Page 34 of Chasing the Flame
I grip the book tightly, determined not to let fear control the situation. My fingers adeptly work the buckle until I’m swearing after nicking my finger. “Fuck!” I hiss, jerking my hand back. Droplets of my blood spill across the edges, and I groan in frustration.
I reach for the roll of paper towels on the counter, poorly trying to fix what I’ve done. Instead, I knocked them over, spilling the entire roll along the counter, the towels bouncing into the sink I’d just turnedon. “No, damnit!” Another string of curses leaves my lips, followed by several dramatic sighs.
When I finally manage to clean my mess, I whirl around to address the blood stains, sure that I’ve ruined a priceless piece of history. My eyes scan the edges of the pages, straining to find the spots. “What the…” I whisper, my fingers brushing over the lock again, only to have the book spring open in my hands.
The pages are covered in lettering that looks otherworldly. Then, right before my eyes, the words transform into the English language. I gasp, dropping the book on the counter, completely bewildered.
I glance over my shoulder at the open doors, wondering why it’s so quiet. Shouldn’t I still hear sounds of Jettson working? I shake it off, turning my attention back to the book. My eyes scan the pages, devouring everything I can about the god and goddess from Jettson’s story.
It isn’t long before I’m engrossed, so much so that the sound of my phone chiming causes me to jump out of my skin. The book clatters to the ground, my heart races, and Jettson’s voice from the doorway sends me over the edge. “Jesus Christ!” I screech, grabbing my chest as I spin around to face him.
His eyes are wide, the rich verdant darker than I remember. There’s a glint in his eyes, and a smile lifting the corners of his mouth, like he got a kick out of startling me. It’s enough to set my blood on fire. My cheeks heat, my heart thunders in my chest, and I stand still for several moments in shock before I explode like a tidal wave. “You should knock or something, you sneakymountain ninja!”
For a second, he just stares at me, then his booming laugh fills the air. His eyes are practically twinkling in delight, and I find myself feeling murdery. I narrow my eyes, “Oh sure! If I was as big as a damnmountain and as sneaky as a fox, I’m sure I’d find this whole situation hilarious too.”
His laughter turns into choked guffaws, and I slide a hand down my face. I’m not sure what it is about this man that gets under my skin. It’s like he’s burrowed there, a constant reminder that I can’t seem to scratch away.
Jettson knows it, too. It’s all over his expression, his dimples peeking out just above the edges of his beard. The way his eyes blaze with mischief. After a few moments, the laughter calms. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed.” He says, the grin still etched on his face.
Jettson doesn’t look the least bit sorry, and for some reason, that only incites my frustration. “Yeah, yeah, what did you need me for anyway?” I ask, my gaze roaming over his body. I know I jokingly called him a mountain ninja, but honestly…he is. He’s built like a wall—tall, broad, stocky—and that dad bod? Yeah, it does something to me that I am no where near ready to admit out loud.
Heat pools in my core, and it takes a few seconds to register what he asked. “Do you have plans for the evening?” Jettson’s gaze is incendiary, and I feel the lust coursing through his veins. It permeates the air, thick and charged with tension, wrapping us in its velvety embrace.
“No, I don’t. Why do you ask?” I say, suddenly curious as to where he’s going with this. His grin is infectious, and I find myself melting despite my earlier frustrations.
“Great! We’ll pick you up at eight tonight. Don’t worry about dressing too fancy.” He says, not bothering to elaborate.
“Wait!” I holler, “Where are we going, and who’swe?!”
“You’ll see,” he says, before walking back out of the kitchen doors, disappearing into the yard, leaving me wondering just what the fuck I got myself into.
My bedroom is a disaster. I’ve pulled out everything I own, alternating options like my life depends on it. I can’t pinpoint a suitable choice, and I’m debating telling Jettson I’m not going.
Truthfully, I probably shouldn’t go.
The guilt I’m feeling bounces around in my belly, and I force myself to breathe before it turns into full-blown panic. I glance at my watch again, judging whether it’s too late to cancel. Luck is not on my side. It’s almost time for Jettson to be here, and that thought alone spurs me into action.
I grab a pair of my favorite jeans and a white crop top that sits at the perfect spot along my waist. Next, I slip on my favorite gold bangles and hoops, then lean down to slide on my dark green Chucks. My moss agate pendant is the last to go on, resting just above my bosom, the agate slice and chain plated in gold.
I take a minute to review my reflection in the mirror, loving what I see. My natural coppery-auburn toned tresses hang down my back in soft waves that crest the top of my ass. The crop top is stretchy but form fitting, showing off the girls without being overly vulgar, and the jeans hug my curves and ass in all the right ways.
I look and feel beautiful. Smiling, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, grabbing my purse and jean jacket before heading toward thefoyer. Another glance at my watch tells me I have about ten minutes before Jettson arrives. I leave everything on the table and head to the kitchen to pour myself a shot of whiskey. Liquid courage, or so the adage goes. I drink it in one gulp, the warmth sliding down my belly like a popsicle melting on the Fourth of July.
It’s then that a knock sounds on the door. My heart stutters, turning over in my chest before lodging in my throat like a lump. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and head toward the front door. After a deep breath, I swing the door open and am surprised to see the whole construction crew waiting for me on the porch. Matt, Tony, and Jettson all stand together, each dressed like they’re ready for a night out. My gaze finds Jettson immediately, my breath hitching in my throat. He looks good.
Delicious, actually—good enough to eat.
His hair is a little wilder today, but he makes those jeans and black T-shirt he’s wearing look like something out of a magazine. It takes every bit of concentration I have to respond to his question. “Ready to go?” He asks.
“Y-yes,” I stammer. “Let me just grab my jacket and purse.”
His smile brightens as he glances over his shoulder at Tony and Matt. “Are you riding with me, or driving yourselves?”
I don’t hear their answer. I’ve already darted into the house to grab my things. I take a moment to smooth down my hair, nervously trying to compose myself.
“Get over yourself,” I whisper, pasting on what I hope is a bright smile, before heading back to Jettson.
He’s leaning against one of the black columns, staring at the horizon. Jettson looks distant, like his mind’s somewhere far away. A deep chuckle, followed by a string of swearing, grabs my attention. Matt and Tony have made it to their van, though it looks like Tony has trippedover his own two feet. He’s sprawled out on the pavement with Matt doubled over in laughter.
