Up In Flames (Flirting with Fire Book 2)

by Jennifer Blackwood

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked quietly, eyeing the kitchen. “In my room.”

  He walked in, and she shut the door behind him. She turned down the music and flopped down on her bed over a mound of wrinkled clothes and papers. Reece chose to stand. “What’s up?”

  “I’m, uh . . .” She worried her lip, sucking in her labret. “It’s stupid, really.”

  This was weird. Even for his sister, whose life rode the line of offbeat. Hemp smoothies, Birkenstocks—she’d even gone a couple of years with natty dreads. Thankfully, she’d outgrown that last one.

  “Okay. Well, then, I guess I’ll just get going.” He didn’t want to be late picking up Sloane. No need to give her ammunition for writing a scathing email to his chief. He went to turn for the door.

  “Wait.” There was something desperate in that one word. One that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

  He stopped, his hand resting on the knob. His sister had been acting off for months. Massive mood swings, bouts of reclusiveness. Reece figured it was a phase, but maybe there was something else going on.

  “I—I decided to apply for colleges.”

  His initial worry subsided. He’d automatically gone to worst-case scenario. “That’s awesome. And you need my help . . . why?” Out of everyone in his family, Reece was the least qualified to help her. He’d never gone to college. The only courses he took were to further his training.

  “I don’t want to tell Mom yet. Or Erin. You know how they are.”

  They shared a look. One they had shared regularly. He understood. He loved his family, but they had a certain knack for bringing the crazy out of people. His mom would set up camp outside Andie’s door if she knew she was applying to schools.

  “Got it. What do you need me to do?”

  “Some of the colleges say they want extracurriculars. I know it’s been a couple of years since high school, so I don’t really have much. Do you have anything to beef up my résumé?”

  At least this was one thing he could actually help out with. “I do. I can take you to the shelter next weekend when I volunteer.”

  “The shelter . . .” She looked uncertain. He forgot that his youngest sister hadn’t worked as much with the community as he and Erin had as teens.

  “If you’re going to ask for help, we’re going to do it right.” That was the way Reece did things. Either all the way or not at all. If his sister wanted his help, then she needed to cut the one-foot-out-the-door attitude.

  After a moment, she nodded. “Okay.” She toyed with the quilt on her bed. “And, Reece?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Please don’t tell Mom. Just in case this doesn’t, you know, happen.” She shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. But he knew the look in her eyes. Hope.

  “Secret’s safe with me, kid.” He ruffled her hair. It was nice to see her take some initiative. Hopefully it’d last. “See you next weekend.” And with that, he made his way out of the house and to his truck to go who knew where with Sloane.

  Reece stared down at the jeans he saved for working on his Jeeps and projects at his mom’s house. Knowing Sloane, this was some sick joke, and he’d end up being her wedding date and stuck looking like an idiot. He’d come prepared, though. He had dress slacks and a button-up in his trunk, just in case. Because, if anything, he’d always make sure that he wouldn’t be caught off guard, unlike his stupid mistake the other week.

  He rolled up to her apartment complex, a couple of blocks from his, pulled into a spot nearest the front entrance, and cut the engine.

  He debated texting her and having her meet him downstairs, but his mom had taught him manners and would whomp him over the head with a rolling pin if he did that to Sloane.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, he got off on the fourth floor and made his way to Sloane’s apartment at the end of the hall. The space outside her door had a festive doormat that read HO HO HO. Christmas lights lined the doorway, and a candy-cane wreath hung from the door.

  Even though Thanksgiving was next week, he’d already helped his mom set up her lights on her house. Reece didn’t bother putting decorations up at his apartment. A Christmas tree at the station was about as festive as he got.

  Reece gave a firm rap on the door, and moments later, Sloane opened it, the smell of peppermint wafting out of the apartment.

  Sloane was dressed in faded jeans and a black hoodie, and her hair was pulled back. He could officially cross needing his suit off his list. “Just in time. Let me grab my keys.”

  “Smells good in here.” Through the years, he’d been over here for various reasons. Helped her move her sofa up the stairs, fixed a leaky toilet when the super was worthless. It always smelled like baked goods and never failed to make him hungry.

  “Peppermint treats for my friends,” she said, scooping them onto a cooling rack.

  Reece glanced at the kitchen counter, which had dozens of cookies on racks. They were roped in the shape of candy canes. Not the best-looking things he’d ever seen, but he was sure they more than made up for it in taste. Sloane always did have a knack for baking. When Reece was in high school, Sloane and Erin would bake after school. Reece and Jake would reap the rewards of each baking endeavor. He was especially fond of her peanut butter oatmeal cookies, which were special treats she made during the holidays. “Mind if I have one?”

  Sloane looked at him curiously, and then her lips twitched. “By all means, help yourself.”

  Huh. First his sister came to him for advice, and now Sloane was being nice? Too nice. Something was up. But he wasn’t one to pass up free food, so he grabbed one off the rack and shoved it in his mouth. It was a mix of peanut butter and peppermint, and the driest cookie he’d ever tasted. The chalky pieces moved around in his mouth, clumping together, and he forced himself to swallow them. His intestines might regret this choice later when the mixture turned to cement.

  “How are they?” she prompted.

  The words worst cookie ever played at the tip of his tongue, but he decided against voicing this, especially when he wasn’t sure what she had planned for him this afternoon. He set the rest of the cookie down on the counter. “Listen, I don’t know the best way to say this, but are you sure you want to give these to people that you like?”

  Her lips wobbled, and she was on the losing end of a battle to try to hide a smile. “Trust me. I don’t think my friends will mind.”

  He shrugged. So be it. Maybe her friends didn’t have taste buds. But Reece could really use a glass of water to wash down the remnants of the cement in his mouth.

  Reece shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced around the apartment. Colorful, loaded with art on the walls. It reminded him of the Lisa Frank craze that Erin had gone through when they were younger.

  Sloane finished putting the cookies into a plastic bag and then stowed it away in her purse. He watched as she moved around the kitchen, her hips swaying as she walked. The way her jeans clung to her ass. How he’d like to slip his hands in the back pockets, for his fingers to trail under the edge of her jeans . . . and yeah, he needed to stop that train of thought.

  Her brows knit together when she caught him staring, and he quickly took interest in the coffee table in the center of the room. “Let’s get going before it’s too late,” she said slowly.

  Right. Chore number one. “Works for me.” He followed her to the door, ready to get this over with. Whatever it was. He thought about the Seahawks game he was missing and his spot on the couch, just waiting for him when he returned. “So you’re not going to tell me where we’re going?”

  They entered the stairwell, and she walked ahead of him. Her perfume, something roselike, trailed behind her. Reece took a deep breath, inhaling the scent. Damn, she smelled good.

  “Where’s the fun in that?” she asked. “I thought you liked adventure. Isn’t that what all you adrenaline-junkie firefighters like?”

  There was a reason why he excelled at his job. He knew what to expect. The
proper protocol. Knew every back road, service entrance, and alternate route to get to a call. He knew what to do if a patient was coding. Turned out he was clueless in regard to how to deal with Sloane.

  He gritted his teeth as they rounded the corner to the second floor. The stairwell was dimly lit, some of the sconces flickering or burned out altogether. A place that screamed “open invitation” to seedy people. He didn’t like the thought of Sloane going through here alone.

  Once they hit the last flight of stairs, he focused back on her question. “Not all of us are that way.” Although he had to admit that most of his men did like the rush of the call. Even he found himself caught up in the moment from time to time. “That’s not why I signed up for the job.” The echo of his voice died down as they exited the stairwell.

  “Then why did you?” He didn’t even have to peer over at her to know she was staring him down with those perfectly arched brows.

  Because I want to help people.

  When he was seven, Erin was just a toddler at that point. His mom had asked him to watch her for a few minutes while she’d hopped in the shower after a long shift at the food truck. He’d been too transfixed by Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to notice that she’d managed to unhook the child lock from the slider door and escape out the back. It had taken him almost forty minutes to find her, and she’d broken her foot, falling on something in the backyard. She’d gotten hurt on his watch. From then on, he’d vowed to keep people safe. Sloane didn’t need to know that, though. Probably rub it in his face. “What is this, a job interview? Chief put you up to this?”

  She held up her hands in response. “Just a curious citizen, that’s all.”

  “You’re something, all right,” he muttered.

  “Sorry, what was that?” They walked past the entryway to the apartment, a small common area off to the side filled with a large TV and a foosball table.

  “Just saying I’m so happy to have a concerned citizen in the car.” Why couldn’t Sloane be like every other bidder and give him a neat and tidy list of four chores? In, out, be done with it.

  They climbed into his truck, and he glanced over at Sloane, who had that devilish smirk twisting at her lips. The last time she’d been in his truck had been more than a year ago. He swallowed and tried not to look at her hands splayed across her thighs. How her skin would feel under his touch. How her head would knock back if he was between her legs.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Shit. How had he been looking at her? He focused back on the steering wheel, the empty parking lot—anything to get his mind off what he’d like to do to Sloane. Thoughts he had believed were completely evicted from his mind.

  “Nothing.” He turned the key in the ignition and followed her directions.

  Twenty minutes later, they were apparently almost at their destination, according to Sloane.

  “Take a right here,” Sloane said.

  Reece pulled into a large gravel lot and eyed the Portland Humane Society sign. He’d done a few fund-raisers here with the fire department.

  “Scooping up dog poop.” He nodded. Yep, this seemed right up Sloane’s alley. “Nice play, Smurfette.”

  “Oh, it’s much better than that,” she said, hopping down from the truck. Her ponytail bobbed as she walked two steps ahead of him to the front entrance, and he made a point to study the exterior of the building and not Sloane’s hips.

  “What’s worse than dog shit?”

  She smiled back at him. And that twinkle in her eyes should have tipped him off that he was in deeper trouble than originally anticipated. “We’re here to pick out a dog to foster.”

  “Excuse me? Did you just say we, as in plural?” She couldn’t mean . . .

  “I usually foster a dog or two at a time. But since my apartment has changed their rules on pets, I can’t anymore. They’re really understaffed and could use the help.”

  “And you need my opinion?” He wasn’t the praying type, but maybe now was a good time to start. “I don’t really know much about dogs.” He’d never even owned one. His mom had claimed they’d be too much work. And since she was a single parent of three, he didn’t bother pushing the subject again.

  “Oh, the dog’s not for me.” She pulled out a tube of ChapStick from her purse and rolled it over her lips, then shoved it back into the bag.

  Damn it. He did not like where this conversation was heading. Not one bit. Not when she looked like she’d just won the lottery. “Who’s it for, Sloane?”

  She toyed with the strap of her purse. “Well, I know how lonely you are in that apartment of yours. Figured you could use a friend.”

  No.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Reece worked solo. A lone wolf. No room for a dog in his apartment.

  “No. Unless you want to go back on your deal.” Sloane shuffled around her purse. “I think I have the chief’s card in here somewhere.”

  Fostering a dog. As a chore. That was a stretch, even for Sloane.

  He stared at her.

  She stared back.

  There was no chance she’d drop this.

  “What about when I’m on shift? Who’s going to watch the dog?” He had twenty-four-hour shifts. No way a dog could hold it that long. She couldn’t argue with that. It might be the one loophole that could get him out of this.

  “I’ve already made arrangements with your mom.”

  Reece stopped walking and stared at her. Is that why his mother hadn’t pushed to ask who he was hanging out with today? Because she already knew? “My mom is in on this?” This was a new low. Out of all the people to piss off, he had to get on the bad side of Sloane.

  Sloane shrugged. “She was more than happy to help out.”

  Of course she was.

  Four weeks, max. He could deal with a thing that pooped and ate for that long.

  He let out a slow, calming breath. “Fine. Lead me to the dog area.”

  “It’ll probably be for only a few weeks. Just until they have an adopter or more room at the shelter.” They entered the building, which was painted a sterile white and smelled faintly like wet dog. Each wall showcased professional photos of animals—birds in trees, dogs running through fields, cats on their backs probably ready to rip out someone’s throat. On the back wall was the slogan MEET YOUR NEW LIFELONG FRIEND.

  Yeah, a lifelong, thirty-day friend.

  Sloane waved to the person behind the main desk. “Hi, Jerry.”

  Jerry’s ruddy cheeks bloomed a deeper shade of red, and he straightened when he caught sight of Sloane. His reaction unsettled Reece, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite volunteer. How are your parents enjoying Florida?”

  “Having the time of their lives. Getting tanner by the minute.” She waved her hand in the air. Sloane was one of those people who talked with her whole body, using bold, emphatic gestures. Stand close enough and someone could lose an eye. “I brought you something.” She pulled out a package of brownies that Reece hadn’t seen in her kitchen.

  Hold the damn phone. Jerry knew Sloane’s parents’ whereabouts and got brownies? This really didn’t settle well. For the sole reason that those chocolate squares that were made out of unicorn tears were in the wrong hands. Namely, Jerry’s.

  Jerry made quick work of the Saran wrap and shoved a brownie in his mouth. Lucky bastard. “You’re too good to me.” He licked crumbs from his finger and waved her and Reece on. “Have a good shift.”

  When they got to the dog area, she pulled out the other plastic bag and pulled it open, giving one of the candy-cane cookies to a bullmastiff in one of the pens.

  Wait a second.

  Realization dawned on him. “You let me eat dog treats?”

  “It seemed it was only fitting.” She gave him a wink.

  If they were keeping score, Reece would have zero points for today, and Sloane would be in the lead with a solid two points. He’d be upset if he wasn’t so impressed.

  At least that e
xplained why they tasted so dry. No wonder they sucked. “Let’s get this over with,” he said.

  One of the managers came out from a back room to greet them. Another person who knew Sloane by name.

  “Kurt, this is my friend, Reece,” she said, pointing to him.

  Reece raised a brow, surprised by the fact that Sloane would call him any title other than asshole. “Reece here is looking to foster a dog. Doing me a favor since I can’t foster for a little while.”

  Kurt smiled at Reece. “Great. Let’s get the paperwork started. We have a new arrival that we don’t have room for.”

  His first instinct was to tell the guy he was less than thrilled. He liked his hardwood floors without mud. Preferred not to have his apartment reek of wet dog. Didn’t need some mutt dragging in whatever it was they dragged in.

  Job. Do whatever she says to keep your position.

  He’d seen it before with the chief. A couple of years back, a guy on C shift, Jackson, was in a similar position as Reece was now. Jackson had pissed off the chief because of a bad call he’d made during a routine procedure. He’d been at the station six years, a solid fixture in their tight-knit group. Five months ago, Jackson transferred down to Mount Halo, a station where the most action they saw was a paper cut at the bank. Also the station that happened to have more openings than any other in Portland. Word around the station claimed Jackson had wanted the transfer for a while, but they all knew it was because of the chief. Mount Halo was a place where firefighters went to ride out the rest of their careers, their rigs collecting dust. It’d be a death sentence for Reece. So for the next few weeks, when Sloane said, “Jump,” he’d grit his teeth and ask, “How high?”

  “Anything to help out a dog,” he said, trying to muster up enough enthusiasm to placate Sloane.

  Reece wasn’t even sure if he liked dogs. But if this made Sloane’s evil, sadistic heart happy, then by all means, he loved dogs. Would buy one of those stupid bumper stickers that said I LOVE MY BOXER/LAB/1/4 WELSH TERRIER MIX. Because she was th ekey to ensuring the chief was happy and would have zero reason to run him out of Station 11. He’d just keep reminding himself of that during every task Sloane had for him.