Page 6 of Ablaze

Dean’s eyes get narrower before he turns and gets into the fire truck. “See you tomorrow, sprinkles.”

Chapter Three

MALA

I pull up to a modest-sized, ranch-style home with majestic redwood trees flanking the front corners of a manicured lawn, before sneezing, blessing myself, and rolling up my windows. The idea of driving with the windows down on a lovely spring day is always better than the actual experience since the idea never accounts for pollen.

I don’t know how I managed to convince Rohan to give me Dean’s address without seeming suspicious, but my story about delivering freshly made cookies to his best friend rather than having him come back to a bunch of crumbs the next day seemed to work.

So, here I am, walking up the paved path toward Dean’s door, delivering my end of the bargain.

My attention is diverted when a little girl of maybe eight or nine comes out of the neighboring house, skipping down her patio steps. Her mother’s laughter follows behind her as she sits atop a swing on the patio to watch her daughter play in the yard. Her dark eyes connect with mine and she raises a hand to wave, completely oblivious to the constriction in my lungs.

I give her a tight smile and nod before blinking back memories that have never stayed at bay but terrorize me even more whenever I’m back home.

It’s one of the reasons I did everything in my power to get an out-of-state scholarship and leave as soon as the first university accepted me. For the first time in eight years since that fateful day, I felt like I could finally breathe. Breathe in different air–one that didn’t linger with the scent of burning walls or carry the wails as flesh burned.

There was no Tahoe in that air at all.

And while I filled my lungs with a new source of oxygen for the four years I was in Iowa, there was no denying the pull of home.

There was no denying the fact that I missed my big brother, even if he was the most overbearing and suffocating man on the planet at times. I missed him with a longing I couldn’t control because it wasn’t fair that he had to be here all alone–spinning inside the same record of memories–while I “took a break,” knowing full-well I was just running.

Straightening my back and pulling the neck of my sweatshirt up, I rap my knuckles on the door. I don’t know which outcome I want more–for Dean to be home so I can hand-deliver the three different flavors of cookies I made last night, or for the door to go unanswered so I can leave them outside with the excuse that I had tried.

The decision is made for me when the door swings open, and a bare chest with droplets of water sprinkled across it, like dew on a pane of glass, steals my gaze, along with the last of the air in my lungs.

My eyes dip down to the fluffy white towel secured over indecently carved abs and a prominent V pointing toward a nether-region I shall nether think about. My eyes crawl back up, and I wish I could count each one of those droplets on his expansive chest, before landing on his lips.

Gotta go a little higher, Mala.

Right. Before landing on his . . . eyes.

Ugh, it’s no use. Those blue eyes are just as alluring as those lips.

“H-hi,” I stutter, shoving the brown bag I’m holding with three plates of cookies toward his bare chest like they might explode in my hands if I don’t. “These are for you.”

“Whoa!” Dean quickly catches the bag before it falls. “Uh, hi!”

“Hi.” I blink, feeling awkward, before looking to my left and then my right, not finding anything but a large spider web covering a part of the panel window next to his door. I try not to flinch at the sight of a rather large spider perching patiently on its woven home, awaiting an unsuspecting meal. I point at it discreetly with my eyes, hoping the creepy thing doesn’t decide to fling itself in my direction. “Um . . . there’s a huge spider on your window.”

Dean leans out the door, and I swing my shoulder back to give him space. A droplet of water trails down his shoulder, curving around his nipple, and I quickly avert my eyes. There’s a small part of me that wants to lean in and take a whiff of the shampoo he used to wash his currently wet locks, but I slap that trampy, ho part of my brain and tell her to get her shit under control. Jesus.

“Yeah, that’s Cassanova. He’s cool, really friendly. He just does his thing and chills most of the day. Sometimes he’ll catch a grasshopper, and that’s pretty cool to watch.”

“He sounds lovely,” I deadpan.

Dean watches me scoot over to make more room between me and the gargantuan spider. I swear, the thing has gotten larger in the last five seconds. “Want to hold him?”

“Um, no, thanks. Maybe another time.” Or, you know, never. “Anyway, I just wanted to drop off those cookies and apologize for letting you eat hormonal dog treats yesterday.” I purse my lips, trying to fend off the image of Dean gagging. “I, uh, hope you didn’t–” I wave over his barely covered form. “I hope you didn’t have an estrogen surge or anything.”

Dean tilts his head, his lips twitching with a need to smile. “Yeah. Thanks for your overwhelming concern.”

“I feel like your voice sounds higher today.”

Dean narrows his gaze again, but this time there’s no mistaking the smile almost in full view. “Shut it, sprinkles. I was ninety-nine percent sure there was nothing harmful in those cookies.”

I shrug. “But that one percent of doubt makes all the difference, doesn’t it?”

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