Page 58 of Burn

We’re watching the firecrackers and are on our third cupcake when Scarlet slaps her hand to my thigh. “Why’d Shade want cupcakes?”

“I don’t know. When I got up there, he was sitting in the corner of the room completely alone listening to Bob Seger and looked like he was crying.”

She sits up in a panic. “Crying? What? He needs me!”

I grab her by the arm. “He doesn’t even know you. You wouldn’t get past the elevator security. And besides, I need you.” And then I hand her the four-hundred-dollar tip he left me. “Here’s my half of the rent.”

She takes it and sits back, stuffing the money in her bra. This is why we’re friends. “Damn it, I wonder why he was crying? Who in the world would make a man as pretty as him cry, and why can’t he love me? Why can’t my life be like that Jennifer Lopez movie where the guy falls in love with the maid?”

“Probably for the same reasons the best sex of my entire life came from a firefighter I’m too chickenshit to find.”

Hot Zone

Contaminated area of HAZMAT incident that must be isolated. It requires suitable protective equipment to enter and decontamination upon exit; minimum hot zone distance from the unknown material with unknown release is 330 feet surrounded by the warm zone where decontamination takes place.

“Happy New Year!”

I stare at Jacey behind the bar as she slides another whiskey over to me. I’ve had entirely too many, and she knows this, but I guess it’s her New Year’s present to me. Like here, forget about your girl problems. Drink.

I don’t say anything in return. Instead, I lift the glass to my lips and finish the two fingers in the bottom of it. Like it or not, my eyes drift to the door again.

I’ve been sitting at this damn bar for three hours hoping Mila will come in but, no, she hasn’t, and now I’m to the point where I’m sure if I move from this stool, I’ll fall flat on my face.

“Are you going to stare at the door all night?”

“Who says I’m staring at the door?”

Jacey leans into the bar, her face inches from mine. “I know the only reason you came out was hoping she’d be here.”

She’s right. Damn it.

“Don’t you have a job to do?”

She glares, tossing a wet rang at my face. It falls on the bar and I push it aside carelessly.

Looking at me, you’d think, Jesus, is he depressed?

I’m not depressed. Or maybe, hell, I don’t know.

I once rode my bike down the middle of the street about a year ago to see if anyone hit me. No one did for six blocks. Lots of honks and crazy fucks yelled at me but not a single car hit me. In Seattle, that’s impossible, or should be.

Does that seem like depression?

I didn’t think so. Crazy, but not depressed.

But what the fuck do I know. I’m sitting at a bar waiting for a girl who probably never wants to see me again to show up.

It’s another three hours before Jacey is done at the bar and we’re walking home from the bar. It’s fucking cold, and I’m huddled in my jacket wishing we would have driven to Callahan’s instead of walking. Mostly because my legs feel numb.

Definitely too much to drink.

“I saw her,” Jacey notes, breathing into her cupped hands.

I raise an eyebrow, my attention on the fireworks over the sound. I’m kinda hoping it catches something on fire, but then again, I’m so drunk even if they called me in for a fire, Cap would send my ass home right away. “Who?”

We pause at the corner of Summit and Pine when the light turns red. My stare moves from the sky to the sign next to my feet for True Tattoos, and then the power pole next to it littered with band flyers.

“Mila. That chick you’re obsessing about. I saw her.”

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