Page 4 of Ablaze

The side of my mouth lifts before I pop the rest of the penis rocket into my mouth. It’s still disgusting, but it’s better than nothing. “Well, I do happen to have a rocket for a penis.”

Chapter Two

MALA

“For the record, this is not what a penis looks like, nor is it what it should taste like,” proclaims the fireman holding my burned tray of penis-shaped dog treats in his hand and his helmet under his arm, popping yet another cookie into his mouth.

Just from his shoulder-length, dirty-blond hair currently lifting in the breeze and his airy blue eyes–reminiscent of skylight–this has to be my brother’s best friend, Dean. And though I’ve never seen a picture, since my brother thinks sending me photographs of old, decrepit buildings is more fascinating than pictures of his friends, I’m pretty confident in my assessment based on Rohan’s description of him.

The guy I assume is Dean runs his fingers through his hair, pushing his strands back. A cocky smile plays on his lips, and I’m momentarily distracted before my brows dip and I snatch the tray from his hands.

“Oh, come on.” I tilt my head to the side. “You’re just jealous because yours is smaller and more unpalatable than these.”

His eyes flash and his mouth opens with a response when the other fireman–the handsome black man named Malcolm, who’s been standing with me while the others were inside extinguishing the fire–gives him a subtle shake of his head.

Ah, I see my big brother has already doled out threats like Halloween candy. I’m sure he’s let them know they’ll be shy of a few digits if they even dare breathe in my direction.

“Mala, this is one of our lieutenant firefighters, Dean,” Malcolm says before regarding the Adonis now pulling his hair into a messy half-bun. “Dean, this is Rohan’s little sister, Mala.”

I jut out my hand, balancing the tray in my other and he takes it in his rather large bear paw. “Mala Sharma, glad to finally meet you. My brother has said a lot about you.” Disconnecting our hands, I study the house before looking from Malcolm to Dean. “Thank you for getting here so quickly. I tried to put the fire out myself like Rohan taught me, but it seemed to relight as soon as I did.”

I try to blink back the vision of the inside of the oven igniting into flames, but it just mingles with another vision of a much more horrific scene. A scene I can’t erase, no matter how hard I try.

I swallow against the nerves caught in my throat, putting on a braver face than I really feel inside before reciting my mantra.

You’re fine. You’re alive and safe. Just count your blessings and put one foot in front of the other.

Malcolm starts to say something when another firefighter walks over to where we’re standing. “Looks like an oven malfunction from what I can tell. We’re contacting the owners now.”

“I called them after I called 9-1-1 and told them what happened,” I offer. “They were going to a relative’s house in San Francisco for the weekend, but they’re on their way back now. I feel bad for ruining their trip, but I had no idea something like this would happen.”

“This seems like a random electrical issue,” Malcolm counters. “You couldn’t have known.”

“So, you were going to stay here while the owners were out of town?” Dean asks, reaching for another cookie from the tray, which I promptly pull away.

For a guy who keeps making faces while eating them, he sure likes them a lot.

“Yeah, just for the weekend. Can I still stay here until the owners get back, or do you need me to take the animals to my place?” The parakeets chirp inside their cage. I look down at Marigold, who seems busy panting and observing all the commotion around us with firemen putting their equipment back in the truck and neighbors coming out onto their front porches to watch.

“You should be able to stay,” Malcolm says, getting an agreeable nod from the other fireman who’d joined us. “We’ve cut the power to the oven. I’m sure the owners will be in touch with their insurance company to get the repairs started.”

I nod. “That’s good. I didn’t think I did anything wrong when I was baking those cookies . . ..”

Dean shakes his head. “You didn’t. This would have happened even if they’d started that oven.” He eyes the tray in my hands. “So, why were you making dog treats, anyway? For that overgrown rat-looking thing right there?”

I gasp, lowering myself down and covering Marigold’s ears before glaring at the broad-shouldered and all-too-attractive blond man with zero taste in dogs or cookies.

“Marigold does not look like a rat!” I hiss as quietly as possible, getting a snicker from the firemen standing around me. “She is a show dog, and her breeders wanted me to make my gourmet cookies for her next breeding party.”

Dean’s brows furrow, though I should add that the same look is mimicked by everyone standing around me. “What the fuck is a breeding party?”

I offer a penis cookie to Marigold, who sniffs it with enthusiasm but turns her nose up in the air, rejecting it like it’s trash. Even she won’t eat a burned cookie, no matter how beautiful the penis shape turned out.

“Her owners are also breeders, and they’re trying to make her go into heat. These special cookies were supposed to help her–”

“Wait a damn minute.” Dean lifts a hand, stopping me from continuing as his colleagues bowl over, hooting with laughter. “Are you telling me that those cookies–the ones I just ate, and that taste like garbage, by the way–”

I get up on my feet, taking a step in his direction and square my shoulders. “Hey! May I remind you that I didn’t tell you to eat them? May I also remind you that we all saw you reach for more? How dare you call them–”

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