Page 31 of Ablaze

Because you haven’t fucked anyone since you broke up with Nora.

And in my drunken state–or possibly even in a sober state–that thought about why I haven’t fucked anyone since Nora isn’t one I have the brain cells to expend on.

I clear my throat right as our Uber arrives. “Listen, Taylor–”

“It’s Megan.”

“What?” My brows furrow. How the hell did she become a Megan from a Taylor-Sailor?

The self-proclaimed Megan doesn’t seem offended that I called her the wrong name. Instead, she just laughs as if it’s cute that I forgot her name in the span of fifteen minutes. “My name is Megan, silly.”

Sure it is. “Right. Megan, listen, you’re great–perfect, in fact!–but I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

Megan juts out her bottom lip, making a pouty-face. “Aww, are you sure? I’ve been told I have quite the magic tongue.” She winks at me, like if she didn’t, I wouldn’t know what she meant.

“As tempting as that sounds, I’m going to have to pass.”

With another frown, she reaches into my pocket, pulling out my phone before asking me to unlock it. When I do, she punches in her number and hands it back to me. “Fine, but call me if you change your mind and remember,” she bops me on the nose, “my name is Megan. Megan with the magic tongue.”

With a quick kiss on my cheek and a promised whisper to do very naughty things to me, Megan struts to the awaiting Uber. I’m too busy looking down at my phone to notice her driving away. I open my text messages to see one I missed from Mala a little while ago.

Sprinkles: Just got home. You owe me Titanic, Rufus. I may not be the best at darts anymore, but I own your ass when it comes to baking. #easiestwinever.

And instead of doing the thing I know I should do–go home and act like a fucking adult or jerk off this rage in the shower–I pull up the Uber app and do the exact opposite.

* * *

I knock for the third time, my shoulder leaning against the side of her entryway. “Open up, Mala.”

Get out of here.

Call another Uber and leave.

She doesn’t need to see your drunk ass here.

I hear the latch on her door before the deadbolt unclicks, and Mala’s face appears in her door. Her hair is mussed–cleansed of the flour I’d doused her with earlier–and her eyes are bleary, but I’m glad to see that at least she hasn’t covered herself up with her fucking sweatshirt. She’s wearing a crop top with thin straps that reveals her burn scar, along with some sleep shorts.

“Dean?” Her voice is groggy, like she just pulled herself out of a heavy sleep. “What are you–”

I fumble inside without her inviting me in, and she opens the door wider, turning on a small entryway light. The scent of fucking lemon and heaven surrounds me, and I clench my fists to be able to endure it.

I have no idea what time it is–way later than it should be for me to show up like this, and too early for her to be up, given she needs to reopen the bakery soon–but I’m a selfish bastard.

“Dean,” she tries again, eyeing me apprehensively as she closes the door. “How much did you drink? Wait,” her eyes widen, “you didn’t drive here like this, did you?”

My finger lifts before I can tell it to stop, and I glide the tip of it over her scar, making her flinch, before my hand closes in a fist at my side again. My voice pricks the heavy silence between us. “Has he seen this?”

Her eyes glimmer, the sleep swimming inside them earlier having disappeared. “W-what?”

My jaw locks as my unsteady gaze lingers on her lips. Her fucking ridiculously plump lips that seem almost unnaturally pink, even without a lick of anything on them. “Warren. Has he had the privilege of seeing your scar?”

Her eyes bounce against mine as her shoulders release and she registers what I’ve said . . . that I know. “I was going to tell y–”

“You were going to tell me,” I repeat with a chuckle. “You were going to tell me? When, sprinkles? Because from what I can tell, you’ve had plenty of time. Perhaps every morning last week when I came to the café, or the two times I helped you clean up after my shift? Or–”

“Dean–” Mala’s hand finds my shoulder and I flick it off, making her eyes instantly pool with my rebuke.

I fucking hate myself for this uncontrolled pyre building inside me, but I can’t seem to douse it.

---