’re leaning in like we’re a couple, or maybe it’s just that crowded in here, and the only way to talk is to be cozy with each other.

  “My usual. The fig and pig.”

  Given it’s now well past midnight, it appears to be a busy time here even for Christmas Eve. It takes us ten minutes to move through the line, and before I know it, we’re at the counter to order, music blaring so loud you have to yell your order. A man with a thick black beard and tired eyes leans in and asks, “What’ll it be, Ryan?”

  Ryan? Who’s Ryan? Maybe he lied to me.

  The man behind the counter glances at me, does a quick once over and his eyes land where most do—staring at my tits no longer hidden behind Caleb’s jacket I’m holding in my arms.

  Caleb notices and clears his throat, reaching for his wallet in his back pocket. “She’ll have the Trotter and I’ll have the Fig and Pig.” He turns to me. “Thirsty?”

  “Yeah . . . water?” I drank so much tonight water is probably a good idea.

  He turns back to the counter. “Two waters, a chocolate shake, and a basket of crack.”

  Crack? What the fuck?

  And he’s looking at me again. “Chocolate or vanilla?”

  I had no idea it came in flavors. Last time I knew it was white and came with an expensive addiction. By the amusement that flashes in his eyes, he can see I’m totally lost.

  “Chocolate?”

  He shakes his head and though I’m standing beside him, I can see the corners of his lips raising in a smile. “You heard the lady.”

  Leaning into my side, he whispers, “Relax. It’s french fries with ice cream as the dipping sauce.”

  Oh, thank God.

  After he pays, which I thank him for, he places his hand on the small of my back and leads me to the stairs. “There’re tables upstairs where we can sit.”

  Upstairs, weathered wooden tables, some against the walls, others in the middle of the loft fill the space.

  “How often do you come here?” I ask as we make our way toward the only empty table in the corner.

  Pulling out a chair, he tips his head for me to sit. Opening doors, pulling out chairs, this guy’s got game for sure. Taking a seat across from me, he smiles. “Sometimes.”

  It seems like we’d just sat down when they call “Caleb” from the kitchen. Okay, so Ryan must be his last name. Caleb Ryan. Sexy name for an incredibly sexy man. I chose then to look him over again with the better lighting. He’s definitely muscular, built solid with tattooed forearms. He’s clean shaven, the sharp defining lines of his jaw capturing my attention. He has a really nice jawline.

  Caleb stands and winks down at me. “I’ll grab our food.”

  I smile but don’t say anything. When he disappears, I have a moment to think. And I’m not sure I want a moment to think because my thoughts are all over the place. They range from I’m totally going home with him to you need to run away.

  But I stay.

  When he returns with a tray holding three baskets on it, he sets it on the table. “Get ready to taste the best burger of your life.”

  “Can’t wait.” By his dancing skills, he has to know I’m totally referring to him more than the burger and by the smirk he has as he sits down across from me, he knows it.

  In the basket he slides toward me is my burger and the other in the middle are french fries with what appears to be a cup of chocolate ice cream.

  “What’s that?”

  “Crack,” he tells me as he takes a fry and dips it in the chocolate ice cream. Just when I think he’s going to eat it, he extends his hand to me. “Try it. You’ll never be the same after one bite.”

  Oh damn. All right, I can do this. I stare at the fry with the thick chocolate ice cream on the end and then back to Caleb.

  Leaning in, I attempt to be somewhat sexy about sucking the ice cream off the fry.

  And you know what? By his rapt attention to my lips, it works. His eyes dart to my lips, a smirk present. It’s not predatory or anything. It’s amusement. Again. Apparently I’m entertaining to him.

  I keep doing it like it’s some kind of game to me, because it is.

  When I don’t eat the fry and only suck the ice cream off, he throws the fry at me and laughs lightly taking his own and dips it in the chocolate and eats it.

  Reaching in his basket for his burger, his intense eyes are on his food when he leans forward and says, “You know, I can think of better things for you to suck on than french fries.”

  I snort. Cute. “We’ll have to see about that.” I pick my burger up and take a lady-like bite. Quickly I realize it’s too fucking good to eat politely. This is a burger you have to eat and enjoy and let everything slide down your chin and fingers.

  Never would I have thought bacon, onions, and apples would have tasted so good. I eat half of it within a minute.

  Taking a paper towel next to me and knowing I probably need four of them, I wipe my mouth and chin off after setting my burger down. “So . . . you’re a firefighter?”

  He nods, chewing slowly. He’s nearly finished with his.

  “Here in Seattle?”

  Another nod. Jesus. He’s hard to have a conversation with. But then again, he’s got a mouth full of food, and I do appreciate is manners and not talking with his mouth full.

  “I bet you see a lot of crazy shit in this city.”

  This time he laughs once and straightens his posture. Finishing his burger with one last bite, he then reaches for a paper towel and covers his mouth as he says, “Yeah, we see all kinds of shit.” Finishing chewing, he goes on to tell me, “We rescued a drunk guy this morning with his car suspended thirty some feet in the telephone lines.”

  I’m impressed he’s telling me about his job and the fact that someone’s car made it that high. “We’re they filming Dukes of Hazard? That’s not possible, is it?”

  His eyebrows raise. “You’d be surprised how easily that can happen.”

  Crossing my legs, I become engrossed in the conversation with him, despite not being able to hear him over the music. “How does it? I need a visual here.”

  “Well—” He leans in so I can hear him better and I want to cover my mouth so he can’t smell my onion breath. Instead, I smile because he’s just so fucking pretty I can’t help it. “He says he misjudged the nonexistent corner and jumped the curb. His front tire caught the wire and that’s really all it takes.”

  With his elbows on the table, he looks down between us, and I take another french fry.

  Immediately his rapt attention returns to my lips. “What’d you think of your burger?” he asks, smirking as he brings the bottle of water to his mouth.

  “Amazing, as you said it would be.” Dipping the fry in the ice cream, this time I suck it off again just so I can see his jaw tighten and his grip on the water bottle in his hand change.

  And it does, just as I hoped it would.

  There’s a kid beside us, he’s been talking the entire time, and frankly, he’s annoying as shit.

  Knowing Caleb was just in a bar fight now more than two hours ago, how do you think he’s going to react when said kid bumps him from behind for like the third time?

  Not well.

  Caleb turns to look at him, no doubt slinging a deadly glare his way, but I can’t tell from where I’m sitting. “Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up!” he yells, gaining the attention of everyone in the loft area.

  The kid, the talkative one licking ketchup from his shirt, stares wide-eyed at Caleb and mumbles, “Okay.”

  I don’t know whether to run away from this guy or hump his leg again.

  Exhaling a long breath, Caleb turns back around and screws the cap back on the water bottle with his thumb.

  I don’t say a word until he smiles with the ability to send sparks coursing through my blood stream and makes me immobilized all at the same time. I won’t be able to
run away from him.

  I didn’t notice he had a milkshake until now and in an act to turn it up a notch, I take it from him and try to take a drink. Try being the magic word here because it’s thick as hell and I can’t suck hard enough. “Wow.” I laugh around the straw. “You really have to suck to get that out of there.”

  Caleb chuckles under his breath. His jaw tightens and he swallows, slowly. “Have you sobered up?” he murmurs, drawing the words out, while his eyes roam down to my chest.

  I’m playing hard to get and dipping french fries in crack just to make him squirm. “Maybe.”

  Hardened eyes pin me, and he gives a tight nod over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  Well Involved

  Term of size-up meaning fire, heat, and smoke in a structure are so widespread that internal access must wait until fire streams can be applied.

  It’s fucking cold outside, enough that a light dusting of snow begins to hover in the city, moving with each gust of wind that blows through the streets as we step outside the restaurant. Stan clicks the closed sign on the wall, red and green neon lights fading in the night, an indication my time with her is slowly coming to an end.

  I don’t want it to. I want to spend days with this girl, just being around her. There’s just something about her that’s calming and almost mystifying. If that’s the right word to use with her.

  Mila stands next to me near the windows of Lil Woody’s, my jacket wrapped around her.

  Damn, she looks good in my clothes.

  Instead of shielding her hair from the snow like most girls do, she smiles tenderly and glances up toward the sky. With a deep breath, she glances over at me, a tentative yet shy look of trepidation.

  “I love the feeling of misty snow hitting my face.” She’s looking at me like she wants to ask, but she’s not going to. “I should head back to my friend’s apartment. Do you want your jacket?”

  Is she fucking serious?

  No way am I letting her leave and not end up in my bed. I shake my head, standing. “Nah, I think you should come back to my place.” I’m not trying to kidnap her, but I hold my hand out. I don’t think I have it in me to watch her walk the other way. “We can walk from here. It’s around the corner.”