by Olivia Rush
Meg tilted her head and gave me a knowing smile.
“And I’m sure you’re totally willing to let it stay just the one time.”
“I don’t know,” I said.
I couldn’t believe myself. I was sounding as confused and uncertain as a kid trying decide between ice cream flavors.
“You know what I think is going on?” asked Meg.
“Let’s hear it,” I said. “This oughtta be good.”
“I think you’re into this guy. And not just into him—really into him. You’re so into him, in fact, that you’re starting to wonder if there’s something wrong with you for liking a guy this much when you’ve only known for a little while and hooked up with him once.”
“That’s not it,” I said, waving my hand dismissively.
“When you told me you spent the afternoon hanging out with his kid, my jaw about dropped through the floor and down into the basement, you know.”
“What?” I asked. “He had to go into work, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to find a babysitter. I didn’t have anything to do, so I thought it’d be nice.”
Meg snorted.
“You remember that guy you dated a year or so back, the one who worked for that nonprofit?”
“You mean Kevin?” I asked. “We hardly dated. We weren’t even together for two weeks.”
“Right,” she said. “And do you remember why you decided to drop him like a bad habit?”
I scanned my memory, trying to find the answer. To be honest, I’d dated so many guys for just a week or two before getting tired of them that I couldn’t even remember the reason why I’d dumped this one.
“Uh,” I said, trying to make the mental connection.
“You broke up with him because he left his iPad over at your place to charge. You found out and decided that it was, and I quote, ‘totally presumptuous.’ And that was the end of Mr. Kevin.”
“So?” I asked. “It was. Leaving an iPad over because he just assumed he’d be back to pick it up? And what does that have to do with watching a kid?”
“The point is that there’s a vast, vast ocean between leaving a thing over at your apartment and watching a kid. The first is nothing, and the second is not something a girl does for just anyone—at least not for free. And you did it without even thinking about it.”
I got her point but couldn’t think of a thing to say in response.
“Face it, girl. I think you’re into this guy, and you’re into him more than you’re cool with. And your whole thing about not wanting it to look like you’re getting too close to a source is more you worrying about opening up your heart. I mean, seriously, when’s the last time you’ve been actually into a guy, not just into him enough to tolerate him for a few weeks until he starts to annoy you?”
“Um, kind of a long time. Like, a ‘before I moved to the city’ kind of a long time.”
“And I know this city sucks for finding guys, but you have to admit that part of that’s because you’re not even giving yourself a chance to fall in love. You’re focused on your career, sure, but that doesn’t mean you can’t find someone special. And now that you kinda-sorta-maybe have, you’re actively fighting against it. You’re out of control, lady.”
“OK, OK,” I said, taking a long sip of wine. “That’s about all the psychoanalysis I can handle for one evening. So, you’re saying I should do it?”
“Fuck yeah, you should! Even if you’re not interested in the guy at all, which is clearly not the case, this is the chance you’ve been waiting for to write the story of your career. You’d be crazy to turn it down.”
I swirled my wine around in my glass and thought it over. And when Meg and I were done with our little conference, I thought about it more and more on the way back to my apartment, the wine now swirling around in my head.
And the more I considered the matter, the more I realized she was right. I didn’t even want to think about the romance angle—what I cared about was the scoop. And Stone was right with what he said on the phone—this was a chance for me to get insider information that any journalist would kill for.
Then, on top of everything, I had a chance to actually, maybe, do some good in the city. It sounded crazy to consider, but what if he and I actually got to the bottom of what was going on with these fires? And what if this was a little something I could include in my story? I’d have the New Yorker kicking down my damn door trying to get me on payroll.
By the time I got home, my mind was made up. I tossed my coat onto the couch and grabbed my phone out from my pocket with such intensity and determination that I felt like a knight unsheathing a sword.
I pulled up Stone’s contact and typed in two words, two little words that could very well change my life forever: I’m in.
14
CALLIE
Tension hit my stomach like an electrical current as soon as Stone showed up at the coffee shop where we’d agreed to meet. He stood in the doorway for a long moment, scanning the place for me, his handsome face wearing an expression of concentration.
And as he stood near the entrance, waifish Brooklyn boys sidled around his massive frame to get inside, looking like awkward kids next to a man like Stone. Just sitting there in the shop looking him over caused a tingle of sexual thrill to spread out from below. I crossed my legs hard to try and squelch the feeling.
His eyebrows flicked up as he laid eyes on me, then he pointed to the front counter. My eyes lingered on him as he strolled over to the barista and placed his order, and I couldn’t help but notice the girl flash Stone a flirty little smile as she attended to him. To my surprise, a streak of jealousy ran through my skin, making my face flush and causing me to clench my fists without thinking.
I glanced down at my hands, consciously expending the effort to open them back up. What the hell was wrong with me? Was I really feeling jealous of Stone on account of some barely-twenty-year-old chick giving him some doe eyes? I turned my attention back to my laptop, opening a window and clicking a few keys in a lame attempt to look like I was busy.
“I got you a muffin.”
Stone’s voice was just as deep and attractive as ever. I turned slightly in my seat to see that, sure enough, he had a muffin. Banana nut, by the looks of things. Stone set the plate with the pastry on top on the table before sliding into the seat across from me. I glanced out the window at the bustling city scene visible through the tall glass walls of the café—another lively Brooklyn morning.
“So,” said Stone, crossing his legs and sitting back in his chair, “You’re in? Does that mean what I think it means? That you’ve given some thought to my scheme?”
“I have,” I said, folding my hands on my lap and sitting up spear-straight, trying my best to look serious and professional. “Thanks for the muffin, by the way.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “Pastries go right to my ass, so the best I get is vicariously watching other people enjoy them.”
He gave me a smile, and I couldn’t help but make one too at the idea of a beefy tough guy like Stone fastidiously counting carbs and calories. He was such a little smartass, but part of me loved it.
“Anyway,” he said, bringing us back to the matter at hand. “I think you and I could make a really good team on this. I’ve been looking into things, but there’s only so much one guy can do, especially when he’s a single dad.”
Sometimes it slipped my mind that Stone was a father—everything about his look, from his muscles to his stunning features screamed “total player.” But when I got these reminders that he was, indeed, a dad, it made sense. He had a calm and patient poise to him that I imagined was a result of years of being a single parent. Maturity through and through.
“And you want to enlist the help of the best journalist in the city to help crack the case, is that it?”
“That’s right,” said Stone. “But I called her and she was busy, so you were next on the list.”
Another smirk, and I couldn’t help but laugh at his
little crack, dad joke though it may have been.
“Well,” I said, “I’m glad you’ve come around to seeing things from my point of view on the matter. I mean, there’s a reason I was all over this, and I think it’s because this has the potential to be the story of the year.”
“It’s more than a story to me,” he said, his tone taking on a mildly serious edge. “I’m less interested in writing front-page news than I am in making sure we put a stop to these fires before one of them ends up killing someone.”
“Sure, sure,” I said, remembering that Stone was as duty-driven as they came. “Gotta save.”
I was concerned about making sure people were safe—don’t get me wrong. But man-oh-man I’d be lying if I said the idea of finally making some headway on this article didn’t thrill me. It was taking all the restraint I had to play it cool here with Stone.
“Right,” he said, clearly not convinced he and I were on the same page but ready to move ahead anyway.
Then he looked away for a moment, as if getting ready to broach a subject that he didn’t all that much want to talk about. “And I want to make sure that, ah, whatever you and I have going on doesn’t get in the way of all this.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean, exactly?”
I had the perfect opportunity here to feel out just what he was thinking about the two of us, and I wasn’t about to let it slide. “Well, you and I slept together,” he said, acting like he was reminding me of something that might’ve slipped my mind.
“Oh,” I said with a smirk. “Is that what happened the other night? See, I’m a virgin, so I’m not really sure how all that stuff works.”
“Hey,” he said, raising his eyebrows slightly. “Leave the smartass comments to me.” He took a sip of his black-as-night coffee and went on. “Anyway, I just want to make sure that you and I are going to be able to work on this together and not be, you know, distracted by all of that.”
“All of what?” I asked.
He cocked his head to the side a bit. “You know, the, ah, obvious sexual chemistry between us.”
“Is that what it is?” I asked. I felt like I had the upper hand in this little encounter, and I was ready to take full advantage of it. “Are you suggesting that I need to be on my best behavior so I don’t fall prey to your irresistible charms?”
“Is it that outlandish of a thing to suggest?” he asked, crossing his arms over his beefy, barrel chest and leaning back in his seat. “I mean, I do seem to remember this all got started because you and I gave in to what was going on between us.”
“Well, that was a one-time thing,” I said. “It’d been awhile, and things just got a little out of control between you and me. That doesn’t mean I won’t be able to keep my hands off you or something.”
“OK,” he said. “Does that mean that we’re going to be able to set aside all that while we work on the task at hand?”
“Of course it does,” I said, my tone suggesting that it was the most obvious thing in the world, not even worth talking about. “I don’t know about you, but I’m a professional. And professionals don’t get affected by matters like this. I mean, assuming there was even a ‘this’ to worry about.”
Stone looked at me for a long moment, as if trying to figure out just how on the level I was being.
“OK, then,” he said, sticking his hand out across the table. “Then let’s shake on it. While we’re working on this little investigation, no funny business, no shenanigans, no tomfoolery—none of that. Just two professionals working together on a common goal.”
I regarded his hand for a moment before reaching across with my own and taking it.
As soon as his hand enclosed mine, however, I was distracted by the rough, warm skin of his palm. In my mind’s eye I pictured that same hand slipping under my blouse and onto the flat skin of my stomach, moving down slowly under the waist of my pants, then down below even further until it was just where I wanted it…
“You there, Callie?”
Stone’s voice snapped me back to reality.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, dismissing my invasive fantasy and coming back to the moment. “Anyway, sounds like a deal.”
I shook his hand and took it back before another porno scene had a chance to play itself out in my head.
“Good,” he said, reaching down toward his messenger bag and taking out his laptop. “First matter of business attended to. Now…”
He opened up his computer, clicked in a few keystrokes, and turned the screen toward me.
“So,” he said. “Like I told you, I did a little investigating of my own, and I found out some interesting information.”
I took a quick scan of the screen, trying to soak up what I could. There looked to be a lot of technical information about sprinkler systems and such—lots of info I just didn’t have an eye for. I was beginning to realize how much of an asset Stone was going to be on this.
“But this is all stuff I’ve just been able to find out from checking out the scenes after the fires. I’m getting the impression that, if these are arsons, they’re being done with the intention of destroying evidence.”
“You think someone’s breaking in and starting a fire to cover their tracks after they do something illegal?”
“That’s the thing,” he said, turning the computer back toward him. “These server rooms are some of the most secure spaces in these office buildings. The idea that someone could just sneak in, toss around some gas, and get a fire going is almost unthinkable. Not to mention nothing at any of the scenes indicates anything like that. Whoever is starting the fires is putting a lot of thought and work into them, and they wouldn’t do all that if all they wanted was to start a fire. Nothing about it looks like any of the firebug arsons I’ve seen.”
“This is getting confusing,” I said. “Maybe we’re dealing with a supervillain—a guy that can phase through walls or something.”
“We’d better hope that’s not the case,” he said with a grin. “Because then I think you and I might be a little outmatched.”
“So,” I said. “What’re you thinking we need to do?”
“I think we need to find some way to get into one of these firms before a fire starts.”
“But…how are we going to know which firm to check out? And how will we even get in if we find out?”
“That,” he said, a glint in his eye, “is where our fantastic team skills will come into play. So, shall we get started?”
15
STONE
“OK, how about this.”
Callie reached over with her chopsticks, stabbed a piece of General Tso’s chicken clean through, and brought it to her mouth.
“You know, most people actually use the chopsticks like they’re supposed to be used,” I said. “Like, picking up the food.”
Her jaw worked as she chewed the too-big-for-her-mouth piece of chicken. She waved her hand through the air before taking the chicken down in a hard swallow.
“It’s easier that way,” she said. “Who has time to gingerly pick up the chicken using the chopsticks like you’re supposed to? I just pretend they’re big forks with only one prong. Try it.”
“I bet you’d really save a lot of time if you just dumped all the food onto your plate and shoved your face right into it. Just do every meal like it’s a pie-eating contest.”
Callie sat back in her seat at my dining room table, the evening city backlit through the windows behind her. I was making a joke, but she looked like she was giving the suggestion some consideration.
“Don’t do that,” I said, not wanting to give her any ideas.
“You might be on to something,” she said. “I mean, I’ve never really been a big eater, you know? Just always seemed like a hassle.”
“I’ve got a blender in there if you really want to quit screwing around and just drink the whole meal with a straw.”
She picked up the chopsticks and fumbled with them.
“These are just so stupid,” s
he said. “People only use them because they think that’s how they’re ‘supposed’ to eat Chinese food.”
I was about to say something, but the more I watched her mess around with the chopsticks, the more I realized she didn’t have any idea what she was doing with them.
“Wait,” I said. “Do you…not know how to use chopsticks?”
She glanced up at me for a brief second, the expression on her face reminding me of Jason when I caught him in one of his painfully obvious fibs.
“Do I not know how to use chopsticks?” she asked. “Of course I know how to use chopsticks.”
She palm-slammed them onto the table, her red curls jostling as she did, and pushed them away.
“You know how you can tell someone’s lying?” I asked, knowing I had her right where I wanted her. “They repeat the question that you just asked them.”
She realized I had her dead to rights.
“OK,” she said. “So what if I don’t know how to use them perfectly? They’re pointless, like I said.”
I got up from my chair and sat down in the one right next to Callie. Instantly, the faint, fresh smell of her hair drifted into my nose, and I cleared my throat and adjusted myself in my seat to stop myself from getting too distracted.
“Pick those up,” I said.
“Why?” she asked, turning those electric blues to me.
“Because it’s totally insane that someone could live in New York and not know how to properly eat Chinese food with chopsticks. It’s like watching someone eat a street hot dog with a knife and fork.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” she said, the expression on her face suggesting she was having fun screwing with me. “Who wants ketchup and mustard all over their hands?”
“No more blasphemy,” I said. “Now, pick those bad boys up.”
She gave me one more skeptical look before picking up the chopsticks in that same clumsy way.
“You’re holding them like you’re trying to choke the life out of them,” I said. “Here…”