Caught in the Flames (6 page)

At his question I nod, my fingers trail up his chest and I rub at the scruff of his cheeks. And I do believe him, but I need him to understand. “I don’t sleep around. That’s not who I am. I’m looking for more than one night of fun.” I lean down to brush my lips against his.

He pushes me back so there’s space between us. “I’m having a great time with you, and I want to see you again. But this thing together—it’s intense between us. You feel it too, right? Tell me I’m not alone in this.” His fingers trace the skin of my thighs to where the hem of my dress has inched up to an indecent length. I can feel his hardness beneath me.

“Not alone,” I whisper.

“Okay. Let’s go back to looking at the stars then.” He rolls me to my back and lays beside me.

“Oh.” His abrupt change of position seems a dismissal. I turn my head to study his profile again. His chest rises with each breath as he observes the starry sky. When he speaks his gaze remains trained above.

“Because if we’re not going to sleep together we might as well enjoy the night. We can look at the sky and I’ll imagine that one night soon we’ll be counting stars together after making love.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet.”

A grin spreads across his face. “Yeah, that and I can’t walk through the station with the hard on you just gave me. Those assholes inside will never let me hear the end of it.”

“And that’s not sweet at all.” I laugh.

“No, but it’s the truth.” He chuckles but sobers before turning his chin to the side so our eyes meet. “When we finally sleep together it will be amazing. Because what we have together is powerful. I can feel it. And I think you feel it, too. Now, lay your head on my chest because it makes me feel like a man, and then I’ll take you home.”

I lay my head on his chest and snuggle into his side. His words have me a puddle of goo and I count the beats of his speeding heart to settle my thoughts. My mind wants to race with the possibility that I’ve met the one. My person. Could he be Chase?

I love first dates.

Because once you get that shit over with you just know whether that person will be someone you like spending time with. And I like spending time with Chase.

“Is it too soon to ask him to father my babies?” I speak into the phone, cradling the device between my ear and shoulder as I chop all the veggies I bought yesterday and assemble my healthy crockpot meal.

“Calm your uterus,” Jill chides. “There’s bound to be something wrong with him. Just give it time.”

“Thanks for crushing my dreams. Remind me, why did I call you again? Alicia would tell me to jump his bones.”

“Because I keep you from acting on impulses that will hurt you later . . . Or she didn’t pick up when you called her first.” I laugh because she’s right on both counts. “So it sounds like it was a first date for the books. When are you going to see him again?”

“That’s the thing. He didn’t ask. And he still doesn’t have my number and I don’t have his. Of course, he knows where I live but I only know where he works. God, I don’t even know his last name! What if after all of that I never hear from him again and we run into each other four weeks from now and it’s awkward as hell. What if he lied about having fun? What if he thought the date sucked?”

“Callie!”

“What?”

“Stop. Stop worrying and obsessing. You guys had a good time. Got to know each other and weren’t plastered to your phones all night. That’s a good thing. Maybe he was having such a great time he didn’t think to ask. And besides, I’m sure he doesn’t know your last name, either.”
True.

“So what do I do? Take a walk by the firehouse every day until we accidentally bump into each other?”

“God, no! Don’t do that.” Yep.
Chop, chop, chop
. So doing that.
Slice, slice, slice.
In fact, as soon as I finish this meal prep I’ll be lacing up my running shoes.

“Callie, are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I’m here. Just distracted by my master chef skills. What was that last thing you said?”

“Do not overanalyze and obsess about your date.”

“Mmm hmm.” Maybe I should have made more jokes
. I’m not witty. Guys like witty.

“You’re already doing it, aren’t you?” I can practically
hear
the eye roll through the phone line.

“Maybe just a teeny tiny bit,” I admit and dump the chopped peppers, tomatoes, carrots, celery, and onions into the ceramic cooking dish with a satisfied plop. “Hey, I know I’m doing it so it’s fine. They say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem and I do. I’m not denying it.”

“Whatever, Callie. Just don’t fuck things up before they start. You overanalyze until you don’t even see the good you bring to the potential relationship. Do not put him on a gender reverse pedestal.”

“What would that even be? A ladder? A step stool?”

“Step stool would be kinda short, don’t you think? Besides, men never admit to needing one of those. I’d go with a five-gallon paint bucket. It’s more masculine.”

“Jill, I never knew you to be such a sexist.”

“I know.
Shhh!
Don’t tell anyone.”

“It’ll be our little secret.”

“But you hear me, right? Try and relax. Enjoy being pursued. You’re a kickass lady. He had fun. If he didn’t then he’s an asshole you don’t need, but believe me, he’ll find you.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

“Thanks, Jill. I knew I called you for a reason.”

“You really didn’t try Alicia first?”

“Err . . .”

Jill laughs. “I thought so. Love you, Callie.”

“Bye, Jill. Love you, too.”

I set down my phone and finish adding the spices, ground turkey, and water, and set the cooker to eight hours. I wash the cutting board and knife, but because I tidied along the way there isn’t much to clean. With dinner and lunch for the entire week prepped, my mind wanders to a certain studly fireman and his sweet ride.
Fuck
. I need to get out of the house or I’m going to case the firehouse like the stalker chick I refuse to be.

Target therapy time.

I quickly dress—a nice blouse and jean shorts—and twist my hair back into a bun. I paint my lips a nude hue and brush on some bronzer in the totally rare and highly unlikely event I come face to face with Chase. Really, can I be too careful about this sort of thing? I think not.

Feet in my most worn pair of five dollar sandals and purse in hand, I pad outside and into the sweltering day. With the windows down, the ride in my Jeep is therapeutic in itself. The red logo of my favorite store calls me like a beacon.

I can spend hours—literally—wandering the aisles of this joint. I take my usual route, starting with a chocolatey latte purchase and then peruse the music selection.
Bieber has a new album?
When did that happen? I resist the impromptu guilty pleasure purchase and place the disc back on the shelf.

Books
. This looks promising. I grip the flame covered paperback and flip through the pages. Oh, too dark and depressing. I set it back on the shelf and look for something lighter. I settle on a classic beach read and before I realize it my drink is empty and I’m past chapter five. Shit. Will need to get this one from the library. I set it back and make my way past electronics, toys, and over to the seasonal section.

I wander to Outdoor. Spending summers with my aunt and uncle as a kid, I helped my aunt sometimes with her gardening. She could spend hours pruning and planting and potting and whatever the hell else is required to create a gorgeous yard. The smell of the upturned earth and then patting the soil over seeds is my favorite part. Sadness washes over me and replaces the good memory. God, I miss her. Gone too soon. Cancer, the dick that steals too many lives before their time.

Maybe next summer I can plant a garden in my yard. I’d like that.

I toss my cup into a trash can and head over to the accessories. I always save the best for last. I try on bangle after bangle and almost decide on a purchase before a loud shout and crash pulls my attention.

“Someone call nine-one-one!” a woman shouts. Shit. I hurry through the rows of wallets and messenger bags to find the commotion near the checkout line. An elderly man slouches against the checkout display. He grips his opposite arm, eyes glazed over, while a woman next to him shouts for help. I pull my cell out to make the call but when I glance around I realize at least five other people have already done so.

The woman seems so distraught that I can’t help but go to her. I touch her arm and she spins to face me.

“Help is on the way,” I say, which seems to calm her enough to stop shouting. She leans into my body and I wrap an arm around her.

“Barry. Barry, look at me,” she says again.

“Ma’am, first responders are two minutes out.” A man who I assume is the store manager says. “Do you know what happened?”

“He was right beside me. We got in the checkout line and then he just fell.” She shakes her head. I glace down at the man. He doesn’t seem to have sustained any injuries but he is old and maybe he hurt something we can’t see. He’s not responsive but he’s conscious, so that has to be good.

“Has he ever fainted before? Or fallen?”

“No. No. Nothing like that. Barry. Barry, why won’t you speak to me?”

The crowd thins as the medics arrive. Oh, hell! Just my luck.
God, I’m glad I did my makeup.
I’m a selfish, horrible person because that’s my first thought as Chase and three other firemen stride over to Barry. Chase glances at me and his eyes widen with recognition.

“He just fell. We don’t know what else,” the manager tells Chase.

“Barry. Barry, these nice men are here to help you.” I think Barry could be in Disneyland right now and not know it. His gaze is still glassy.

“Is Barry your husband?” Chase looks up from Barry to the woman still holding my hand as the other firefighters check his vitals.

“No. He’s my lover.”
Well, then
. Go Barry.

“Do you know if he has a history of falls, any pre-existing medical condition?”

“I’m not sure. We only started dating last month. He has pills at the house but I don’t know what for. Blood pressure maybe?”

Paramedics roll in an empty stretcher at that moment and take control of Barry’s care. The woman leaves with them. I feel kind of lame now just standing in the middle of the Target checkout line with nothing in my hands as Chase talks to the manager and jots down notes on a clipboard. Probably some report. I should go. Not stand here like an idiot, but I sort of hoped Chase would talk to me.
Ugh
. Stupid.

I turn on my heel and walk around the checkout lines to the closest exit. It’s then I realize I parked on the opposite side of the lot, next to the other set of doors. In the spaces near the painted red curbing. The ones behind the fire truck.
Super.

Shades on to hide my humiliation, I trek through the midday heat. The tar from the blacktop shimmers like a mirage and beads of sweat gather on my forehead while others pool down my neck and between my breasts.

“Callie! Wait up!” Chase’s voice halts my steps and he approaches. His eyes narrow and lips purse in a tight line. Unfriendly. Hard. Shit! Maybe our date didn’t go as well as I thought.

“Are you okay?” He stops a few feet before me.
Am I okay?
Is this his way of letting me down? Telling me he had a horrible time? Of not asking me out again? Damn it. I should have put out.

“I guess so.” I fold my arms across my chest.

He reaches out to touch my arm. His thumb caresses my skin. “I know it’s a lot to witness someone experience a stroke, even if you don’t know them personally.”
Oh.

That’s what he’s asking. He’s worried about me. He’s so sweet.

And I’m a jerk because I’m more concerned about a second date with Chase when there’s a man on his way to the ER.

“Yeah.” I offer weakly. His lips curl into what I guess is his empathetic smile. I attempt to appear somewhat distraught. “I hope he’s okay.” And I do. Barry seems to do well with the ladies despite his age.

“This may come off really insensitive given the situation, but I need to get back to work, so I was hoping I could get your number?” He glances over his shoulder and gives a nod toward the truck. The engine roars to life. “I feel stupid. I should’ve asked you for it last night. I was having such a good time I completely forgot until I tried to text you when I got home.”

“You did?” It’s no use. My face fills with a grin and Chase smiles back.

“Of course I did.” He steps forward, closing the space between us. “I really like you, Callie. Go out with me again?”

I nod and his lips brush against mine. We jolt apart at the sound of the siren.

“Fuckers,” he mutters under his breath with a smirk. Chase hands me his phone and I dial my cell. Adele sings “Hello” from my purse and he chuckles. I hand back his phone. “I’ll talk to you soon, Callie.” He backs up a few steps, then turns to jog the rest of the way to the truck. I love firemen. Especially that one.