Firebloods

by Casey Hays

  “We were,” I agree.

  “So? What changed?”

  I know this answer. It’s always the same answer. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.

  “Too much thinking,” I force out.

  “That’s never a good idea.” His eyes dance, the smallest hint of a smile hiding in their folds, and this relaxes me a bit. “Clearly, what happened bothers you more than it does me. Maybe we should talk about it.”

  “Really?” I kind of wince when I say it. It’s the last thing I want to do. I’d much rather stick my head in the sand and pretend I dreamed up the whole incident. I make a weak attempt at convincing him to see it my way. “You don’t think we should just, you know, never talk about it again?”

  Okay… it’s extremely weak.

  “Sure.” Kane gives me a serious nod before his eyes crinkle with amusement. “Because that will work so well.”

  I drop my mouth open, but nothing comes out.

  “Jude, we should be able to talk.” He moves an inch closer. “I mean, I see the all-grown-up you right here in front of me, but I also see that little girl with the pigtails and the perpetual lollipop sticking out of her mouth.”

  I try to keep my face void of any expression when he says this, but the thought of his remembering me like that? It does something to me. I feel the heat race up my neck and into my cheeks. He cocks his head to the side and crosses his arms over his chest.

  “And what do you see when you look at me?”

  I chew on the inside of my mouth, but my mind races backwards over twelve years of memories. What do I see? I see too much, and the thought of pinpointing something overwhelms me for a minute. Especially since I’m not exactly sure where he’s going with this. Do I need to pick a certain memory? The exact right one? Or will any random recollection do? I stammer around inside my brain until Kane, always thinking on his toes, comes to my rescue.

  “Do you remember my pet salamander?”

  With his words, my mind focuses like a periscope on that one memory. All the others chasing each other around inside my head come to an abrupt stop, and that little black and yellow amphibian paints itself on my brain. My brows meet each other in the middle of my forehead.

  “Jasper?”

  “Jasper.” Kane nods. “We had some good times with him.”

  Jasper, chilling on Kane’s shoulder while we ate pop tarts and watched cartoons in his bedroom. I’d almost forgotten about that old lizard. I give in to a soft laugh as the image inserts itself.

  “And what does he have to do with this?” I ask.

  “He’s a symbol of us.” Kane’s eyes prick me, and I concentrate on his face as the words sink in. “We think of him, and he takes us back to a moment we share for all time.”

  I study him. I like that reasoning, actually.

  “A stupid kiss can’t change that.” He gives his head a definitive shake. “You seem to think something like this will ruin us, but it doesn’t have to. What we’ve already built is too strong.”

  Hmm. Keep talking.

  “We get to decide about us,” he continues. “You do realize that, right?” Before I can answer, he leans forward, just enough for me to catch his musky scent. “And just for the record… that was no kiss.”

  A playful tease floods his voice, but I try my very best not to smile. I shouldn’t smile. This is supposed to be a serious conversation. Plus, he’s only trying to make me feel better.

  “Oh, really?”

  He’s so close. I press my lips together when he habitually catches my chin between his thumb and forefinger and gives it a little tug.

  “Trust me, you’ll know it if I ever kiss you.”

  A sigh runs the length of my body, and this negates all he’s said. In fact, Fire might as well move in and stay for good as many times as it’s visited me lately. Because I’m not sure I could kiss Kane for real without changing everything. I mean, just look at what a little peck has done?

  I hold still, counting the gold flecks in his intense oh-so-green eyes. How many are there? Have they multiplied in the last few weeks? His fingers leave a residue of warmth embedded in my flesh when he pulls away, and that sends a ripple of excited nerves to grappling with each other just beneath the surface of my skin. He rounds the bar and takes a seat. Elbows propped, hands clasped, fists pressed to his lips, he studies me. As for me, my grip hasn’t eased its hold on the granite.

  “You had a momentary lapse in judgment.” Kane’s dark brow pulses ever so slightly. “It happens.”

  “Not to me,” I blurt.

  “Then, welcome to the club.”

  His sudden, easy tone relaxes me. See, that’s the enigma of Kane O’Reilly. He has this power—some ability in the tapestry of his voice—to move me from tension to ease, from excitement to peace in the shifting of a single second. I tease him about how he’s going to be a famous orator someday, maybe working in the White House as the press secretary or something. He laughs it off every time because he’s dead set on designing his own brand of motorcycles and opening a string of stores one day. For now, he settles with working in his dad’s family-owned garage.

  We stare at each other for a seriously long minute, and without breaking the visual stand-off, he snags a soda from the end of the bar. He flips the tab, and the fizzy ‘pop’ hangs in the air.

  “So you don’t feel weird?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Why would I?” He guides the soda to his lips. “I mean, it was bound to happen eventually.”

  He teases. His smile reveals the indention of a dimple buried in the beginning shadows of a thin beard.

  “I didn’t mean to do it,” I remind him.

  “Ouch. That hurts a little.”

  I gauge his response. I guess if we’re going to talk about it, we might as well get it all out on the table. So I divulge my next point before I have a chance to change my mind.

  “Obviously I wasn’t repulsed by the idea, or I wouldn’t have done it.” I should stop now, but that darn proverbial door just won’t close. So I keep rambling on like an imbecile. “It’s just, I never should have done it in the first place because it gives you the wrong impression and a false hope, and I would never do that to you, Kane. Not intentionally. You’re one of the best people I know, and—”

  “Jude.”

  He’s said my name a thousand times over the years in a hundred different tones. But tonight, for whatever reason, it lingers on the end of his tongue—a pulsing echo. I clamp my mouth closed, and much to my dismay, Mad Madge suddenly makes her appearance. I rub at my eye to shoo her away.

  “Thank you… for all of that,” he continues, an amused expression contorting his features. “But a little advice? Just… stop talking.”

  I bite off the next set of words and just look at him. So here we are, chasing each other through a labyrinth of emotions that takes us in circles. That isn’t really Kane’s style; he prefers the straightforward route, and I know what he’s doing. Heading for the exit to the maze. And why? Because he can make light of that little, tiny kiss all he wants, but it meant something to him. It’s totally evident. Now… he’s planning to protect himself with a show of indifference… and give me a way out in the process.

  Hold on tight or let go.

  I feel sick.

  I take two steps until only the width of the bar separates us. My heart pounds so loudly I can hear its beating between my ears. I wrap my fingers around an empty soda can and find my voice.

  “Thank you for reminding me. About us.”

  “Someone has to.” He takes a last swig of his soda.

  “I’m serious.” I reach over and shake his arm until he grins.

  “Okay.” He crushes the can in his fist and focuses on me. “But next time you kiss me, make sure you want to. You only get one freebie.”

  “Yes sir,” I laugh.

  Simple, yet complicated. His dimples flash, and I feel the heat burning up my cheeks again. Ugh!

  “Maybe we should make those cookies
now,” he whispers with a crinkle of his nose. “To bring things back into perspective?”

  I catch sight of Mom’s humungous ticking clock that hangs on the far wall in the den. Below it, Devan and Jonas nestled together, are sound asleep. I hone in on Kane’s face.

  “It’s midnight,” I whisper back.

  “Perfect,” he winks.

  He joins me on this side of the bar and ruffles through his plastic bag of supplies. I study him for a minute.

  “I’m glad we talked, Kane.” I peer at him, and I mean it. He pauses, clutching a bag of flour.

  “Me too.” He tosses the bag, catches it. “Now let’s bake.”

  Everything begins to fall back into that comfortable place that has always been us. I reach into the cabinet above my head for a mixing bowl. While I crack and whisk eggs, Kane dumps flour, sugar, and melted butter into the bowl. He whips out a handheld mixer and plugs it in. The second it flares to life, Jonas appears at the top of the steps.

  “Hey!”

  We both glance up. The mixer fades to silence.

  “You know, some of us are trying to sleep around here,” he growls.

  “Sorry.” My hand flies to cover my mouth. “We… forgot you were down there.”

  “Do you remember now?”

  Devan pops up behind him, fists digging at her eyes. “It’s fine, Jonas,” she yawns. “I have to get home anyway. I’m late.” The wrath of Jonas eases as Devan settles a hand on his arm and drags him toward the living room. “See you guys tomorrow.”

  “Bye,” I wave. “Set the security code on your way out.”

  “I will if you’re lucky.” Jonas burns us with a grumpy glare, then points. “You’ve got something in your eye, Jude.”

  He slinks out.

  “I do?”

  Kane bows in and rubs his thumb over my eye. “Just a little flour. Now where were we?”

  He raises the mixer toward the ceiling like a gun and presses the “on” button. I smile as he winks and drops it into the bowl. The mixture folds together.

  It’s twelve-thirty in the morning, and my kitchen wafts with chocolaty sweetness, which suddenly reminds me of late nights with my dad. I smile and bite into a fresh cookie straight from the oven.

  “As always, these are amazing.” I hop up onto the counter. “Thank you, Gema O’Reilly for teaching your son how to bake.”

  “Yeah, well, she calls it ‘survival skills.’ You know, in case I’m a bachelor my whole life or something, I guess.”

  He leans against the counter, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. I take another bite. The sweetness tickles my tongue.

  “Oh, someone will snatch you up,” I grin.

  “I hope so.”

  Eyes intense, he swipes his thumb over a smudge of chocolate gracing the corner of my lip, and I run my tongue across the same place. My stomach flutters. I swallow the last of the cookie and reach for another one just to keep my mind from racing back through every single excuse I have for keeping Kane at bay. And while he busies himself shoveling cookies off the sheet and stacking them onto a plate, I try not to stare. It’s difficult. Maybe I’m just giddy from lack of sleep, but it’s surprisingly easy to visualize a different scenario here. One where we aren’t just two good friends baking cookies in the wee hours of the morning.

  I don’t have to wonder what he’s thinking; I can practically smell it on him. I wipe at another smear of chocolate that sticks to my chin.

  It crosses my mind that he should probably go home now. We’re playing with fire, and I know it. Because even though Kane has blown it off, that kiss has done a number on my decision-making skills. I decide to deposit some of the blame for how I’m feeling in his lap. I may be crazy, but a definite vibe emanates from him, and I’m acutely aware of how my skin tingles at his slightest touch. Plus, he looks different, tonight. Sexier somehow. And that is most definitely his fault.

  I shake off the sensations, forcing an image of the boy with the salamander on his shoulder to the forefront of my mind. Just keep your thoughts right here, Jude.

  Kane scoops small mounds of cookie dough evenly across the cookie sheet and slides the second batch into the oven. He sets the timer.

  “You tired?” he asks.

  I should say yes.

  “No.”

  He nods. “So.”

  His gaze falls over me.

  “So.” I answer.

  “I got you to dance.”

  He says this with a slight nod of satisfaction. I laugh.

  “And?”

  “I don’t know.” His hands disappear into his pockets for a minute. “I thought… maybe, you’d play me a song now.”

  His statement takes me by surprise. I press the final piece of my cookie between my lips and chew slowly so I don’t have to answer right away. He slides a few things out of the way and hoists himself up onto the counter next to me. Our thighs touch, hip to knee, and that strange vibe shimmers the length of my body. He clasps his hands and lets them dangle between his knees.

  “I know it was your thing with your dad. But… don’t you think he’d want you to carry on the legacy?”

  My jaw tightens, my teeth grinding in the back of my mouth. He sounds just like my old therapist. The one I stopped seeing two years ago when she tried this same thing. I sigh and study my fingernails. What is he trying to do here? Some sort of new-fangled therapy that involves reviving all my old habits and skills one at a time while attempting to make me fall for him?

  “I don’t know what Dad wants.” I answer him honestly. “He isn’t here to ask.”

  “I miss hearing it,” he says. My heart thumps.

  “I just…” I clamor for an excuse. “It kind of bothers my mom.”

  “Why?”

  I shrug. “Reminds her of him, you know? We feel him in the music.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?” Kane creases his brow. His question is genuine, and I lose myself in the inflection of his voice. “Well, your mom’s not here now.” He nudges me. “Play something for me.”

  The baby grand waits for me, hulking and silent in the corner of the den. If I turn just right, I’ll see it plainly through the dividing rail, and I’m tempted. But my mind returns to this morning when I couldn’t even play for myself. There’s no way I can play for an audience, even if it is only Kane.

  “I can’t,” I whisper. “I’m just not ready.”

  My eyes glide up to meet his, and they echo back at me with shades of real, sincere understanding.

  “Okay,” he whispers in return. “Then we’ll keep working on it.”

  I hold completely still. In fact, my spine tenses under the pressure. That’s how I know when Kane makes his move.

  He presses in, soft and so subtle that I don’t even know what’s happening until his lips meet their target, and my nerve endings rumble, alive with excitement. This time, it’s so different. I feel his heartbeat—a strong and steady pulsating in his lower lip. His breath, a soft puff of air sliding between us, is sweet with his scent. And maybe it’s in my head, but I swear I can taste him. For an unguarded second, I want to sink deeper, to just throw out all caution and fling my arms around his neck. But then, I come to my senses. With a sharp gasp, I break the connection.

  My fingers rush to my lips, and my heart rends into two parts. They stand back and stare at each other from enemy lines. Both are filled with jealousy for the other, and both are determined to win. Two parts of me who want Kane… in different ways.

  “Oh, boy.” I bound off the counter, my bare feet meeting the cold floor with a soft thud. I can’t process what just happened. How could we let it happen? Do I have some innate desire to sabotage our relationship? Does he?

  Kane follows me with his eyes as I move around the room gathering up measuring cups and spoons to deposit into the sink.

  “Jude—”

  I stop him, a spatula in my hand. “After this batch comes out of the oven, you should probably go.”

  His expression shifts, the
flecks sharpening for a second. “I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

  I clench my fist more tightly around the handle of the spatula. “Well, you’re not staying here.”

  He doesn’t move. I drop my hands to my sides, a pinch of irritation setting in. I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing, but he is not sleeping over. I don’t need any more temptations. I squint, trying to read him.

  “You think that kiss is your ticket in?”

  “No.” A pause. I tuck my arms together and wait. “Your mom asked me to stay here.”

  The flush of shock that soars through me could rival an atomic explosion. I can’t even respond at first, I just stare at him, my mouth hanging open with the absurdity of what he’s just said.

  “When did you talk to my mom?” My voice carries the shock right through my words.

  “I didn’t,” he answers. His fingers curl over the edge of the countertop where he still sits. “She called my mom. Didn’t she tell you?”

  “No.” I narrow my eyes suspiciously. “She called your mom?”

  “Yeah. She didn’t want you here alone tonight. I mean, think about it. She’s not on shift at the hospital right up the street.” He bends in to catch my eyes. “She’s in Portland.”

  I shake my head, irritated. I don’t care where she is; the idea is ludicrous. I’ve fended for myself expertly for nearly five years now. She has no right to be making arrangements for me.

  “Thank you, but I don’t need you to stay.” I narrow in on him, and the sting of Mom’s betrayal rides through my tone. I can’t believe she called Gema.

  “Too bad.” He launches off the counter to stand directly in front of me, a hidden smile peeking out. “And don’t take this the wrong way, but man, you look kind of beautiful right now.”

  Really?

  “Cut it out!” I shove him hard in the chest. “And don’t change the subject.”

  “I can’t help it.” His smile breaks free, and up close, I can see the tiny crinkles in the corners of his eyes. They’re like… 3D, and I’m trapped by them for a moment. His fingers, warm and strong, fold around mine. Without a word, he snatches my ring from the soap dish and slides it into place. “You should keep this on.”