by Amity Cross
“Thanks, Callie. I’ll be in touch.”
He left the door open, and I stood in the strange half-light, staring at the destruction the fire had wrought on my little dream. They were going to gut the entire place and fix the plasterboard, the wiring, everything. There was even a painter thrown into the deal. Thank God.
My insurance covered my ovens, shop fittings, and stock, and thankfully, the landlord had adequate cover for the structural damage. It would all work out in a couple of weeks, but in the meantime, it was just a big pain in my ass.
Knocking at the door pulled my attention, and I turned.
“Callie?”
I saw the backlit outline of a male figure, and my heart leapt. He’d come back.
He stepped inside. “I was hoping I would find you here.”
Squinting, I immediately realized my mistake, and disappointment threatened to overwhelm me.
“Justin the firefighter,” I said. I’d forgotten all about the guy and his innocent flirting, but it seemed he hadn’t forgotten about me.
“Expecting someone else?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. He was wearing his navy blue uniform, the emblem for the Metropolitan Fire Brigade printed over his left pec.
“No, I, uh… I was just here with the contractor,” I replied. “I was just about to leave.”
“So I caught you just in time.” He grinned, looking like the cat that got the cream.
My fingers tightened around the handle of my bag. I wish you were Mark. The thought alarmed me, and I scolded myself internally for being such a dismissive bitch. At least Justin was interested. That was a plus, I suppose.
“I just wanted to see how things were going,” he said when I didn’t answer. “I was on my way past and saw the door was open.”
“I’m okay,” I replied with a shrug. “The insurance is covering everything, so it’ll get fixed. It’s just… It’s a pain in my ass.”
“Yeah, it takes time, but it’s good that everything is covered.” He stepped closer, forcing me to turn to the side away from the door. “And you’re okay. That’s the main thing.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I stood there awkwardly, my cheeks a healthy shade of red. He was well put together, had a fantastic job, and was completely interested in me. He was handsome, sweet, and everything was perfect on the surface, but… I didn’t really feel anything when I looked at him. My heart didn’t flutter, my pulse didn’t race, and my lady bits didn’t tingle. Not even a little.
“I’m on my lunch break,” he said after a moment. “Do you want to…”
“Oh, I have another appointment I have to get to in the city,” I said lamely. “I’m sorry…”
“Sure, that’s okay.” He looked disappointed, and I began to feel guilty for brushing him off. “I figured it was a long shot.”
“Sorry.” I shrugged.
He backed away, smiling, and turned. Man, I felt rotten. Was I making the wrong decision here?
On the one hand, Mark was handsome and alluring, but was it the mystery I was attracted to or something else? On the other hand, Justin seemed like a genuine, well-adjusted guy and could turn out to be perfect for a girl like me. Was I letting him go too soon?
After years of zero prospects, now I had two men orbiting my heart. I was so confused.
“Hey, Justin?” I called out.
He paused at the door and glanced back.
“Thanks for checking on me. I really appreciate it.”
His lips curved into a cheeky smile. “Anytime.”
10
Storm
Thanks to Hamish, my face was a mess. I knew I was getting a range of interesting looks from people, but I generally didn’t make eye contact. Anyway, who cared?
Walking down Brunswick Street, I pulled my sunglasses from the neck of my T-shirt and slipped them on. The judgmental staring was beginning to bother me, and when I got bothered, I was a handful to deal with.
Across the street, I saw Callie’s shop and stopped in my tracks. Staring at the boarded-up windows, my breath caught as the door opened, and a man walked out. It was some old dude with a book of some kind under his arm and a pencil behind his ear. Must be her builder. Things were happening to get her back on track to open. Good.
Realizing I was starting to linger like a stalker, I hissed. What the hell was I doing?
Turning, I studied the window display of the store behind me. Books and comics were lined up in a colorful array, but I wasn’t really looking at them. The reflection offered me a distorted view of the unconscious reason I’d been walking this way.
Despite knowing I wasn’t any good for Callie, I still wanted to see her. What was that saying? A glutton for punishment? That was me.
If the builder was hanging around, then there was a chance she would still be inside, but I would have to be quick. The door was still open, signaling someone was still there. Hastily, I made a rash decision.
Turning, I dodged some pedestrians, weaved through parked cars, and legged it across the road. Reaching the other side, I approached the shop and peered into the charred interior. My heart was beating fast like I’d been running on the treadmill for an hour. Why was it doing that?
My lips parted when I caught sight of Callie standing inside, but any positive emotions I had faded away instantly. She wasn’t alone.
She was talking to a man—I didn’t hear what they were saying—and her cheeks were flushed, and she had that awkward thing going on. The same awkward thing she’d had last night. Pink cheeks, averted gaze, stilted speech. She was into him.
Studying the guy closer, I realized it was the firefighter I’d handed her to on the night of the fire. Fuck, he worked fast.
He looked different out of his full kit, but I could still pick his face out of a lineup. It was one of the many skills I’d learned fighting at The Underground. You had to know who was who in case you fell afoul of the wrong crowd. That and it was best to know your opponent before you got into the cage. It made beating them a hell of a lot easier.
Narrowing my eyes, I turned away. Staring at the traffic crawling along the street, I resisted the urge to curse at the top of my lungs. There was no competition. At all. Jealousy twisted my heart, and I almost snapped.
Glancing back, I saw the firefighter leave the shop. Knowing Callie was still inside, I could’ve walked in there and hit her for six, but instead, I did what I did best.
I walked away.
That night at The Underground, in a spectacular comeback after my beating the day before, I won my fight.
I pocketed a wad of cash for my efforts, and I rode the high for an hour, but it wasn’t long before I came crashing down again. Money could buy shit, but it didn’t solve any problems. At least not emotional ones. I was still the same guy I was before I’d walked into the cage, win or lose.
My hair still damp from the shower, I grabbed my jacket out of my locker and fished around for my phone. No point staying here for longer than I had to.
Checking the time, I was surprised to see a message waiting. Blinking, I stared at the notification and wondered if it was a hallucination brought on by one too many hits to the head.
Callie: Drinks tomorrow?
Drinks tomorrow… Tomorrow? I swallowed hard.
Even after seeing the firefighter, she was still messaging me. Was she playing us both, or was it more than that? I wouldn’t hold it against her if she were dating more than one guy at a time, I certainly used to have more than one women on the go, but knowing it was me and that douche? It cut. Deep.
I cursed under my breath and drank in her profile picture. Callie.
I didn’t know a thing about the guy, but on the surface, he was the complete package. Clean-cut, no prior convictions, stable career, impeccable reputation, do-gooder community hero, and best of all...no scandals waiting to happen. He was the real deal. I was now competing for Callie’s attention, and I’d never had to battle it out before.
I didn’t know what to do. Keep
pushing or pull with everything I had?
She didn’t know I’d seen him with her today… What could I do with that nugget?
Ah, fuck it. My heart was too invested to let her go so soon even with the noose already tied around my neck. I wasn’t ready, not when there was a slim chance she might believe my side of the story…if I could grow balls big enough to tell her.
Unlocking my phone, I opened the app and typed in a response.
Storm R: On a Tuesday?
She replied almost immediately, and I grinned like a moron.
Callie: It’ll be quiet. Unless you have work on Wednesday.
Storm R: I work unconventional hours.
Callie: Then you can?
Storm R: What are you doing now?
There was no reply for a while, and I grimaced. Slipping my phone into my pocket, I slammed my locker shut and went out into the warehouse. Music was blaring, people were screaming for blood as the latest fight played out, and the noise drove me mad.
Outside, the air was crisp as I sat astride my motorcycle. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop myself from pulling out my phone to check if she’d replied. Was I going home or…?
Callie: I can meet you in half an hour. Does that work?
Storm R: Yeah. I know a quiet place.
I forwarded her a link with an address. You’re living dangerous, Storm. Were five minutes of bliss worth an eternity of fallout? Thinking about her pretty eyes, pink lips, and forthright attitude, yes, yes it was.
Callie: Looks nice. Half an hour?
Storm R: I’ll be waiting.
11
Callie
“I feel like throwing up.”
Glancing at Macy, I begged her with my eyes to say something reassuring.
We were currently standing outside the bar I was due to meet Mark at, staring through the window like a pair of perverts. There were so many things wrong with this picture.
When I finally got a response from the mysterious Storm R—after an hour of stewing in my own juices—I was surprised when he’d suggested meeting tonight. I was flabbergasted, actually. I’d needed time to mentally prepare my battle plan, but Macy had not so subtly pushed me into dropping everything.
That and she wanted to come and see what all the fuss was about.
“Calm your farm, Callie,” Macy said. “You’ll be fine, I promise. Is he there? Point him out.”
Peering through the window, I spotted a broad pair of shoulders by the bar, and my knees began to weaken. He was waiting. Just like he’d said he would.
“The guy leaning on the bar.” I jabbed my finger at the window. “That’s Mark.”
“That’s him?” she asked.
“Yep.” I studied his profile and began to tremble. I was here to meet him. The hottest guy in the whole place. He was waiting for me.
“Holy fuck, Callie,” Macy exclaimed, fanning herself. “You said he was hot but not that hot.”
“Should I have said something like sizzling?”
“I was going to say smoking, but is it too soon?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Are you making fire-related jokes about me already?”
“Um…”
“I’m kidding,” I declared with a smirk.
“He looks familiar, though.” She squinted, studying him.
“Familiar, how?”
“I dunno.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’ve seen him around or something. It’ll come to me.”
“What do I say to him?”
“Whatever you like. Just be yourself. That’s the whole point.”
“You say that like it’s easy.”
“Go, enjoy.” She waved at me. “I’ve got my own adventure tonight. Let me know how yours goes, okay?”
“Macy, don’t leave me,” I said with a moan.
“I’m not into threesomes,” she yelled over her shoulder. “Not even for a guy who looks like that. No offense.”
Instantly turning red, I spun on my heel and pushed into the bar. I was here now, so I approached him, focusing on not falling on my ass.
He’d seen me coming and had turned his head slightly, and all I could see were his eyes shining mysteriously in the half-light. Fuck, he was so handsome it put me on edge.
Leaning against the bar, I smiled. “Hey.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners, and he straightened up. “Hey.”
That was when I got a front on view of the cut on his cheek and the gash that split his eyebrow. His eye socket was a little bruised, making the rich chocolate of his irises stand out even more.
“Oh, my God,” I said, my hand flying to my mouth. “What happened?”
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Mark,” I began, but he reached out and grasped my hand. My mouth closed, his touch sending sparks up and down my arm like his fingertips were live wires.
“Gin and tonic?” he asked, his lips curving wickedly.
“Gin and tonic.”
Turning, he raised a hand to get the bartender’s attention and placed an order. Paying, he picked up the two glasses and smiled at me.
“C’mon,” he said. “I’ve saved us a table at the back.”
Nodding, I allowed him to lead me through the darkened bar. We wove through tables, passed the jukebox, and into the back where several booths were positioned along the wall. Mark took us to the one right at the rear.
The table was round, so the bench traveled in a U-shape around it. He set the drinks down and slid along the bench, gesturing for me to follow. I sat beside him, the curve of the seat allowing me to be close yet still study his expression. A tea light candle in a tiny glass jar and the rather dim mood lighting were the only sources of illumination, and I began to feel hot under the collar. It was intimate in the romantic sense, and I wondered if this was why he’d brought me here.
“This is frustrating,” I said, reaching for my drink.
“What is?”
“Every time I see you, I’m at a loss for words.” I sipped, the alcohol tingling the back of my throat as I swallowed.
“Believe me, I know the feeling.”
Glancing at him, I studied the cuts and bruises on his face and couldn’t shake the awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“What happened?” I asked, angling my body toward his. “Is something wrong?”
He didn’t answer. He just lifted his beer to his lips and drank, his eyes narrowing.
“Listen, I don’t know you from a bar of soap, so anything you say to me, I can’t really judge. I’m a clean slate.”
“I’m not an easy guy to get to know,” he said wryly.
“I’m beginning to see that.” I downed a healthy dose of gin and tonic to steady my nerves.
Setting my drink down on the table, I took a deep breath. I was completely clueless when it came to reading those infamous ‘signs’ that told me if a guy was interested romantically or not. Most times, it just went right over my head, and before I knew it, all my chances for a bit of action had passed, and I never got to lick anything.
Not tonight. Tonight, I’d give some signs. It was worth a shot, hey?
Lifting my hand, I brushed my fingertips over the cut on his eyebrow, then I lightly traced around his eye and cheekbone. He didn’t move, but at least he didn’t push me away.
“Where’d you get this?” I murmured, the closeness of the private booth making my head swim.
“Callie…” His jaw was tight, and I squeezed my thighs together.
“Mark…”
“I fight for money,” he said. “It’s illegal, it’s bad news, and it’s all I’ve got.”
I tensed. “What kind of fighting? What does that mean?”
“Cage fighting,” he replied.
“Cage…” An image of the fights I’d seen on TV came to mind. Blood, knockouts, the whole deal. “Like MMA?
“Yeah…like MMA.” He lifted his arm and rested it along the back of the seat behind me.
He was bei
ng evasive again, and I got the distinct feeling that what he was doing was far worse than ‘just fighting.’ I wasn’t sure what to think about it. Illegal and bad news was one hell of a description.
“That’s where I had to go on Friday,” he added.
I didn’t know if I should be relieved or not. He’d brushed me off to go fight some dude in a cage rather than hang out with me.
“Listen, Callie…”
I groaned and rolled my eyes. Every conversation that started with ‘Listen, Callie’ never ended well.
“What?” Mark frowned, and his arm tensed.
“You’re about to give me the speech, aren’t you?”
“What speech?”
“The one where you let me down gently and say ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’” I air quoted the last part. “You know, the one where you make up stupid bullshit to get out of seeing me again because you’re just not that into me.” I snorted. “I get it. I’ve heard it a lot.”
“Fuck,” he muttered, running his free hand over his face.
“Yeah, fuck. The fat girl with her cakes has some bite.”
“You’re not fat,” he shot back. “But I won’t argue with the bite.”
“Don’t shit me, Mark.” I slumped back and fiddled with the straw in my drink. “This week has been the ultimate definition of fucked up. I just need a break.”
“I’m not shitting you,” he said, leaning closer. “I don’t deserve someone like you, Callie. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, and I don’t want you to be another.”
My heart began to wither inside my chest, and I stared at him. “I’m a mistake?”
“No, I’m the mistake,” he said, thumping his fist against his chest. “I’m not your hero, Callie. I can’t be.”
“Why not?” I asked stubbornly. “You risked your life for me. That’s heroic behavior whether you want to admit it or not. You’ve made mistakes? So what? The whole point of making them is what you do afterward.” He was staring at me, looking a little shell-shocked. “So what are you going to do? Huh?”