All Aflame (The Reverse Harem Diaries Book 6)

by Mia Moon

  I hadn't quite reached the gate before my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and glanced down—three texts in a row from numbers I didn’t recognize.

  Hey, it’s Jonathan!

  This is Eric—it was great meeting you tonight

  Heyyy, it’s Andrew. Can’t wait to read your next column.

  I couldn’t stop my huge grin. My hands trembled with excitement—nothing like this had happened to me before, and I didn't know the rules. I wished I had my own column to refer to! Should I text them all back immediately, or should I wait? Should I choose one to focus on, or play the field with all three at once? What if I had this all wrong and they only wanted to be friends? I needed friends, right? But if we were friends, we’d have to go out. In public.

  I wasn’t any good at this. Hopefully, no one knew that but me. My head ached from the confusion and excitement. It was too much, too soon. Too new to take on right away. I needed time to come to grips with the evening and to figure out how I wanted to respond. I slipped my phone back into my pocket, a familiar feeling of anxiety growing in my chest.

  Chapter Three

  I couldn’t bring myself to text the guys back that week. I spent the first three days telling myself I was giving it time so I wouldn't seem desperate. Then, I realized the idea paralyzed me. I finally gave up and hunkered down into work—the ever-present escape from all my problems. I figured the guys had already forgotten about me. There hadn’t been sightings of any of them all week.

  On Saturday morning, bright and early, my phone buzzed with a text and my heart shot into my throat. My parents rarely texted. Birdie always came over instead. This was new and different.

  Great column today. It was from Eric.

  I grinned to myself. This week, I’d answered a reader’s question: how do I deal with an uncircumcised penis?

  The morning newspaper was unquestionably spicier on Saturdays. I imagined my parents’ elderly friends reading it and choking on their cornflakes.

  Thanks, I texted back.

  Are you awake?

  It was nine in the morning. I’d been awake for hours. He probably assumed as much, since he saw me run so often.

  Clearly, LOL. What’s up? I hoped I didn’t come off like a complete dweeb.

  Not much. We had training all week. Had to go to Warrensburg. You miss us?

  Actually, I did. I added a smiley face. Was I…flirting with him?

  We're all wondering if you’re busy tonight. If not, maybe we can all get together?

  My heart sped up. Get together—what did that mean? Out-out? Like, out of my house? Out of town? My chest tightened as I ran a tally in my head of what laundry I’d done lately. Did I have anything I could actually wear out of the house? Did I have time to get a last-minute prescription for anxiety meds?

  I’d been trying to white-knuckle through life without them, so I hadn’t filled my prescription in months. I bit my lip. There was no way I could face the city.

  I’d like to, but how about you come here? We could hang out. Have a beer or watch a movie or something. I’m kind of a homebody.

  A nice way of saying I’m a bit agoraphobic.

  He responded right away. That’d be great! What time?

  What was I doing? I’d just met these guys, and now I was inviting them to my house? I shouldn’t have texted him back so fast. I should have made him wait minutes—or hours—between responses. Panic welled in my chest.

  Eight? I sent back. That was as late as I thought I could offer without making it look like I was expecting a booty call. I needed time to prepare for all this.

  Perfect. We’ll see you then. Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll bring the party to you.

  Don’t worry? That alone was proof he didn’t know me at all. Eight o’ clock. Great, I had a whole day to anticipate exactly how many ways this could go wrong.

  And that’s precisely what I did. While my thoughts and worries plagued me, I cleaned every inch of my house, trying to exhaust my nervous energy. I washed all my clothes, reorganized the fridge, and finally went through all the mail I’d let pile up in favor of getting a few more words written for work. The anxiety that gnawed at me was awful. My stomach was rolling, and I had to stop and force myself to breathe a few times because I got so uptight I held my breath until my head ached. But I also got a lot done—more than I’d accomplished in months around the house.

  I showered and dressed in what I hoped was a presentable outfit of jeans and a nice tank top. After all that, I still had a few minutes to throw on a coat of mascara and some sheer lip gloss. I felt almost human. An endless bundle of raw nerves, yes, but also a fraction more like I might pass for a functioning member of society.

  The doorbell rang a few minutes before eight, and I congratulated myself for being ready early. I’d struggled with being on time to anything since I’d moved out of the city. One of those “Sorry I’m late, I didn’t want to come” shirts would have suited me too well.

  I took a breath, which I hoped would center me. Instead, it reminded me I’d been depriving my brain of precious oxygen for hours. Then I opened the door to a wall of men. All perfect pecs and arms roped with muscle and easy-going smiles.

  “Hi, Bree!” Eric said, leading the way in. His big voice boomed in the ordinarily quiet living room, but instead of becoming an unnerving echo, it warmed and brightened the space. He carried a cardboard six-pack and a canvas grocery bag.

  “Hey girl,” Andrew said with a wink as he stepped over the threshold, toting another couple of grocery bags.

  “What’s up?” Jonathan said, a bottle of wine in the crook of each arm.

  “Holy crap, what all did you guys bring?” I asked, gaping as they beelined straight for the kitchen and divested themselves of their things.

  “Well, we didn’t know what you like to drink other than cider,” Eric said, motioning to the beer and wine. “So we brought an assortment.”

  “And then Jonathan here went overboard on the dinner provisions,” Andrew said, elbowing Jonathan in the ribs. “He insisted we couldn’t bring take-out.”

  “Not for something like this,” Jonathan said with a shrug as he began pulling packages out of the grocery bags. “Okay if I take over in here for a while?” He motioned around the kitchen, surveying the appliances.

  “Have at it,” I told him, closing the front door when I realized I was still standing there, letting it hang open in my surprise. “It’ll get more use out of you with all that than it’s gotten the whole time I’ve lived here.”

  “Not much of a cook?” Eric asked.

  “Not really,” I murmured. I was mesmerized by the way they came in and made themselves at home. “It’s not my place. It belongs to my parents. They’re letting me live here while I—I—” I wondered where I should go with that sentence.

  Jonathan came to my rescue—almost like he knew I was struggling, though that was impossible. “Looks like it was recently updated. That’s a great oven,” he said, nodding at the nearly-new range. “I looked at one of those for my place but went with the newer model.”

  “Jonathan has to have the best when it comes to his kitchen,” Andrew said with a grin. He circled around before turning back to me. “Where does a man find a bottle opener around here?”

  I laughed and moved into the kitchen to give them a tour of the cabinets and drawers, thankful I’d hardly touched anything there. It was all almost as neat and orderly as my meticulous mother had left it. Being in the middle of all the guys at once was overwhelming, even though the kitchen was spacious. After I’d shown them around, I skirted back around the cabinets to stand near the kitchen table, out of the way.

  “Wine or beer?” Andrew asked.

  “Wine’s great,” I said, moving to grab glasses.

  “Allow me,” Eric said, stepping in to help. “We’ve got this. Like I told you, we brought the party to you, so you don’t have to worry.”

  “You like pizza?” Jonathan asked.

  “Who doesn�
��t?” I replied.

  “Good answer,” Andrew said, passing me a glass of white with a wink.

  Using their newfound knowledge of the kitchen, the guys unearthed utensils, two cutting boards, and my mom’s worn-in pizza stone.

  “Pitas?” I asked in confusion as Jonathan pulled out a stack of the flatbreads.

  “You’ve never done pita pizzas?” Eric asked, using a can opener to crack a can of black olives.

  “Um…no,” I said. I didn’t add that the only food I was good at was the kind I could call in. Or that dinner consisted of cereal or microwave popcorn more often than not.

  “They’re not exactly gourmet,” Jonathan lamented, earning an eye roll from Andrew and a snort from Eric. “But they’re quick and easy, and everyone can make their own, so they get what they want. Like pineapple. Blegh.”

  Andrew threw a pepperoni at Jonathan with a laugh. “Dude, don’t knock my third favorite topping.”

  I swallowed my fears and went around the side of the counter, right into the middle of them all. It was crazy how the atmosphere changed. Over at the table? I felt alone. In the middle of the kitchen, their warmth and energy spun me up into a dizzy frenzy of nerves that had nothing to do with my usual issues. Their masculine smells surrounded me—body wash, cologne, aftershave. All that gleaming muscle and laughter lifted me up. I stood still for a moment, taking it in and examining how it made me feel.

  Overwhelmed, yes, but in the best of ways. That was new—and exciting.

  “Would you show me how to do this? If I like it, I could try it for myself another time,” I said.

  Jonathan pointed to the cutting board. “Sure. Why don’t you chop that green pepper?”

  I eyed the knife. I knew how to use it but wasn’t sure my shaking fingers would let me.

  “Actually,” Jonathan said, putting a hand over mine, “how about separating that package of pepperoni? If Andrew keeps at it, there won’t be any left for the pizzas.”

  His touch took my breath away, but his gentleness soothed my nerves. I nodded and accepted the package from Andrew.

  Every time Jonathan did something new, he explained it. What temperature he set the oven to, how it was better to chop the veggies into finer pieces so they’d cook in the shorter time the small pitas took. A firefighter and good in the kitchen? The only thing he could've done to give me more of a fantasy would have been to whip his shirt off and reveal all the muscles that rippled underneath. Mmm, naked pizza? Yes, please!

  “Here, try this,” Eric said. “Jonathan always splurges on the best mozzarella.”

  I looked over to see a tiny bit of cheese pinched between his fingertips. I blinked, realizing he was offering to feed it to me. “Oh—okay,” I said, holding my lips open.

  His thumb brushed my bottom lip, and his breath hitched right along with mine. He backed away with a shy smile.

  “That’s so good,” I said, finally tasting the cheese he’d given me. “I didn’t know there was a better-tasting kind.”

  Jonathan grinned over his shoulder. “I’ve got all sorts of tricks I can show you,” he said. “Want to come help with the sauce?”

  He had herbs and spices lined up. The kitchen smelled of sweet garlic and caramelized onion he’d been cooking in a shallow pan. I stepped up to the stove, and he moved in behind me. “This okay?” he asked as he reached around me for a spoon.

  “Sure,” I said. “I’m here to learn.” I was also, apparently, there to shiver when his chest brushed my back. I tried to shrug off the reaction—it was because I didn’t have much physical contact, right? But there was no denying what the heat of his body and occasional caress of his torso against my spine was doing to me. I bit my tongue to keep from saying, “Is it hot in here or is that just me?” The fire and heat jokes were endless in my mind, but I wasn’t about to voice them.

  With the sauce simmering, I extracted myself from the broad cage of Jonathan’s arms and went to the table for my wine. I took a deep pull, trying to quench a thirst no liquid could ease.

  “You okay?” Andrew asked. He was setting the table, placing forks and knives in proper arrangement.

  I pasted on a smile as I watched him work. “Yeah, it’s warm in there.”

  His smile tipped up more on the right side as he finished with the setting closest to me.

  “Do you use a fork and knife for pizza?” I asked.

  He spun the last fork between his fingers, studying it like he was seriously considering my question. “You never know when something like this will come in handy,” he said. He lifted his eyes to mine at the same time he moved the fork to my arm, gently tracing the tines over my bare flesh, leaving a trail of pebbled flesh in their wake.

  I shivered and sucked in a breath.

  “See?” He asked, winking as he put the fork on its napkin. “Handy.”

  The oven timer buzzed, causing me to jump.

  “Pizza’s ready,” Jonathan announced, grabbing some potholders.

  Once we each had our pizzas and had refreshed our drinks, we gathered around the table. Andrew did, indeed, use a fork and knife for his pizza. I couldn’t stop stealing glances as he brought those bites to his mouth with the fork he’d scraped over my skin.

  “This is nice,” Andrew said after he cut into the second mini-pizza he’d made for himself. It was topped with cheese, ham, and pineapple, much to Jonathan’s dismay.

  “Here he goes,” Eric teased, leaning back in his chair. “Every damn time we eat at a real table, he gets misty.”

  “Hey, I can’t help it if this reminds me of family dinner,” Andrew said, motioning around the table.

  “Andrew comes from a tightknit family,” Jonathan explained. “You wouldn’t believe his parents. They’re so perfect it’s like they stepped right out of an old TV show.”

  “We are close,” Andrew allowed, grinning over at me. “Miss them like crazy when I don’t see them.”

  “You have siblings?” I asked. I'd always wished for a big family. It might have taken some of the focus off me when I was younger. My parents were skilled at nitpicking every little thing.

  “Two brothers. Real ones—not these guys,” he said, tipping his chin at Eric and Jonathan.

  “That’s why he loves us so much,” Eric chimed in. “We make up for all that brotherly love he misses.”

  Jonathan sobered and nodded. “We joke, but it’s probably the best thing about him. Andrew opened up to us right away, and he keeps us together when we’re struggling. Protects us like we’re family.”

  “That must mean a lot in a job like yours,” I said.

  “More than you know,” Jonathan murmured.

  Andrew cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. “Protecting the people I care about has always been a priority for me. My parents brought me up right. Taught me manners. How to share. And how to love the people who matter to me.”

  “Yeah, you’ve always been well-disciplined,” Eric said with a booming laugh.

  “Asshole,” Andrew said under his breath, though his easy grin made it clear he harbored no real anger toward his friend.

  It was so easy to sit in the room with them. I didn’t feel any pressure to perform or entertain. They handled it all like Eric promised they would. They let me sit back and listen as they chatted, including me right away whenever I spoke up. But they never forced me to take part. It was as easy as the conversation had been at the barbecue—easier, even.

  By the time we had cleared the table and put a movie on, I was shocked to see it was almost midnight. I settled on the sofa between Eric and Andrew, though neither one tried to snuggle up with me. Jonathan kicked back in my dad’s recliner and looked so at home my heart squeezed.

  I had friends! Real, hot, manly friends. Ones who seemed more than content to spend time with me right where I was. There hadn’t been a single question about leaving the house. They weren't in any rush to leave, either. For the first time in as long as I could remember since I’d moved out here, my mind wasn’t glued
to work. I wasn’t on a desperate hunt for ways to disconnect. A cozy, happy vibe surrounded me and lulled me to sleep before I even realized I was drowsy.

  “Bree?” the voice came soft and gentle, right along with the light nudge against my shoulder. “Bree, baby, it’s time for us to let you get some sleep.” That was Eric, touching me. Talking to me.

  “Rock-paper-scissors for who carries her to bed,” Andrew joked as I sat up and rubbed my eyes.

  “Sorry, guys,” I said. That short nap was better sleep than I'd gotten in ages.

  “No worries,” Jonathan said. His brow creased, but not like he was angry. More like he was tired or concerned. “We’d better let you rest.”

  “Come lock the door behind us, Bree,” Andrew instructed, tugging my hand to help me up.

  I shuffled behind them, hating to see them go.

  “We’ll see you again soon,” Eric promised as if he’d read my mind.

  They each hugged me—nothing major, just quick, friendly hugs. Andrew waited while I latched the screen door behind them.

  “I’ll lock it,” I promised, closing the wood door and turning the deadbolt.

  I leaned back against the door and hugged myself, realizing it was one of the best nights I’d ever had.

  Chapter Four

  The next week flew by in a whirlwind of flirty text messages. Every day when I woke, the first thing I did was scroll back through and reply to the messages the guys had sent me during the night while they worked and in between calls.

  I kept my phone on silent when I slept, but whoever was on shift texted me all night long. It was fun to get those little messages—silly things about something funny a coworker said. Sometimes serious things about a call they’d gone out for. Always reassuring me they were okay when they came back.

  When I saw them outside the station, we exchanged waves or called out hellos. I didn’t stop to chat, because I wasn’t sure about the protocol there. I wondered if they wanted me to stop and chat or if that would throw them off when they needed to stay focused. Plus, they all seemed somehow less real when I saw them at the station.