Flirting with Fire

by Piper Rayne

  A callused hand lands softly on my forearm. “Excuse me,” a deep voice says.

  I stop and circle around. My entire body shuts down for a second as Mauro Bianco stands front and center only a couple of feet away from me, his eyes just as transfixing as years before.

  “I heard you were my winning bidder. Well, not for me, but a date. Which I guess is technically still me.” He shakes his head, chuckling to himself.

  I giggle.

  Like I’m still sixteen. Ugh.

  He holds his hand out. “Let’s start over.” His smile is infectious, his eyes—alluring. His muscles, worth salivating over. I’m back to being a sophomore again. “I’m Mauro Bianco. Thanks for coming out to support such a good cause.”

  “Hi. I’m… Ma…Ma…Mad…ison Kelly.”

  His smile grows and my gut twists. My palms sweat while my heart pounds against my chest like a bass drum in a rock band as I wait with baited breath.

  “Nice to meet you,” he says, ignoring my stutter.

  My insides deflate like a balloon with a slow leak, hope streaming out with a slow hiss.

  Of course, he doesn’t remember me.

  I was always invisible to him.

  Chapter Two

  Mauro

  Great, I get the drunk girl. I’ll be calling Luca later to give her mouth-to-mouth. She’s a little unstable like she can’t decide if she wants to pass out or throw up.

  Add on the fact she’s staring at me like I approached her at a bar while she was partying with her friends, and I’m thinking either she’s not the girl who bid on me or she’s regretting it now.

  “You know we don’t have to go out. I mean if you think it was a mistake,” I say, offering her an easy out.

  Her eyes scrunch and her lips dip. She’s cute. More than cute. The girl next door type, but there’s a sexiness under her forties garb that hides her curves.

  “Do you not want to go out with me?” she asks.

  The weakness in her voice pulls my eyes away from her heart-shaped lips to her eyes. Gray with small specks of blue. Like a cloudy day right before a storm.

  I shrug my jacket on, glancing at my watch. “Sorry, I’m due on shift in an hour.”

  “Oh.”

  “Are you free tomorrow? Maybe lunch?” I offer since she didn’t take the out.

  Again, her lips dip but she quickly sips from her straw. “Sunday?”

  It’s then I realize my days are all fucked up.

  “Shit.” My fingers thread through my hair. “I covered for a guy last night and we had five calls from two to four. I’m lagging. Monday then?”

  “I work.”

  “Of course you do.”

  Could I be blowing this anymore? She’s nice enough to bid good money on me, the least I can do is a weekend night. Let’s see…I work tonight, and then Wednesday.

  “I can do Friday night.”

  She continues to sip her drink, the liquid slowly lowering in her glass.

  “So, is Friday okay?” I draw out my sentence to make sure she’s understanding me. I’m starting to wonder if she’ll remember this tomorrow.

  She nods and her eyes pop open again. “Yes. Friday’s good.”

  I pull out my phone. “Can I have your number? That way we can text later in the week. I can pick you up or we can meet. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

  Her lips stay on the straw, her eyes glued to my chest. I want to wave my hand and say ‘eyes up here.’

  Girls becoming tongue-tied and googly-eyed used to make me feel like king of the fucking world. Now it’s a major turn off.

  She swallows and places her drink on the nearby table.

  “Oh.” She pulls out her phone from her purse. Except with her phone comes the entire contents of her purse. We both watch as everything falls to the floor.

  Instead of bending down, her eyes fix to mine and her cheeks flush. Something oddly familiar tugs in my gut but I can’t place it.

  I bend down and she quickly follows suit. I scoop up the lipstick, her wallet, a pill case. Holding her checkbook up in the air, I decide to lighten this meeting up. “Plan on winning tonight no matter the cost?”

  I smile.

  She doesn’t.

  I hand it over to her and mumble, “I’m kidding.”

  She tucks it back into her purse along with the tampons which I ignored. “Thanks,” she murmurs.

  Once we’re standing again, she slides her purse under her arm. Her dress reveals nothing. Not her tits or her waist or her ass. The thing hides all the goods.

  She holds her phone in her hands for a moment, not asking for my number to text me hers. Instead, I pluck it from her grasp.

  “Do you mind?” I ask.

  Her face pales. “No.”

  I text myself and my phone goes off, the sound of a girl moaning and a slapping sound coming from my pocket.

  “Fuck!” I hand over her phone and dig for my own. Grabbing it after all the heads in a twenty-foot perimeter turn in my direction, I press to view it before it does it again.

  She giggles across from me, her eyes casting down to her phone.

  “My brothers think this shit is funny.”

  Looking up at me through her long eyelashes, there’s a brightness that wasn’t there moments ago. “It kind of is.”

  “So, you’re cool if I keep that as your text notification ring?” I raise my eyebrows and the flush deepens to a coral across her cheeks.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  I quickly change the ringtone before I forget and she texts me when my mom’s around. No need to deepen the permanent bruise from where she slaps me on the back of the head already.

  Tucking the phone back into my pocket, I rock back on my heels. “I’ll call you midweek and we’ll set something up then.”

  “Sure.” She’s a little more alive now and I feel a small amount of hope at the prospect of our upcoming date.

  I nod, the awkwardness wrapping around us like a roll of cellophane.

  “Okay, talk to you then,” I say and smile.

  “Okay.”

  Finally, I walk out of the banquet center, not even bothering to say goodbye to my brothers. They can go blow themselves after putting that notification tone on my phone.

  Heading to the firehouse to work my shift, I can’t help but feel like that girl seemed familiar in some way, but I don’t know a Madison Kelly. I really hope I didn’t pull her from a burning building at some point and she’s got some hero complex because I am not a hero by anyone’s standards.

  Walking into the fire station, the aroma of curry masks the scent of testosterone.

  “Fuck Patel, that shit messed up my stomach last week.” Donovan breezes through the kitchen area to the weight room.

  “Then make your own dinner,” Patel spits back and glances over at me as I sit down at the big table. “So, how did it go? I didn’t hear SWAT being called to the Hilton on the scanner, so the ladies weren’t fighting over you?”

  I chuckle. “Nope. Just two bidders and the one gave up quick.”

  “You disappointed?” he asks before he turns his back to me to return something to the fridge.

  “Please. Standing on stage being bid on based on how attractive the audience finds you? It’s for a good cause though and one date isn’t going to kill me.” I play with the napkins in the center of the giant table.

  “You expect me to feel sorry for you? You posed in the Chicago Firefighters Calendar three years in a row. I don’t remember anyone knocking on my door.” He moves around the kitchen like he’s a professional chef. I guess in some ways he is since he’s the only one willing to cook for us during our rotation.

  “I’m not asking for pity.” I stand to help him out as much as I can although my culinary skills are not existent. I was raised by a traditional Italian mama—you get the idea. It might be a little sexist, but it doesn’t make it untrue.

  “What’s going on with you?” Patel asks.

  “What do you mean
?”

  He glances over his shoulder at me while chopping up chicken. “You look like your mama just scolded you.”

  “First off, I’m twenty-nine, my mom doesn’t scold me. Second, I’m fine, just tired of the same old routine.”

  Patel stops what he’s doing, washing his hands and then drying them on a dishtowel before throwing it over his shoulder. “Maybe you need to speak to the shrink.”

  I shake my head. “This isn’t about Hunter. This is just me approaching thirty and being stuck in the same damn routine.”

  Patel is about ten years older than me. Married, three kids, a happy life. I think he’s had his shit together since he was eighteen. Whereas I still feel like I’m trying to get my shit together as I approach thirty. Ever since we lost Hunter at a fire, my life has felt less appealing, less meaningful.

  Leaning against the counter, his gaze digs into mine.

  “Shouldn’t you be finishing the dinner?” I eye the uncooked chicken.

  “They eat when they eat. What’s the routine?”

  I’m embarrassed to admit I brought this conversation on myself. I could’ve easily headed to the weight room with Donovan or sat and watched whatever the other guys are in the television room. It’s like a silent plea for help when you go to Patel with a problem. Everyone knows that.

  “All the shift work and then doing jack all with the other forty-eight hours. I fill it up, but something is missing. I’ll spend some time with Cailin and Devin, but the labor jobs have been few and far between since I took some time after Hunter died.”

  Cailin is Hunter’s widow. He was my best buddy in the firehouse and we ran a contracting business on the side together. After Hunter died six months ago, I’ve been trying to make an effort to go around her place and see if she or her son need anything. It has to be a hard adjustment for them and I want to help however I can.

  Patel quirks an eyebrow at me.

  “It’s not like that.” I know there’s more bite to my tone than he deserves, but I want to make it perfectly clear so that there’s no uncertainty.

  “I think you don’t want it to be like that, but she’s sad and the baby needs a father and—”

  “And nothing is going on. I’m just helping her out.”

  He tips his head back, letting the subject go even if it looks like I didn’t convince him that I would never go there.

  “Hunter and I were just getting our business off the ground. We’d planned to flip houses and now…”

  I put the chicken in the frying pan, but Patel snatches the spoon away from me.

  “You’ll burn it.”

  “I was trying to help you.” I wash my hands at the sink.

  He laughs because we both know he doesn’t want anyone’s help. “If your mind is on other things it won’t work out.”

  I lean on the counter next to him because the firehouse can be like a sorority house at times, there are ears everywhere.

  “Start it yourself.” He shrugs.

  “What?”

  “Start the flipping houses thing yourself. I’ve seen your work. What you did at my place was top notch. We get compliments all the time.”

  I shrug and he knocks me in the shoulder.

  “It was just flooring.”

  “Yeah, and if I would’ve done it, it’d already be busting up at the seams.” He pours the curry in with the chicken, adding a few more spices to the mix while taking the lid off the pot of rice. “I’m serious though. You don’t give yourself enough credit. I get that Hunter was your partner, but you can do it by yourself, or find another partner if you have to.”

  The flickers of late night talks Hunter and I had in this very kitchen during a shift come to mind. The business that was going to put money in our pockets so we could live well and keep on being firefighters. God knows the pay is crap, but we loved it. We’re both adrenaline junkies who never wanted to sacrifice our flexible schedule for some nine to five office job. He worried with Cailin and Devin that his salary wasn’t going to be enough and he’d ultimately have no choice.

  “He was the numbers guy. The guy who was going to find and make the deals, keep us on budget. I was the hands.”

  Patel eyes me again and shakes his head. “I never pegged you for a weakling.”

  “Do I have to remind you of the beating your team took last week on the court even with home team advantage?” I smirk and he chuckles to himself.

  “You underestimate yourself. Start small. Find a cheap house and go at your own pace.” Patel puts the rice in a huge bowl to feed anyone who’s sticking around. “You need my help to invest?”

  “Nah. I’m good.” I wave him off.

  “Are you sure because…”

  I step away from the counter, digging in my pocket for my phone as it vibrates with a call. “I’m sure. Thanks, Patel.”

  “Think about the shrink thing.” He uses his dad voice on me, but I look away, pulling my phone out as a distraction.

  Cailin.

  “Hey, Cailin,” I answer, purposely upping the happiness vibe in my voice.

  “Devin and I were wondering if you’d like to come by Friday for dinner and a movie?”

  I head up the stairs into the sleeping quarters of our house with my bag over my shoulder. Every time she calls me here, it topples on another layer of guilt and grief. Probably because this is where Hunter’s and my friendship was born. This is where he told me he met Cailin and that there was something different about her to him. Where we planned the flash mob for his proposal. Where I saw his eyes fill with water when he announced that he was going to be a dad.

  “Sorry, that’s the night I’m going out with the lucky woman who won me tonight.”

  There’s silence on the other end and I hate the fact that she’s upset.

  “Maybe I can stop by after,” I offer.

  “Nah. If all goes well, you’ll be lucky, too.” I can tell she doesn’t mean what she’s saying, but I’m not calling bullshit on it. Patel’s warning is ringing through my head and I can’t say I haven’t worried myself that she’s looking for something I can’t and won’t offer. The loss is still fresh and she’s clinging to anything and anyone she sees as security right now.

  I promised Hunter that if anything ever happened to him that I’d make sure she and Devin were good, and I don’t go back on promises.

  The brunette from the charity event flashes through my head again. I’m not sure why. If I’m honest, her shyness and timidness annoyed me. I’m not sure what my type is, but someone who agrees with every fucking thing I do and say sure isn’t the one for me. Lately, that’s all I’ve been getting.

  “I can give you a call,” I say.

  “Okay.”

  The alarms go off in the building.

  “A fire?” she asks. “Be careful,” she says before I answer. She knows the drill.

  “I will. Talk to you soon.”

  “Text me after?” Her voice lowers and I know she’s remembering the night Hunter was no longer able to do so.

  “Will do.”

  I click the phone off and head down the stairs to put on my pants.

  As I jump on the truck and we race out of the station, I push all my concerns to the back of my mind. Safety is number one when we’re on a job and I can’t afford to be distracted.

  Chapter Three

  Madison

  I sit in my car outside my childhood home. The weeds are as tall as the broken windows that are now replaced with plywood. The cement stairs are crumbling and slanted, making it a danger just to step foot in the house.

  The need to make this a home others will love burns inside of me. One that a family will cherish and a neighborhood will smile upon. It wasn’t my happily ever after, but it will be someone else’s.

  A black sedan pulls up right behind me so I turn off the ignition and step out of my car with my legal pad in hand.

  “Miss Kelly, I’m thinking I deserve an extra percent on my commission for getting us in here so fast.”
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  My Realtor, a man in his fifties with a heavy gold chain around his neck, his wrists and his pinky finger adorned with the same, is good at what he does and he’s negotiated some amazing deals for me in the past. Especially when I’m going up against some of the most bullheaded developers in the area. Small fish in a little pond doesn’t even cut it when it comes to describing me. They want the buck and I want to pull out the beauty.

  “Hey, George and I’ve told you to call me, Madison.”

  He holds out short and stubby fingers for me to shake.

  We do some quick small talk and then it’s on to business as usual as he walks up the sidewalk I used to play childhood games on like Step on a Crack and Break Your Mother’s Back.

  “As you know, it’s a three bedroom, one and a half bath. Basement, small kitchen. Yard is decent. It’s up for auction next Tuesday.”

  “The last thing I need is a bidding war.”

  George opens the door and the foulest smell has us using the collars of our shirts to cover our noses. Staring down at the junk filled floor has me thankful I wore my boots.

  “I have to say the commission checks are nice but looking at houses with you always makes me want to shower after.” George stays by the front door.

  He always does and it doesn’t bother me. The first time he showed me a house there was a rat that had drowned in one of the toilets. It was already decomposing and explained the smell, but he was fighting his gag reflex that entire showing.

  “Call the fire department if I don’t come back in fifteen minutes.” I put on my face mask and head through the front area to the back.

  I dig through the massive amounts of newspaper and magazines on top of an old dining room table. Stepping through more floor rugs that are wet and soggy doesn’t leave a lot of hope for the floorboards.

  When my parents and I lived here, everything was bright and cheery. My mom would grow plants on the ledge by the front door. Herbs in small planters in the bay window of the kitchen. The smells of freshly baked cookies or pot roast were second nature while I was out playing in the yard.