Caught in the Flames

by Kacey Shea

  “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.

  I hate exercise.

  But when I have a boyfriend who looks like a fucking underwear model and I’m rapidly working my way to the horizontal mambo, I get off my ass and run in the mornings.

  I’m only two days into this routine but it’s working out nicely. If I set my alarm forty-seven minutes earlier than normal, that gives me just enough time to lace up sneakers, pull on a sports bra, and jog the three-mile loop through the neighborhood. My goal is to get faster at running so I can earn back a few precious minutes of sleep each week. I think that’s doable.

  Chase and I have been on four dates over the past two weeks, and although that’s not my normal wait period before moving date time to the bedroom, things are progressing fast between us. Basically, we can’t be alone without getting hot and heavy. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out. Nor do I want to. Which is why it’s important I bring my best body to the table. Hence the need for speed.

  We haven’t discussed our relationship status, but I consider him my boyfriend. He calls and texts daily. He asks how I am. He tells me I’m beautiful. I tell him how much I miss him—want him. We spend our free time together. We date. We go to dinner. We watch movies. We make out. We’ve had some over-the-clothes play. I assume we’re together together.

  We should probably have that conversation. The one that solidifies what we are, but I’m waiting for him to take the lead. Call me old fashioned, but it hasn’t really come up and I don’t want to come off as a paranoid over-protective needy, clingy woman. Besides, we’re not in high school. I can’t remember the last time a boy asked me to be his girlfriend.

  And though I don’t like the exercise, I do enjoy the morning quiet. I run into an occasional jogger or dog walker, but mostly it’s cool crisp air at my face and the thud, thud, thud of my footsteps hitting the pavement.

  “Excuse me! Honey! Dear! Excuse me!” A woman’s shouts draws my attention from the path. She stands at the driveway of a single family home. Her silk pajama pants billow in the breeze and her head of white hair rolled into pink curlers stands out in sharp contrast to the green lawn. I stop short at her drive and lean forward, resting my hands on my knees while I catch my breath.

  “Oh, thank you so much for stopping, dear. I need a little assistance. Would you mind helping me?” She’s so earnest I can’t help but agree.

  “Sure. What can I help with?” I puff out between deep breaths. Shit. I’m so out of shape it’s not even funny.

  “It’s Silas. He’s gone missing. Would you help me look for him? He couldn’t have gone far.”

  “Sure. Who’s Silas, your cat?”

  “No, dear. He’s my husband.”

  “Husband! Ma’am, if your husband’s missing, we should call the police.”

  Her cackling has me questioning her sanity. “Sorry, dear. You should have seen your face. I couldn’t help myself. Silas isn’t my husband.” Oh, God, I’ve been cornered by a crazy woman. “The name’s Mary Katherine but everyone ’round here calls me Kiki.” She reaches out one hand. Her skin is weathered, covered in spots, and has an almost translucent appearance, just like my Nana’s, but what makes me grin is the small rose tattoo that peaks out from her robe sleeve.

  “I’m Callie.”

  “You just moved in? The house on Alameda?”

  “That’s me.”

  “I’ve lived here thirty-nine years. Welcome to the neighborhood, Callie.” I appreciate her hospitality, however strange, but I’ll be late for work if I don’t get back to my run.

  “Is Silas even missing? Wait, is there even a Silas?” Her welcoming smile drops and she pins me with a frown. Her hands go to her hips.

  “Yes. Silas is my cat and he’s missing. I wouldn’t make that up.” Oh, well.

  “What does he look like?”

  “He’s a tabby. Just call his name around back. He likes the high trees.” I step around Kiki and shout out for Silas. The hinge on the gate to the back yard squeals in protest but gives all the same and I wander around the backyard.

  “Silas! Here, kitty, kitty.” The yard is enormous and well planted with shrubs, flowers, vines and trees, but everything is overgrown. I bet it’d be beautiful back here with some work.

  “Silas!”

  Meow. I glance up. Sure enough, there’s a fat orange tabby in the tall oak. Just great. Not sure how I’ll get him down. I’m no good at climbing trees. I turn to find Kiki standing off the back deck. She rubs her upper arms against the cooler morning air.

  “Found him!” I shout and point up at the tree.

  “Oh, good! Thank you, dear,” she calls back and waves me over. I step closer, careful to not snag my foot and trip on the overgrown plants.

  “What do I do now? How should I get him down?”

  “Oh, I’ve got it from here. Thanks for finding him, Callie.”

  “It was nice meeting you, Kiki. You sure he’ll come down?” I glance over my shoulder as he gives another loud meow. I don’t speak cat but it seems a cry for help.

  “No, he won’t come down. I’ll give the boys a call and they’ll get him for me.”

  “Boys? Do your kids live close?”

  “Oh, no kids, dear. And I live alone. But those nice firemen come rescue Silas for me when he gets out.”

  I grin. A woman who loves firemen. We’re kindred hearts. I bet Chase knows Kiki. I’ll have to ask him about her. Find out her story, because something tells me this woman has a good one.

  “Okay, I better get back home and off to work.”

  “Of course, dear. See you soon!”

  I leave through the side gate and jog back to the curb. I’ve wasted too much time with my detour so I head back toward my house. I may have not completed my three mile run today, but my encounter with Kiki causes me to smile the rest of the morning. I like being helpful and it feels good to assist someone who obviously needs it, even if that someone is a crazy cat lady.

  I love exercise.

  Or watching Chase exercise, at least.

  He’s working for the next two days. Well, I am, too. But it’s different because I get to come home at the end of my day and he has to live in the firehouse. But because he’s the best boyfriend in the world and doesn’t want to go a whole two days without seeing me again—his words, not mine—he invited me to work out and have dinner with him at the firehouse.

  And now I’m unsuccessfull
y attempting not to drool as I watch him lift weights. He pushes the fifty pound dumbbells overhead repeatedly. For each rep he lets out a grunt and with each sound my core squeezes. I’m sure those are the same noises he makes when he fucks, and now I can’t stop thinking about sex. More accurately, sex with Chase. Hot, sweaty, grunting sex. My pulse races and skin flushes. Cool, Callie. Be cool.

  It’s not happening tonight. As much as I’m ready to get it on with Chase, I won’t be doing that here at the station.

  “Your turn.” He pants and drops the weights onto the rack with a thud.

  “Ha! Yeah, I’ll jump on the treadmill. Leave the heavy stuff to the men.” I’ve never lifted free weights and there’re no machines in this gym. I’m so out of my element with this man.

  “No way!” Chase pulls his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his face but my gaze is stuck on his exposed waist and the trail of dark hair that leads from his belly button and into his shorts. The shirt drops back down to cover my nice view and I meet his eyes. “No one uses the treadmill unless it’s snowing! Running is for outside. Lift weights with me?”

  I bite my lip and nod my head. “Okay, but I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.” I shrug and Chase’s eyes dance as a grin fills his gorgeous face.

  “I’ll teach you. You can refer to me as master if you like.” He winks and I burst into laughter.

  “I don’t know. Seems Troy knows more than you.” I point over my shoulder to one of his buddies. I’ve met Troy a few times and he and Chase have this friendly competitive banter whenever they’re together. Troy’s across the room with a loaded up barbell squatting like there’s not a small building on his back. My eyes bug out when he gets in ten more reps before gracefully replacing it on the rack. Seriously, it’s impressive.

  “Bullshit,” Chase mutters. His gaze narrows at me and he clasps my hand in his and tugs us to the bench. He drops my hand and messes with the angles to prop the back end so it looks more like a chair. He’s muttering to himself the entire time and I can’t help but be amused. My comment touched a sore spot, maybe? Chase is overly competitive, maybe? I’m not surprised. A better woman would let it go. Instead, I peer over my shoulder at Troy, who now picks up the bar and sets it back on the ground repeatedly.

  “Oh, that’s cool. I wonder if Troy does personal training sessions on the side?” I muse and then shout out, “Beast mode, Troy!” and throw up a fist. Troy smiles between reps. I did my research online and it’s one of several lines I’m to drop tonight as to not appear amateur in my knowledge of gym life. I turn back to Chase’s hard as steel glare.

  “Sit.” He points at the bench.

  “’Kay, but only because I want to,” I sass. He grunts and then walks over to the rack, lifts a few weights to bring them over. “Chase . . .” I say sweetly and his eyes find mine. Holy fuck. He’s pissed. I think. If it’s possible, his irises fill with fire so hot I’d step back if I weren’t stuck in this seat. He puts the weights in my hands and rests them on my lap. He leans over me so our eyes meet.

  “Callie. The only personal trainer you’ll ever have is me, are we clear?”

  “Crystal,” I breathe. God, he’s sexy when he’s angry.

  “Good.”

  “Super.”

  “And another thing. If it’s not already obvious. I don’t like to share. Anything. I don’t even share my dessert. If you give me a bag of M&M’s I want them all. And you . . .” He traces my lips with his fingertip, then drops his lips to them. “You’re mine. So look at Troy like that again and see what happens.”

  I gulp. I’m his?

  I’m an independent woman. I pride myself on being so, but the way he says I’m his, well, I want to drop down at his feet. Beg him to say it again. Alpha fucking male. Yes, please. His breath comes a little ragged and his eyes narrow further. I’m frozen in place and my body heats all over from Chase’s expression alone. My lips part and my tongue darts out to brush along my lower lip. A silly attempt to moisten the parched skin. Damn. Where’s my water? I could really use some about now.

  Chase straightens his spine and I blow out air through my lips. His eyes relax and his lips quirk up at the edges. “Now. Three sets of eight. Push press. Let’s go.” He steps back and motions with his arms how the movement should go.

  “Gainz, bro.” I wink. “And that’s gainz with a Z.” I push the weights up over my head. Holy fuck, these are heavy. His lips pull wide into a smile that lights up his entire face and his booming laughter fills the room.

  “Callie, you’re too much.” His eyes twinkle with humor and I can’t help but be a little proud that I made him laugh like that. I grin as I try to keep count with my reps. I whisper as I go—six . . . seven . . . eight.

  We work through the rest of my sets and on to several other exercises. I try to keep my perspiration at a minimum, because I don’t care what we’re doing, pit stains on any date activity are so not attractive.

  One of Chase’s colleagues, whom he introduces as Butters, stops in the workout room to tell us dinner will be ready in fifteen. When he leaves, I face Chase and tilt my head. “Butters? Please tell me that’s not his given name.”

  Chase’s lips pull to a grin. “Nah. Nickname. We all have them.”

  “So, what’s the meaning? He likes candy bars? Drenches his food in butter? I don’t get it?” I shake my head.

  “He dropped a baby on the job.” Chase laughs.

  “A baby! What? How did that happen? Please tell me the child doesn’t have permanent damage!”

  Chase peels his sweat soaked shirt from his still glistening skin. Oh, baby. I paste on a neutral expression but inside I’m licking those droplets of sweat from his perfectly shaped belly button to his well-defined chest and then back down to that impressive V where his belly and hip bones meet the waistband of his shorts.

  “We were called out to a traffic stop. A little fender bender, and the officer who first responded called in an EMT but Fire beat them to the scene. Woman in her late twenties, full labor, tried to drive herself to the hospital when she couldn’t get hold of her husband. Of course she couldn’t drive through the contractions and pulled over. Luckily, a highway patrolman came up on the car.” Chase pulls a clean Fire T-shirt over his head before holding my hand to lead me out of the room and toward the wafting smells of Italian food. My stomach grumbles with glee.

  “Darren, that’s Butters real name, and Zach, another of the guys on our crew, were attempting to keep the woman calm. She was advanced in labor and really scared. Oh, did I tell you she had two little ones in the car with her?” I shake my head no.

  “Well, Brax and Chan were keeping the little ones distracted while their mom was screaming in pain. All of a sudden, she goes white as a ghost and says, ‘Baby’s coming. Now!’ She stands up, up off the seat of the car and bears down. Right there on the side of the highway. God, you should see Zach do an impression. It’s fucking funny.”

  We walk into the kitchen space of the station. There’s a long table in the center with eight other men already digging into their meals. Spaghetti. Yum. That’s what I was hoping for. Carbs and meat sauce. Chase hands me a plate and fills mine, then his, before we join the others at the end of the table. Damn, I’m in a room full of mouthwatering meat sauce.

  “Zach! I’m telling Callie the Butters story!” Butters frowns as the guy I assume is Zach jumps from his chair. He widens his legs, does a squat, and twists his facial features into a grimace. The entire station fills with laughter, hoots, and lewd comments. I can’t help but giggle.

  “The baby! She’s come—mmmm—ing! Nowwweee!” Some guy jumps in and pretends to catch the imaginary baby, but fumbles many times before another guy catches the ball of air and says “Got it!” The shouts and laughter continue and finally Butters gives in to the joyous spirit.

  “And now they never pick me first for football!” he yells to me over the jostling and teasing.

  “That’s funny. I assume the baby is okay?”

  “
Turned three last month. Parents come by every year with cake to say thanks.”

  “That’s awesome.” I grin and then turn to Chase. “So, what’s your nickname?” The laughter fades and all that can be heard is the scrape of forks against plates. Chase drops his gaze and my eyes dart around to find no one will meet my stare. “What? Is it top secret or something? Embarrassing?” The joking of minutes ago is gone, and still no one glances up.

  Chase licks his lips and takes a big chug from one of the water bottles in the middle of the table. “Hey,” I whisper as the room begins to fill with conversation again. I place my hand under the table to touch his thigh. “You don’t have to tell me unless you want to.”

  He lifts his eyes, that damn chocolate melting every bit of my heart. “Thanks, Callie.” He dips his head and brushes his lips against mine. “Thanks for being so great. I really like you.”

  “I really like you, too.” More. I more than really like him. I’m falling hard and fast for this man. Even if he won’t tell me his stupid nickname. Yet.

  I love coffee.

  And grocery stores that have little barista shops inside, well, they’re sent from heaven. Or really smart at marketing for all us junkies. Come. Shop. Get your fix. Don’t mind if I do.

  I take the offered latte goodness from the barista and start my trip around the store while pushing my cart in my familiar path. First stop: bread. Though I hear going gluten free is good for the gut. And mine’s been tied up in knots since I met Chase. And worsening with every date. It’s a good pain, though, if that even makes sense. More like anticipation. And I’ve invited him over to dinner tonight, which has my stomach completely twisted because I know tonight’s the night. Tonight I’m giving it up. Tonight we take our relationship to another level. My stomach flops. I open my group text to Alicia and Jill to ask if eating gluten free will prepare me for sex with Chase.

  My phone pings but before I can view their responses I glance over my shoulder. A familiar face meets my gaze across the display of baked goodies. Her brows are knit with the exact evil glare I remember. She turns on her heel and strolls her cart down the frozen food aisle. I frantically alert my posse.