Putting Out Old Flames

by Allyson Charles

  “Earth to Jane.” Sharon waved a manicured hand in front of Jane’s face. “Girl, it’s your turn. If you throw at least a seven on this one, Sarah’s buying the next round.”

  “Sorry.” Putting her beer down, Jane moved to the ball return, found her red nine-pounder.

  She reached for it, but another hand got there first.

  “You never called me back,” Chance said, keeping his voice low. “Didn’t respond to my texts. Didn’t even smile at me when I came in here. And I waved at you.”

  She grabbed for her ball, but he held it tight to his flat stomach. “I’m beginning to think you’re giving me the silent treatment.”

  “The silent treatment?” Hands on her hips, Jane raised her eyebrows. “What are you, twelve? I just didn’t want to talk to you.”

  His brows drew down. “You have to talk to me. We’re cochairs of the charity ball.”

  “Was any message you left or texted me yesterday about the fundraiser?”

  “Well, no—”

  “Then I don’t see the problem.” She looked pointedly at her ball. “Do you mind? I’m up.”

  He slowly handed it to her. “Janey, it was just a kiss. We don’t have to—”

  Spinning on her heel, she stomped up to the top of the lane, not wanting to hear how unimportant their lip-lock was, yet again. He just had to keep pounding that nail home. It must be nice to be a man, able to easily separate physical intimacies from emotional ones. When Chance had kissed her, not only had it made her toes tingle, but it had made her feel reconnected to her ex. His kiss had told her he missed her. Wanted her.

  His kiss had lied.

  And she’d been an idiot for reading anything into it other than physical pleasure, even for a second. Her behavior Sunday night had been an aberration, a moment of weakness. She gritted her teeth. She was stronger than that.

  Her ball skipped across the lane, knocking two pins off the end.

  Sharon and their coworker, Sarah, booed, and Jane gave them a half shrug. Shuffling back to the ball return, she focused on the metal aperture, not on the man standing in front of her, arms crossed over his chest.

  “Jane.” His voice held a hint of warning, a thread of irritation.

  Where was that damn ball? “Look, I’m fine. We’re fine. What happened Sunday is already a distant memory. I won’t let it affect our working relationship.”

  Putting his finger under her chin, Chance raised her face, his eyes examining hers. She tried for an expression of bored nonchalance, but feared her eyes whispered I missed you instead.

  Whatever he read there, Chance didn’t like. A furrow appeared between his eyebrows. “Okay.” He hesitated, but whatever he was about to say next was lost in the rattle of the returning bowling ball.

  Jane hefted it in her hands. “Gotta go.” Rushing away, she stumbled, caught her balance, and tossed the ball down the lane, no longer caring about form or the score. Through sheer luck, her ball knocked down five more pins, and a loud groan emanated from behind her.

  Sarah rose to her feet. “I’ll be at the bar, putting in the order for our next round.” She frowned. “Tonight’s going to seriously deplete my shoe fund.”

  “Well, if you’d concentrate on your game instead of flirting with the firemen, maybe you wouldn’t have to buy,” Sharon said. “And I want a Corona this time. With a lime,” she shouted after their friend’s retreating form.

  Climbing the steps to the bar, Sarah waved, one finger suspiciously raised.

  “Did she just flip me off?” Sharon’s red lips rounded in disbelief. “I think she just flipped me off.”

  Jane downed her beer, eager for the next round. It would have to be her last for the night, she was driving, but she hoped it would give her world a little haze so seeing Chance so close didn’t hurt. At least for the next half hour or so.

  Sharon nudged her in the side. “What’s up with you tonight?”

  Jane didn’t want Sharon knowing what a fool she’d been, even though she was her closest friend. “Nothing. I think there’s something on the bottom of my shoes, though. My feet keep sticking to the lane and it’s throwing my form off.”

  “Uh-huh.” Sharon raised a plucked eyebrow. “Well, let me see.”

  “See what?”

  “Your shoes. Take them off.” Digging around in the purse at her feet, Sharon emerged with a plastic packet. She tore it open, pulled out a small white cloth.

  Mentally shrugging, Jane toed off her shoes. Sometimes it was just easier to go along with what Sharon wanted. Most of the time, really. She handed her the shoes and watched her friend scrub the soles with the Wet-Nap.

  A tall figure drew her gaze. Chance paced to the front of his lane and smoothly released the ball, his leg sliding gracefully behind him. Bowling wasn’t a sexy sport. Jane had never admired a man’s form during the game before. But Chance’s cotton chinos and T-shirt revealed every bulge and line of his muscles.

  Shifting in her chair, Jane didn’t see her friend’s elbow until it was planted in her ribs.

  “Ow!” Jane rubbed her side. “What was that for?”

  “I was talking to you for a good thirty seconds before I realized you weren’t listening,” Sharon said. “Why don’t you stop screwing that man with your eyes and go for it?”

  “What?” Darting a look at Chance, Jane lowered her voice. “What are you talking about? I’m not screwing anyone with my eyes.”

  “Please.” Cocking her head, Sharon ran her gaze over Chance as he sat back down on the plastic bench. “Not that I can blame you. You said you used to date that? Was he as good as he looks?”

  Jane sighed.

  Sharon whistled. “That good, huh?” She handed over the shoes, and Jane slipped them back on. “Well, what are you doing sitting over here moping? The way he’s undressing you with his eyes, he looks interested. If all goes right, you could be playing tonsil-hockey by nine p.m.”

  Heat flamed up Jane’s neck. “I think I’ll go help Sarah with the drinks.”

  Sharon yanked her back down. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing. I did nothing.” Chance had done all the kissing. Well, she might have kissed him back a little, but he’d definitely started it.

  “You wouldn’t be that red if you’d done nothing.” Sharon leaned back in her seat. “You and Chance already had s—”

  “Keep your voice down,” Jane hissed. Leaning closer, she said, “Me and Chance definitely did not have sex. It was just a kiss.”

  Sharon hooted, drawing looks from several of the men at the next lane. Chance stared at Jane instead.

  “Details,” Sharon said. “Give me details. Was there a little second-base action? He looks like he’d be good with his hands.”

  Jane stared at her friend for a moment. “You keep saying I need to go out on a real date. I think you’re the one who’s feeling neglected.”

  “Are you saying Fireman Hottie is available?” Sharon took a beer from Sarah. “Thanks.” She nodded to the lane. “You’re up. Loser goes first. Next round please buy me a coffee.”

  Sarah huffed. “Cocky doesn’t look good on you.” Flipping her long blond hair over her shoulder, she strutted to the ball return, pausing to chat with a fireman.

  Sharon shook her head. “Everything looks good on me. Including dark-eyed firefighters.” Giving Jane a pointed look, she said, “If you don’t want him, I’m more than happy to take him.”

  Flexing her fingers, Jane took a deep breath. “Of course. If you’re interested and he’s interested, I have . . . I have . . .”

  “Yes?” Sharon’s smile was smug, but Jane still couldn’t say she had no problem with Chance seeing other women.

  “Fine.” Jane unclenched her jaw. “I would prefer if you didn’t go after him, okay? But only because it would be weird if you dated my high school boyfriend.”

  Sharon snorted. “Keep telling yourself that. So what’s your plan here? Did you dress all slutty tonight to try to seduce him?”

  Lo
oking down at her clothes, Jane wrinkled her forehead. Her pleated skirt fell about an inch shorter than most of her hemlines, and her white silk tee did cling nicely to her curves, but she hardly thought her outfit qualified as slutty.

  And she hadn’t worn it for Chance. Quite the opposite. When she’d put her clothes on, she’d hoped to draw some attention from other men, to show herself that Chance wasn’t the only game in town.

  But when he’d walked into the bar, all the other men had faded from view. Her body was telling her that he was the only game she wanted to play.

  “This is a perfectly respectable outfit,” she said.

  “Please.” Sharon took a swill of beer. “Men love that knee-high-socks schoolgirl look.”

  Jane admired her green and red checked argyles. She did love showing them off.

  Sharon continued. “And it’s working. Your fireman can’t keep his eyes off of you.”

  “That’s only because he’s mad at me,” Jane said. “When I’m the one who should be ticked off. He kissed me when he’s still a married man!”

  Lowering her beer, Sharon leveled her with a shocked look, her eyes wide. “He’s married? How did I not know this?”

  Jane squirmed in her seat. She had kind of forgotten to tell her friend that detail. “He’s in the process of getting a divorce, but technically he’s still married.”

  “You’ve got to cut that shit out now.” Sharon pinched her lips. “I was all for you fooling around with the hottie, but not if he’s married. There’s all kinds of potential for lots of people to get hurt.” She glared at Chance. “And what kind of man kisses another woman when he’s married? He’s not good enough for you.”

  A chuckle escaped Jane’s lips. Chance had been determined, ambitious, and smart. She used to feel unworthy of him. He was still all those things. His ambition had taken a different turn, but you didn’t become an assistant fire chief at age twenty-seven by slacking off. Plus, he now had a drool-worthy set of abs.

  Jane sucked in her stomach. She hadn’t done a sit-up in years. Maybe she still wasn’t good enough for him.

  Jane downed some beer and gave herself a mental slap upside the head. She was smart, reasonably attractive, and had never lied about her marital status. She straightened her spine. Sharon was right. Jane looked across the lane. There he was, laughing with his buddies, not a care in the world. Probably already forgotten the feel of her lips.

  “To hell with that,” Jane muttered.

  “What’s that?” Sharon asked, as Sarah threw herself into the seat next to them, her turn over.

  “I want to show him what he’s missing,” Jane said.

  “What who’s missing?” Sarah looked between her and Sharon. “What’d I miss?”

  “Jane kissed the tall fireman, the married tall fireman, and now she wants to make him pay.”

  “Oooh. Drama in Pineville.” Sarah lifted her hair off her neck and fanned herself. “It’s about time something exciting happened in this town.”

  Jane didn’t relish the idea of being the town’s entertainment, but ignored that for the moment. “Sharon, help. You’re the fashion guru. What can you do with what I already have on?”

  Sharon stood, tugging Jane to her feet, and placed herself between Jane and the group of firefighters. Cocking her head to one side, she tapped a coral nail against her lips. “Roll the waist of your skirt two times.”

  Jane complied.

  “We can’t do anything with your hair, but . . .” She turned away, and Jane patted her head. What was wrong with her hair? Sharon twisted back, a plastic cup of water in one hand. “But we can work on that shirt.”

  Her friend started flicking large drops of water at her chest. Jane twisted, and Sharon barked, “Keep still.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” Sarah asked.

  Jane wanted to know, too.

  “Just making that shirt a little more interesting to look at.” Sharon eyed her work, then splashed more at Jane’s cleavage. Stepping back, she nodded with approval. “There. Not so drenched you’d be entering a wet T-shirt contest, but enough to get a man’s attention.”

  Frowning, Jane looked down. In the dim lighting, her shirt wasn’t see-through, not quite, but every curve was molded by the thin fabric, the lace of her pink bra creating a visible pattern.

  Jane shivered.

  “Oh, stop it,” Sharon said. “It’s not cold in here.” She raised an eyebrow. “Although, it would help things along even more if you were cold.”

  Jane slapped her friend’s arm. “Gross. I don’t know why I asked you for help.”

  “Because you wanted to make Chance drool. And honey”—Sharon stepped aside, revealing Jane to the men—“that’s what you’ll get.”

  Chance didn’t drool. But his eyes did get a funny glaze to them, and conversation at that lane stopped cold. His gaze flicked to her chest, her thighs, to her face, and then made the trip again.

  Sharon pushed Jane’s side, and Jane slipped a little, her shoes sliding on the waxed lane. “You’re up,” Sharon whispered. “Shake your stuff a little bit, bend low when you release, and that boy won’t be able to string a sentence together.”

  Right. Shake and bend. She could do that.

  “You do look hot,” Sarah said. “Go get ’em.” Her brow furrowed. “Or not get ’em, I guess. Go make him want to get you?” She shook her head. “I’m confused. Why doesn’t she want to get the sexy fireman again?”

  “I’ll explain it to you later,” Sharon said, and shoved Jane in the back.

  Jane windmilled her arms to keep her balance. Shooting a dirty look over her shoulder at Sharon, she strutted to the ball return. Or tried to. Whatever her friend had put on the soles of her shoes had made the floor like ice. It was hard to look sexy when she was mincing along.

  Chance was waiting for her and handed her the ball. “What happened to you?”

  “Sharon spilled some of her drink.” Jane tried to act nonchalant, as if she walked around with wet shirts on all the time. Puffing out her chest and sucking in her stomach, she added, “I hope it doesn’t distract you from your game.”

  Martinez sidled up next to Chance. “Can I get you something to drink, Jane? Or what do you say we go dance instead of playing this stupid game?”

  Chance stepped in front of the younger man, blocking his view of Jane. “Go back to your seat, Martinez.” The other fireman hesitated. “Now.”

  Martinez stepped to the side, gave Jane an impish shrug, and strolled back to the guys. Chance’s shoulders bunched to his ears as he turned back around to face Jane.

  “Maybe you should go home and change your top. You’re on your third drink, so I can drive.”

  Stepping onto her lane, she rolled her hips, making her skirt swish around her thighs. “You’ve had just as many drinks as I’ve had.”

  Chance circled around the ball return. “But I’m bigger. I can drink more.”

  “Regardless, I’m not going home to change my shirt. It will dry soon.” So she’d better make the clingy wetness work for her while she could. She’d been bowling for years, knew how to make her form look good. In a short skirt, her leg extension when she released the ball should do the trick to make Chance drool.

  “Now excuse me while I bowl.” Pivoting, she enjoyed the quick breath he sucked in as her skirt twirled dangerously high. Maybe she should start dressing better, like Sharon said. The power it gave her was intoxicating.

  With the eyes of four hot firemen on her, Jane wanted to make this throw good. A strike would be the cherry on top of her make-Chance-squirm sundae. Raising the ball to her chin, she eyed her target. She took her first step, her second, maybe a little more hip shimmy than was usually seen in bowling. She took her third and final step, her right leg sliding out behind her in a graceful arc.

  And it kept right on sliding.

  Her toes scrabbled for traction, but the slicked-up shoes gave her none. The ball flew out of her hand, bouncing into the next lane’s gutter. Her l
egs folded into an awkward split, leaving Jane lying half on her side, half on her stomach.

  A cool breeze drifted where no cool breeze should drift.

  Jane reached behind her, clawed at the skirt that had settled somewhere around her waist. Her fingers scraped down bare skin, reminding Jane that tonight she’d decided to wear a thong.

  “Holy crap on a cracker.” Sharon’s voice came from far away. It was hard to hear over the pounding of blood in Jane’s ears.

  “Jane!” Chance placed his hands under her arms, lifted her gently to her feet. “Are you okay?”

  Staring at the faded decal on his shirt that read Cal Fire, Jane fought to hold back the tears. Her cheeks flamed, her inner thighs twinged from the unexpected stretch, and something that closely resembled defeat twisted her heart. “I’m fine,” she whispered.

  She tried to step back, but Chance kept a firm grip, as if afraid that without his support she’d go down again. He was probably right.

  Her knees were shaking. She was so mortified she wanted to melt into a pile of goo, disappear from sight. What had she been thinking, trying to act sexy for Chance? She’d wanted to grab his attention and she’d succeeded. He’d seen more of her than any man had in over a year. Chance, and half the crowd at Pins ’N’ Pints.

  Eyes burning, she yanked herself from his grasp and carefully made her way back to her seat, not making eye contact with anyone. Her friends were waiting, varying levels of pity on their faces.

  “Are you all right?” Sarah asked.

  “That was rough.” Sharon shook her head. “Usually I’m all for showing a little underwear to get the boys to sweat, but”—she pulled a face—“not like that.”

  Yanking off her shoes, Jane spit out, “What did you rub on the soles of these?” She waved them in Sharon’s face. “Motor oil?”

  Her friend’s face fell. “It was just a little shoe polish rub I keep in my purse for emergencies. I didn’t think it would make them that slick. Just rub the gunk off. I’m sorry.”

  Jane took a deep breath, then another. Snapping at Sharon wasn’t going to rewind time, undo what had occurred. It wouldn’t keep her from looking like an idiot in front of Chance. He must be thanking his lucky stars that nothing more than a kiss had happened Sunday night. If his wife was any measure, Chance liked his women polished and elegant.