“I’ve just walked into my apartment. Totally intact.” The lights in my living room turn on by sensor. I turned off the voice commands. We grew up without that stuff and it’s annoying to have an object talk back to me. I’ll never get used to it.
“Nicholas, are you burned? Are you telling us everything?”
Setting down my keys I collapse on the long end of my sectional couch. “I saved a black lab tonight—told Mom that already. You would have loved him, Dad. He wasn’t as big as Aslan but he was close. Had to carry him out of the house when there was smoke everywhere. He didn’t fight me, can you believe that?”
Impressed, my father’s voice calms. I can practically see him rubbing his face just like I’m doing, too. “Probably glad you came along when you did. Nice work. Everyone get out okay? Anyone hurt?”
Glancing to my hand I lie, “No, nobody got hurt.” The burns are not bad. They gave me some ointment, so I’m not going to worry my family about this. “The woman who took the dog was pretty hot.”
I can hear the smirk in his voice. “She was, huh?”
“There was something about her that struck home if you know what I mean.”
Dad laughs, “Below the belt home.”
“Is there a better kind? You should have seen her ass.”
“Round?”
In the background I hear Mom ask, “What are you guys talking about?”
“A fight,” Dad says, “Nicholas had to take down a guy in a couple rounds because he hit him below the belt.”
“What an asshole!”
“I know, right?” Back to me, Dad asks, “And then?”
Grinning at his quick-thinking, I tell him, “She was smacking her ass, telling me how skinny women pay for it. I told her if she kept spanking herself, I would pay for it!”
Dad cracks up. “You told her that?”
“I did.”
“Did she laugh, or hit you?”
“I think she wanted to do both. And I would have let her.” Glancing to the soot on my jeans I stand up and frown at the charcoal streaks I left behind. At least it was grey to begin with, but I’ll have to get this cleaned. Hate stuff like that.
As I head for my kitchen I hear Mom ask him, “Who’s ‘she?’ I thought you were talking about a fight. You want tea?”
“Do I ever want tea?”
She laughs and the sound fades, letting me know she’s walking away.
He lowers his voice, “You get her number?”
“Didn’t think to until it was too late.” Frowning I drink an entire sixteen-ounce glass of water down. Dad waits for me.
When I gasp for air, he demands, “How close were you to that fire, Nicholas?”
“Not too close. The front of the house didn’t—”
“—The way you drank that water!”
“It’s okay, Dad. I inhaled a bunch of smoke. I didn’t know I was thirsty. That’s all.”
Silence on the other end of the line. I can picture his eyes, same color as my own, darkening with anger at being helpless to protect us from every danger the world has to offer. I even see his fist tightening as he plants it on the kitchen counter. I’ve seen him do this a million times in my twenty-five years. As a kid of a man who suffered from PTSD, you notice the signs of his trying to control his emotions, his fear. You memorize them.
Because you want to help.
“Dad?”
After a beat he grumbles, “I’m proud of you for saving the dog.”
Raking my hand through my hair I frown at a photo of our family that smiles back from the fridge. “Thanks. I’m really tired. Gonna hit the sack. Night, Dad.”
“You know I love you, right Nicholas?”
Nodding to myself, I smile, “I love you too, Dad.”
We hang up, and I take a few breaths before heading for the bathroom. “Holy shit,” I sputter at my reflection. My eyes are red, black smears around them when I was scratching like crazy. There are smears all over my clothes, too. My arms are a wreck. Stripping I blink at my chest, shiny from the oils, the sweat.
As I climb into the shower, burns become impossible to ignore as hot water hits them. Wincing I swivel my naked body under the unforgiving stream. Wonder how the dog is feeling. “At least he’s in good hands,” I mutter while sliding soap around tender skin.
Good hands.
Fiery temper.
Gorgeous ass.
Kindness.
Slammin’ combo in a woman.
Dipping my head under the cascade I play back the ending of my night.
Did you get her number?
I wanted that phone number a little too much.
CHAPTER 11
N ICHOLAS
A s she drove away I watched.
With all of that chaotic action surrounding me—clouds of smoke billowing above our heads, Billy losing his shit, cops and firemen everywhere—there I was staring at disappearing taillights, wondering how I was going to see her again.
I had the phone in my hands before I realized it, approaching cop after cop until I found the one who’d spoken with Madison. He was happy to give me the animal hospital’s name.
As I dialed I fought the desire to tell a complete stranger to have another complete stranger give me a call. It wasn’t just awkward, it’s that I normally don’t give my number out to women. I learned the hard way that some will blow it up for months. If you don’t answer, they find you.
I might fuck around a lot, but it’s never my intention to hurt anyone. And I’d made a habit out of keeping my digits to myself.
The phone kind.
My fingers I’ll offer up anytime.
“Who’re you calling?” Matt asked.
I motioned for him to wait a second as I heard a woman’s voice on the other end of the line.
“Sandy Springs Animal Hospital, Harriet speaking, how can I help you?”
“Hey, uh, there’s a girl coming in with a burned Labrador. I want to pay the bill. She’s been through a lot tonight. The dog, too. House fire, and I want to help in any way I can.”
She took down my information, and registered no recognition at my name. People
