Page 28 of Ablaze

“Dean! I swear to God.” She laughs and wiggles in my hold, trying to catch her breath as more dusting of flour flies off her face and hair. “Dean! Put me down, you big ogre!”

Laughing, I tickle her again, but I don’t miss the strange feeling pulling inside my chest. The fucking feeling that’s been there since the day I met this woman. The same feeling that has me coming to see her every chance I get and running from her whenever I get too close. There’s no name for it–at least none I’m willing to define or discuss–but it’s a constant in her presence.

“You ready to take back what you said?” I chuckle in her ear. “You ready to admit you’re being a pain in my ass already?”

She giggles, trying to swat me over her shoulder and on my arms to try to get out of my grasp. Her giggles turn into coughs, and all of a sudden, I’m not laughing anymore.

Shit! She probably inhaled some of that flour, and now I feel like a fucking idiot for throwing it on her.

I put her down gently on the counter and rush to get her a glass of water. I come up between her legs with both the glass and a hand towel. She takes a few sips of the water before her coughing subsides, her eyes watering.

I rub some of the flour from her face tenderly, looking at her with a frown on my face. God, what the fuck was I thinking? What if this causes a bigger reaction? I don’t think she’s asthmatic, but it couldn’t have felt good to have all that flour inside her throat and lungs. My pulse hammers in my veins, the paramedic in me already preparing for the worst. But God, I pray she’s okay.

Once she’s fairly dusted off–save for the amount still in her hair–I cup her face. My frown deepens as my thumb slides over her cheekbone. “I’m sorry, sprinkles. I’m so fucking sorry. I shouldn’t have–”

Mala starts giggling again and my brows pinch. “Told you. You make it just so easy to mess with you, Rufus.”

I freeze in my spot, realizing it was all a joke. She played me!

My hand reaches back to her stomach as relief washes over me. Fuck, she totally had me. I start to run the tips of my fingers against her ticklish skin. “Why you little shit!”

She squeals, grabbing a hold of my hand. “No! Truce! Truce. I’m sorry I was being a pain in your ass.”

“And for talking shit about my incredibly high IQ.”

She holds back her laugh and deadpans, “And for talking shit about your IQ.”

My fingers twitch inside her hand and she tightens her hold on them. “My incredibly high IQ.”

She smiles, her eyes glittering even as tiny specs of powder line her lashes. “Your incredibly high IQ.”

My eyes swallow up her face and I inadvertently lick my lips, feeling my heart rate quicken. But that’s just from having picked her up and rushed around with her. Right?

I clear my throat, getting my hand out of her grasp. I put both my hands on the counter, caging her in. “Good.”

A silence stretches between us, and I realize I’m way too close. I’d originally intended to leave my arms where they were to make sure she didn’t fall, but she seems to be steady now that her fake coughing has subsided.

So, why am I still standing here?

Before I can even think about the answer to that question, I lift my hand. My eyes are pinned on her lips. I want to touch them, to feel them under my thumb, but somehow, I have the wherewithal to tuck a strand of her hair around her ear instead.

“Dean . . .”

My hand comes down in a fist at my side, and I take a step back, disconnecting whatever the fuck seemed to be buzzing between us. Jesus Christ. What the fuck is happening?

Mala blinks as if she was stunned back to reality, too, and before she can say anything more, I cover the silence between us.

“So, what’s your wager?” I force a grin, winking at her and hoping to deflect whatever the hell this was with a dose of humor–something I’ve always been good at. “Or do you not even want to make one since you already know you’ll lose?”

Mala’s shoulders deflate before she collects herself with a smile. “Please. I had a wager ready before we even got here.”

“Well, spit it out then. Those cakes aren’t making themselves.”

“If you lose–which, you will–you have to finally watch Titanic with me.”

I groan. The girl is hellbent on making me sit through the sappiest shit. A few weeks ago, we watched Ten Things I Hate About You. The week after that was The Notebook, and I swear, I about shot myself. Like seriously, who the fuck says shit like, ‘If you’re a bird, I’m a bird’? No one, that’s who.

“Fine. But I refuse to watch the part where Leo dies. You know there was enough room for both of them on that float, but she just hogged up the entire thing herself. It’s an injustice I won’t stand by.”

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