Page 19 of Burn

Firefighters?

I watch Caleb, and now I really want to sit on his lap. So me and my hot eyebrows take a seat right on his left thigh. Boldest move I’ve made since Kevin Kirk.

Caleb can carry me out of a burning building. Hell, I’d set the motherfucker on fire if I knew he’d show up.

But he doesn’t say anything to me when I do it. Doesn’t even look my direction but you know what does respond? His body. It tenses and his back straightens, as though me sitting ignited a response in his body. Possibly, but I’m not sure, and I’m afraid to look at him because when you’re sitting on a stranger’s lap, there’re a few things to keep in mind. You’re inches from their face, and I can’t remember if I brushed my teeth after work. In fact, I didn’t.

Here’s the other thing, you can’t hide anything that far apart. What if I didn’t get that tiny black hair that grows on my chin every month and I have to rip it out. What if it’s peeking through? Fuck I’m so nervous! Now my armpits are all prickly.

As if he finds his friend’s lack of reaction funny, Owen grins and eyes me, and then Scarlet. “So, what are you, strippers?”

Caleb snorts, as though he finds some annoyance in the question, but still doesn’t say anything. I’m sitting on his lap, and he’s certainly letting me, but he hasn’t even acknowledged me.

“No, we’re not strippers.” She winks at me like we have an inside joke I don’t know about. “So you’re like those guys fromChicago Fire?”

“Those shows are bullshit,” another man grumbles from behind us and takes a seat next to Scarlet. “All the firefighters are hot. So not true.”

“Uh, speak for yourself,” Owen adds. “I’m fucking amazing.”

“You guys are pretty hot,” Scarlet says, licking her lips. “I’m Scarlet and that’s my girl, Mila.”

Owen clears his throat, leaning forward and reaches his hand out to me as he tips his head next to the guy who sat down next to him and Scarlet. “That’s Evan. He’s complicated and has two girls at one time.” And then nods to Caleb. “He’s got commitment phobia and is a real fuck face most of the time. What’s your name, honey?” He winks at Scarlet. “I can handle both of you.”

Caleb reaches up in a quick movement and slaps his hand away. “She don’t care what your name is. She’s on my lap.”

And that’s the first I’ve heard him speak. Gotta say, I’m not disappointed.

With the movement of his arm, I notice the way his shirt clings to his biceps and stretches across the hard planes of his chest. Keeping me securely on his lap, his hand drops to his drink and raises the glass to his lips.

You know that saying, “I want to be that glass?”

Iwishmy vagina was that glass.

Just as my heart begins to race, beating like the wings of a hummingbird, I think I should get off his lap, Caleb moves the arm that’s draped across the booth to my waist and then the left side of my ass cheek.

My. Ass. Cheek.

It’s oneluckycheek.

He holds his eyes steady on mine for a moment. The look in his stare is intoxicating and commanding. He could turn me into a submissive and handcuff me to a tree or toss me in his basement and I wouldn’t even complain. I feel like he’s trying to figure out what I’m doing on his lap.

I stare back without blinking. Mostly because I’m nervous and partly because his eyes are pretty.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he whispers in my ear with a voice made for whispering and earlobe tickles. “But why’d you sit on my lap?”

Is he flirting with me or making fun of me? I can’t tell.

With him closer, I can now smell him, and he smells so manly. Like matches and whiskey and he’s cuddly, like a bear and I want him to maul me.

“I’m making my ex jealous,” I confess, and then blink rapidly, waiting on his response.

There’s no sense in starting this off with a lie. Might as well be perfectly honest up front.

Shifting on his lap, I press my knees together, mostly because I need to close my legs before I take his hand and shove it somewhere it shouldn’t be just yet.

Carefully considering my confession, he then nods, as though he’s okay with that being the reason. “Okay, fair enough.” He’s still whispering, and I never ever want him to stop. “How far are we talking?”

I stare into his eyes framed by the darkest eyelashes I’ve ever seen. His eyes are green. Like pretty evergreen tree green. “No clue,” I finally say. I’m too mesmerized by his beauty to say much else, and the cut lip with the dried blood only adds to his appeal. I like a man who’s not afraid to defend himself.

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