Playing with Fire_Shen

by Shen, L. J.

  After I put Grams in her bed, I went back to my room. It was dark, hot, and damp, the scent of sex and man lingering in the air. The iced tea glasses I’d brought hours ago remained untouched, framed by little pools of sweat on my nightstand. West was sprawled in my bed, his arms tucked behind his head, his eyes trained on my ceiling, which had been freshly painted four years ago. He was shirtless, his lower parts covered haphazardly with my blanket. I took a mental photo of him like this, in my territory, calm and content.

  My gut wouldn’t let me believe this picture-perfect moment would last.

  He patted an invisible space next to him. “Join me, Tex.”

  “You’re not leavin’ much room.” I ran my eyes along his frame from the doorway. A lazy smile spread over his face.

  “Guess you’ll have to get on top of me, then.”

  It was still mind-blowing to me that he looked past my scars. Of course, he hadn’t seen the true extent of their ugliness under my makeup, but they were still there nonetheless. I slid on top of him, bracketing his waist with my thighs, squeezing as I ground over his erection through my blanket.

  He groaned, kneading my butt cheeks.

  “Pretty sure my dick’s got skid marks at this point. Up for a fourth round?”

  “We ran out of condoms.” I laughed throatily.

  “I’ll pull out.”

  “Are you insane?”

  “Horny. Which must be technically the same, because I’ve never suggested that in my entire life.”

  “We’re not doin’ that.”

  “Why not? I’ll be fast.”

  “You’re really selling this to me.” I rolled my eyes.

  He laughed. “Fast to pull, not to finish.”

  I ran a hand over his forehead, cheeks, and chin, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose. He was perfect. Every single part of him. Unmarred, smooth, and striking.

  “We’ll do it again soon. And be safe about it,” I whispered.

  “Promise,” he demanded, covering my hands with his on his chest so I couldn’t move. I thought about the promise he’d made me earlier tonight. To never break my trust.

  “Promise.” I smiled.

  We snuggled after that. I lay on top of him, skin-to-skin, my ear pressed against his pec, listening to the steady drum of his heart. I thought he fell asleep as the room grew dark.

  Then he spoke. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened to you? And no, I’m not asking because I saw your scars today. I’m asking because you act like it never happened, yet you let that shit define you. Every. Single. Day.”

  My breath caught in my lungs. Here we go.

  It was one of the reasons why I hadn’t gotten close to anyone since what happened. Avoiding the questions, the confessions, the ugly truth behind the uglier scars. But didn’t West deserve a bit of honesty after everything we’d been through?

  He did make a promise to me, even though he’d sworn to never do that.

  I opened my mouth, not sure what was going to come out of it.

  “Nobody knows exactly what happened the night of the fire.”

  His chest flexed beneath my head, like I’d knocked the air out of him.

  “Rumors around town spread like wildfire, but nothin’ had been confirmed, and I’d like to keep it that way. That’s why I don’t advertise it.”

  Plus, reliving the worst night of my life wasn’t exactly my favorite pastime.

  I twirled the flame ring around my finger, watching it intently, and suddenly hating it with a passion.

  Hating Courtney for never giving it to me in person.

  For not being there when the bandages came off.

  For not taking responsibility for what she’d created—me.

  West stroked my hair. My yellow and gold locks fanned across his bronzed skin. It looked beautiful. Like the sunset.

  He should marry a blonde. The thought came out of nowhere, clogging up my throat. Like who, you?

  “There’s not advertising it, and there’s not acknowledging it ever happened. I’ve known you for months, and you haven’t mentioned it,” West said.

  I closed my eyes. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. I want to know everything, Tex.”

  One more tiny breath.

  One last kiss to his chest.

  Then I dove in, telling him what only Karlie and Marla knew.

  “It was just another night. A Tuesday, actually. It always surprises me, how the days that reshape and change our lives forever start so ordinary and unassuming. Grams was workin’ two jobs at the time. Her day job was at a cafeteria in a middle school in town, and her afternoon job was helpin’ out at the local grocery store. But she still insisted on cookin’ me homemade meals and being there for my cheerleadin’ gigs and my plays. She was exhausted. And forgetful. All the freakin’ time.”

  I took a deep breath, pushing through the details. It was like going uphill in the midst of a snowstorm.

  “I had a boyfriend at the time. His name was Tucker. He was a football player. Popular, handsome, comes from a good, known family here in Sheridan. He stayed the night that day. He stayed the night often, but when Grams came home, he’d slip out through my bedroom window, so by the time she woke me up in the morning with waffles, he wasn’t there wrapped around me. She called him The Octopus,” I recalled, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Since the day she found him in my bed, our limbs were tangled together.”

  “We can skip the parts where other guys touch you,” West grumbled.

  “The window was rusty, so it made a cracklin’ sound I’d gotten used to.”

  I felt him nodding, but he didn’t say anything. My chest hurt. Each word that passed through my mouth felt like chewing and swallowing glass.

  “I was asleep when it happened. Grams came home, probably late. She fixed herself some gin and tonic, lit a cigarette, and sat downstairs. Finished her drink and went up to her room.

  “The worst part was that I heard the crackling sound, after the cigarette ember caught and moved across the couch, but I was so tired, I thought it was the sound of the window when Tucker sneaked out, not knowing that he’d left an hour before Grams came home.”

  The memory was fresh and real, the scent of the fire assaulted my nostrils, my lungs filling with black smoke. I could see what happened next vividly behind my eyelids. I opened my eyes in the dark, my heart galloping against West’s chest. He secured his arm over my back, pressing me so deeply against him, I thought I was going to drown in his body.

  “I’d only realized what was happenin’ when I started coughin’. I sat up in my bed and looked around. Something was wrong. Smoke rolled from the door crack. The room wasn’t that foggy, but the clouds that seeped in from under the door were dark and hot. I jumped out of bed and called for Grams. Her room was at the end of the hall. I got out of my room and saw that the fire reached the second floor. It was dancin’ across the top stairway. I swear it looked like it was taunting me, West.” My words tripped over one another. A lone, fat tear rolled down my cheek, landing on his bare chest. The second it hit his skin, he groaned, almost like he’d sucked all the pain out of me and felt it in his bones.

  His lips brushed the crown of my head. “You don’t have to continue.”

  But I wanted to. For the first time, I wanted to get this off of my chest. To cleanse myself of the burden of knowing the truth and keeping it from the world.

  I took another breath, soldiering on.

  “I ran to Gram’s room and dragged her out. We couldn’t jump out. There were rosebushes directly under her window, and Grams had a bad hip. Besides, she was fast asleep. I shielded her with my body, wrapped her around like a human blanket, then charged back to the hallway. By the time we made it out of her room, the second floor began to collapse, like a stack of cards. A part of the wall warped on top of me. It pressed against my left side. Hard. For a few seconds, I couldn’t move. We were crushed against a wooden plank, and the plank was on fire. I felt my face,
my shoulder, my arm meltin’ away. I was sure this was it for me. That I was already dead.”

  Another tear fell on his chest. I remembered thinking being dead still had some life to it. I could still hear things and feel pain.

  “I fainted. Probably from the adrenaline and pain. What woke me up was Grams. She was wide awake and screamin’ bloody murder, crushed beneath me, but safe in my arms. Her voice kicked me into action. I wanted to save her, no matter the cost, like she’d saved me when my momma …”

  Left me at her door.

  Ran away with her tweaker friends, never looking back.

  “I grabbed Grams with the remainder of my strength and got us both out. I remember what I did when we were finally out of the house. Just when it started folding into itself, like in the movies, the flames dancing so high, they tickled the sky. I rolled on the grass, screamin’. It was damp from dew, and soothed my burnin’ skin. By then, there were a few ambulances and fire trucks parked in front of our door. My downfall had an audience. Everybody came out of their houses to watch. Including Mrs. Drayton, who got out with her three-year-old son, Liam, clutched in her arms. He’d asked her aloud, ‘Mommy, why does Grace smell like toast?’”

  I closed my eyes again.

  His chest caved beneath me.

  Toastie.

  That was how the name stuck. Eden Markovic overheard Liam say it, and passed it on to Luke McDonald, who told all his friends, who told their parents, who told everyone at church.

  Even when they didn’t say it to my face, they still said it behind my back. I knew every single person in Sheridan heard the tale of how I rolled around on the grass like a dog in heat, shouting like a madwoman as my face melted away in front of an audience.

  The ungraceful fall of Grace Shaw, who’d almost slipped from the deadly claws of the screwed-up future her mother had given her. Almost.

  “Texas …” The rawness in West’s tone snapped me out of reliving that moment.

  I shook my head. I wasn’t finished. “Wanna know the worst part?” I licked the salty tears around my mouth.

  “I thought I already did.”

  I smiled bitterly. He had no idea.

  “When Grams woke up at the hospital, she was very confused. She didn’t remember anything. Not even the part where I got her out of the fire. I don’t think she had dementia back then. I think she just blanked out, or maybe it was the first raindrop in what was going to become a thunderstorm. Either way, I was on life support and unconscious when they asked her what happened …” I stopped, forcing myself not to break. Not to scream.

  I wasn’t there when she’d given them her version of the story. I’d been busy fighting for my life as my inner organs failed, a few rooms down from her. “When they asked her what happened, she said her granddaughter must’ve tried smokin’ one of her cigarettes and left it unattended downstairs. She didn’t remember causing the fire. Still doesn’t. She thinks it’s my fault. And … well, I let her think that, because it doesn’t matter. By the time I woke up, everybody made up their minds, and the insurance company accepted her version of things. It was a done deal. The fire was my fault.”

  That was the story Grams offered Sheridan, and the townsfolk ate it up.

  Grace Shaw, daughter of Courtney Shaw, the infamous, late junkie, played with fire and got burned. After all, she must’ve inherited Momma’s flavor for trouble.

  “Really, it was her fault for trying her grandmomma’s cigarettes. What kind of kid does that?”

  “An utterly irresponsible one. And it took away her best asset—her beauty!”

  “Try only asset. Poor Savannah Shaw can’t catch a break. First, her daughter. Now, her granddaughter. She ain’t nothin’ short of a saint, yet both of ’em broke bad.”

  I heard it all.

  With my ball cap on, my oversized clothes, and my head down, I was barely recognizable. Completely invisible. And hard to miss when you were out on the town, eager to gossip.

  I lived in a town I hated, among people who were suspicious of me, with no chance at escaping, because I needed to take care of my grandmother—who’d started the fire she’d blamed me for.

  West cupped my cheeks—even the tainted one—and forced me to look up at him.

  I blinked away the tears, holding my breath as I awaited his verdict.

  He kissed my forehead, his lips lingering on my skin, then said the most stupid, outrageous, beautiful, awful, touching thing anyone had ever told me.

  “I’m grateful that Tuesday went down the way it did.” His voice was scratchy. Thick. “Because the worst day of your life gave me the best version of you.”

  Grace

  The next day, I walked the length of Lawrence Hall toward its cafeteria, hugging my textbooks to my chest. I thought about how weird it was that so many things had happened in the same week.

  West had begun to work at the food truck.

  The rehearsal for A Streetcar Named Desire had started.

  And because our university auditorium had been under construction ahead of the big show, fifty percent of my classes had moved to Lawrence Hall—where West spent most of his time—until the end of the semester.

  Normally, I wouldn’t have seen him too often. We were on opposite sides of the university, in different buildings, in different cafeterias, even different sections of the parks.

  Suddenly, our lives were entwined everywhere.

  An arm snaked through the narrow gap of the men’s restroom, yanking me inside.

  My back hit the wall with a thud.

  West’s face popped into my vision. He boxed me, running his nose along mine, his hot breath wafting over my face.

  “Texas Shaw. Fancy seeing ya here.”

  “Well, you did drag me in here.” I clutched my books to my chest tighter, still unsure whether I was delighted or annoyed with his gesture. Yesterday, after the post-orgasm fog had dissipated and West had grabbed his stuff and left, I wondered what on earth I was doing. What were we?

  A couple?

  Friends with benefits?

  A gorgeous, obnoxious, colossal mistake?

  I gave him access to my everything—secrets, body, deepest, darkest thoughts—and I didn’t even know where we stood. It irked me. A part of me wanted to claim him as mine, but another warned me I wasn’t ready for the gossip that came with it. To the questions and whispers and self-doubt, when the world would no doubt remind me Sheridan’s best would never truly settle for its worst citizen.

  West’s lips latched onto mine. He grumbled into my mouth as he pried my lips open, thrusting his tongue inside. I whimpered, my textbooks dropping on the tiles between us. A warm surge of pleasure pooled in my womb. Lord, the man knew how to use his tongue.

  When he pulled away, it took me a few seconds to find my voice again.

  “You owe me three textbooks. I’m not pickin’ these up.”

  He looked down and laughed, kicking them aside.

  “On it.”

  “How can I help you, St. Claire?”

  “Why, I’m glad you asked. Suck me off after our shifts tonight,” he said briskly.

  “No can do. I have to look for caregivers for Grams.”

  He gave me a look I didn’t like. It was the same look Marla and Karlie offered me. The one that told me I needed to look reality in the eye and start looking for nursing homes. They were more affordable in the long run, they’d accommodate her situation, force her into medicating, and she’d lead a more active lifestyle. I knew all that, but I couldn’t help but fear she’d never forgive me.

  It wasn’t what she wanted.

  At least, it wasn’t what she thought she wanted.

  “I’ll help you out.”

  “You will?” My eyebrows shot up.

  “Sure.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” He tapped his lips, leaning into my personal space, making a show of thinking about it. “Because I want to spend time with you. Ideally horizontally.”

  I punched his shou
lder. He pretended to stumble back, holding on to his “injured” deltoids.

  “Horizontally, huh?” I rolled my eyes.

  “Vertically too. How are your oral skills?”

  “You’re not about to find out anytime soon. Tit for tat, remember?” I wiggled my eyebrows, feeling so normal my heart swelled. He swaggered back to my side, slipping his hand under my shirt and kneading my left breast, dragging his mouth from my collarbone to my neck.

  “Speaking of tits, I missed those.”

  “Such a romantic.”

  “I can be anything you want me to be.” He grinned mischievously. “Other than a unicorn. I can’t be that.”

  And truly mine, I thought bitterly.

  I stumbled out of the men’s restroom, making a stop in the girls’ restroom to apply the makeup he probably ruined in his quest to nibble on my face, then went into the cafeteria, on the lookout for Karlie.

  My best friend was sitting with a bunch of her brainiac friends, crouching over thick textbooks, arguing heatedly over something. West was three tables down, with Easton, Reign, and the football crew. Guess all was well between West and Easton, now that the latter was out of the picture and West and I were finally happening.

  Easton raised a hand and winked at me good-naturedly.

  Reign look the other way, avoiding my gaze.

  And West? He flat-out ignored me.

  I moved quickly, sliding into the seat next to Karlie, giving her arm a squeeze and disregarding the pang of disappointment prickling my chest. He didn’t even say hi.

  “Hey, Karl! You having a good day?”

  She started talking as I sneaked another look at West. He wasn’t looking at me. He was talking to Tess, who parked her hip on his table, schmoozing while flipping her raven hair.

  He is not your boyfriend, my brain reminded me.

  My heart, however, wouldn’t listen.

  West and I quickly fell into a routine.