His smile grew wider as he lifted his right hand and briskly rubbed the pads of his fingers against his thumb. Then he touched his fingers to the hem of the white cotton tablecloth spread over the dessert table. The tablecloth started to smolder, then a spark appeared.
Startled, Teddy stumbled backward away from the fire.
A second pass of his fingers and the flame was extinguished, leaving nothing but a burn mark. “It’s called pyrokinesis. Controlling fire with your mind. Hence the nickname.”
It had to be some kind of trick. Unable to hold his gaze, Teddy turned her attention to his tattoos. Most of them were run-of-the-mill religious icons. She spotted a sword and a snake, too. But the ones that crept up his throat—now, those were interesting. Dozens of tiny flickering flames seemed to sway and spark with every word he spoke, until they disappeared beneath the collar of his T-shirt. Teddy wanted to follow that fire and see where it ended.
“Are you one of those recruits who ‘ran afoul of the law’?” Teddy asked.
He frowned, and the chemistry between them seemed to wane. “I was in the police force when Clint first approached me.” Teddy took a step back. But he reached for her hand and rubbed his thumb over her wrist. She tried to jerk her arm away from the heat—like when she once touched a stove she didn’t realize was on—but with each pass of his thumb, she began to welcome the warmth like a caress.
“Make it up to me?” he asked.
She arched a brow at that.
He continued brushing his thumb across the inside of her wrist, tracing mysterious patterns that felt too good. It would be easy to say yes. But this was the new Teddy. She didn’t want to mess up before she even had a chance to succeed at Whitfield.
“Your turn,” he said, voice low. “Hint: you’re also supposed to choose dare.”
Teddy scoffed. “Not tonight. You read the Code of Ethics.”
He shrugged. “It’s a list of discouraged activities. Not rules.”
“I’m trying to be good,” she said.
“Too bad,” Pyro said.
She’d hoped for at least a mild show of disappointment, but something told her that wasn’t part of his game.
He turned and left. She couldn’t help but stare as he walked away. The guy was cocky as hell, but it sure looked like he could back it up.
And damn, the view was fine.
CHAPTER SEVEN
TEDDY WENT TO BED ALONE. Well, not technically alone. There was Jillian. After a few hours tossing and turning, she finally adjusted to the sound of her roommate’s light snoring and Whitfield’s not-so-luxe accommodations.
For the second night in a row, Teddy dreamed of the yellow cottage. She followed the flagstone walkway toward the green door. She could see paint flaking around the edges of windows. She could hear the woman singing the familiar lullaby. Teddy reached out to turn the doorknob, and an alarm went off. The incessant beeping drowned out the song, shaking Teddy from sleep. She fumbled with the clock on her nightstand.
“Nobody should rely on an alarm,” Jillian said.
Teddy covered her head with her pillow. “They should when they have an appointment at the clinic at seven-forty-five,” she said.
She opened one eye to find Jillian in the middle of the room in tree pose. Naked. Teddy hadn’t expected to see a tree in the morning, but she also hadn’t expected to see . . . It was really too early to think about gardening.
“Jillian, please put all of that away.”
Jillian untangled her limbs and pulled on her robe. “It’s a very natural way to do yoga.”
Teddy sighed. “Just warn me next time.” She had forgotten what it was like to live with roommates. Roommates who weren’t your parents, anyway.
Teddy sat up and immediately wished she hadn’t. Her stomach clenched, and her vision swam. She felt shaky. This was prescription medication withdrawal—far worse than yesterday. She stood. The world tilted left and then right. When the room finally righted, she grabbed her towel and staggered to the shared bathroom down the hall.
On the way, Teddy caught sight of herself in the mirror. She looked like crap. She had cut her hair short after high school and kept it that way ever since. Normally, it worked for her—a deliberately messy look that gave her more edge, like a twenty-first-century Audrey Hepburn who had stopped by a dive bar for a Scotch on the way to an indie-rock concert. Today her hair looked more like a nest for birds who had been rejected from other, nicer, better people’s bedheads.
She heard the water turn off in another stall. It was only seven, and she’d already seen one person naked. She tried to run into a stall before the person emerged. Instead, she managed to run right into him.
Because it was a him. The him. With only a towel wrapped around his waist.
“Whoa.” He grabbed her shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “You don’t have to throw yourself at me.”
Teddy searched for a comeback, but she was barely awake. “I’m just trying to, you know, to—”
“Shower?” Pyro offered.
“Shower,” she said, and shot past him into a stall, where she turned on the water and tried unsuccessfully to think of something other than Pyro’s half-naked body.
* * *
She arrived late for her appointment at the clinic, behind Fort McDowell. A middle-aged receptionist passed her a lengthy health questionnaire and a pen. In some ways, the reception area of the lab looked just like every other doctor’s office, with two computer stations for the receptionist and medical assistant, a seating area, and several ferns. That was if she ignored the collection of psychic pamphlets on the coffee table where women’s magazines were supposed to be.
Teddy glanced at the receptionist hopefully. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a secret stash of caffeine hidden around here somewhere?”
The woman frowned. “Sorry. You know caffeine interferes with psychic ability. We do have some lovely decaf herbal teas at the beverage station. Hydration always helps.”
Teddy declined. The
