The Heat Is On (TREX Rookies Book 2)

by Allie K. Adams

  He nodded and said nothing.

  “Will you head this find?” She hated to ask, but he was the senior agent. She had to at least make the offer. It was protocol. If he knew what was good for him, he’d turn it down.

  “Absolutely.”

  “You will?” She froze, unable to process what just happened. He’d already pointed out the issues he had with their last mission together. Several times. She couldn’t let him take this from her. “Are you sure?”

  “You asked.”

  “But…” She hesitated and met the curious looks of several agents.

  “Is there a problem, Agent McKoy?” The director eyed her carefully. She couldn’t tell him she didn’t want Jackson as the SAC on the find. This was her program. Weber had given it to her. But, as per TREX policy, the senior agent had the choice of taking the lead or handing it off to the lower-ranking agent. Asking the senior agent if he wanted the role was just supposed to be a formality. They were supposed to turn it down, damn it.

  Apparently, Jackson never got that memo.

  2

  {Kayla}

  Being alone sucks.

  Being alone at one of the most popular bars a mile from Bainbridge University sucks even more. Everyone is laughing and toasting as we head into the final month of school. Everyone but me. I’m beyond stressed. I can’t sleep. I barely eat. The idea of failing my finals and not graduating scares me. The idea of graduating without a plan on how to use my business degree terrifies me.

  It came so easy for my mom. Then again, everything comes easy to her. She graduated from high school a year ahead of all her friends and insisted on going to college out-of-state. She graduated from college in three years and proudly points out how she had everything planned—all the way down to the man she married, the age she’d be when she said her nuptials, and the city she’d call home once she settled into adulting. To say the woman is a stickler for a plan is an understatement.

  I followed that same path. Therefore, I should have the same success. I make lists like she does. I put my schooling and job first like she does. I even refuse to have fun like she does. I should be swimming in job offers by now. Instead, I’m at a bar drowning my sorrows in a watered-down rum and Diet Coke.

  Yet, I refuse to panic. Or at least I try. Despite the fact I haven’t received a single bite on any of the resumes I’ve sent out other than to reject me under the premise of not enough experience. I won’t freak out that I can’t get experience if no one will hire me. It’s a temporary setback. I’ll succeed in my field—whatever that is. Until then, I’ll spend a night out with all the other students letting loose before finals swallow us whole.

  And yet, I’m here alone. I see a lot of people I recognize, most in deep conversation with others. No one gives me a second glance. I stab my straw into the ice of my drained drink, wondering what I did to deserve karma biting me in the ass. I’m a nice person, goddamn it. I stab the ice again. Hard.

  I should have known better than to come to the bar, let alone by myself. Why’d I think drinking would help me de-stress? Alcohol is a depressant. Depressed is not the same as de-stressed, and I am beyond stressed. When I’m stressed, I’m a basket case. When I’m a basket case, I make irrational decisions I always regret. When I make irrational decisions I always regret, I stress out.

  And we’ve come full circle.

  No one wants to be around me right now, not in the mood I’ve been in since break. I don’t blame anyone for avoiding me. Every new day is a new reason to lose my shit. What if I don’t find a job? I’d be forced to move out of my apartment and into a cardboard box. It’s a tiny, rundown apartment that should probably be condemned, but it’s still better than a cardboard box.

  I spot Brittany Pearson flirting with the bartender, which makes no sense. She’s already gone through him, and it’s not like her to recycle. She smiles wide when our gazes meet and hops off her barstool, making a beeline for me. As soon as she’s close enough, she squeals and throws her arms around me. We’re not on hugging terms, so I’m immediately suspicious. Britt is Emma’s best friend. We barely talk without that common glue. Sure, I’ve gone along with a few of Britt’s epic breakup recovery sessions—which usually requires copious amounts of her favorite breakup cocktail—but it’s never been only her and me. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

  “I can’t believe you’re out!” She makes it sound like I’m a hermit. I’m not—except during midterms. And finals. And if I have a really big test coming up. Or if I need to study, which is all the time.

  Okay. Maybe I am a hermit. It’s not like I have a choice. Being on the Dean’s List every term isn’t enough, as my lack of job offers clearly demonstrate. “I needed a break.”

  “Are you totally excited to be graduating in a month? I’d be shitting rainbows. What are you going to do?”

  I have no clue, but can’t admit that. My daily meltdowns remind me I have no backup plan.

  But I refuse to panic.

  “I’m looking at my options,” I go on as her attention drifts to the bartender. When he smiles, she smiles back. “Isn’t that your ex?”

  She swings her gaze my way, that smile plastered wide. “Mike wants to get back together.”

  “Really?” I try not to sound shocked, but it’s hard to hide. After the way she dumped him to go to California with another guy for spring break, I figured he’d have her banned from the bar. I can’t believe he’d so much as acknowledge her, let alone get back together with her after she treated him like that. She must have something that makes the guys go nuts, because it’s nuts that he wants her back. “Are you going to do it?”

  “At least for the weekend.” She says it so casually, like playing him a second time isn’t a shitty thing to do. Playing him the first time was shitty enough. “He’s amazing in bed.”

  It’s incredible how shallow Britt can be. Just when I think we couldn’t possibly have less in common, she says something like that and proves me wrong. That’s so not me. I couldn’t play a guy like that. Having been played like that myself, I know how it feels being on the receiving end. It sucks ass and is another reason I’m alone at the bar on a Friday night. I don’t trust the opposite sex right now. I barely trust them on my best days.

  “I know what you’re thinking.” Britt’s comment pulls me out of my pity party.

  I highly doubt that. “You do?”

  “You don’t think I should get back together with him, not after how he hurt me.”

  “He hurt you?” I’m totally confused. Emma told me Britt didn’t even break up with Mike until she was already in California with the other guy.

  “He called me a slut.” She widens her eyes. “He couldn’t even say it to my face.”

  Because you were in California with another guy! I keep my comment to myself and regard the bartender. “Why the change of heart?” I don’t clarify if I’m talking about him. Or her. The question works either way.

  “Mike has the biggest…” She trails off. Thank God. I don’t need to hear about the size of his, well, anything. Knowing Britt, it’ll be the size of his dick. She grins as she finishes with, “Heart.”

  “I’m sure he does.” The awkward silence settles between us. It’s how it always is without Emma. Britt and I don’t have anything in common—except a crazy friend who makes us both laugh until our cheeks hurt. “Have you talked to Emma today?”

  “I did earlier in lab.” She rolls pretty blue eyes that make guys want to get back together with her after she played them. “Em blew me off to hang with her boyfriend and watch that latest movie with Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling.”

  “That’s because she likes to pretend that’s her and Ryan.” We both laugh. “She thinks because they share names, that makes them kindred spirits.”

  “They do look alike. The Emmas, I mean. Not the Ryans.” Her attention drifts to the bartender once again. “I wonder what kind of movies Mike likes.”

  “Maybe you should ask him.�
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  She makes a face. “You mean actually get to know the guy?”

  I smile at her joke. At least I think it’s a joke. With Britt I can’t always tell.

  “Well, I see Mike eyeing another girl. I’d better get over there before that bitch steals my man.” With that, she bounces off and pushes her way through the swarm of girls all vying for the good-looking bartender’s attention. As soon as he spots her, he smiles like he’s seeing her for the first time. It’s like no one else exists. I want someone to look at me like that, like I’m the only one in the world who matters.

  Without permission, my brain conjures up the image of the last guy to look at me like that, if only temporarily. Jake Swanson, the hottest fireman on the planet. For one night and one night only, I was the one who mattered to him. It was an incredible night of unforgettable sex.

  But it was just one night.

  I hate that I keep going back to a single, one-night stand. Sure, it was the best sex of my life, but it was just one night. I really need to move on. With no one else to talk to, and Britt clearly on a mission, I debate ordering another drink or just going home.

  Maybe I should text Emma. Then again it’s a Friday night. Ever since meeting Ryan, she spends Friday nights in, calling it her movie night. She rarely goes out Saturday nights, either. Those are reserved for killing zombies, or so she tells me. At first I thought she meant binge-watching The Walking Dead. I had no idea she’d turned into the female version of her gamer boyfriend. Frankly, I like this Emma better than the one constantly looking for guys to fix. That Emma had no clue who she was. This Emma does.

  Which is more than I can say about me. I’m a twenty-four-year-old sixth-year senior. I’ve switched majors so many times others would lose count. Not me. I know how many times I’ve lost my way and had to hit the reset button.

  Seven, in case anyone besides me is counting.

  If I didn’t keep count, my parents would remind me. Repeatedly. It sucks being the only child of two perfectionists. My dad passed the CPA exam his first time. He landed the first job he interviewed for. My mom follows every rule to a T. She’s never even had a parking ticket.

  Yet, I’ve changed my major seven times.

  I need to stop comparing myself to my parents. They may be perfect, but they didn’t create a perfect child. Far from it. I try. God knows how I try. I’ve eaten spoonfuls of instant coffee to stay awake studying for an exam, joined countless study groups to grasp subject matter that made no sense, and even completed every single offering of extra credit, all to maintain a respectable GPA.

  Now, here I am, one month before the end of my college career. All that work, the endless studying, has paid off. I’m finally graduating. According to my plan and following in my mom’s footsteps, I’m supposed to leave Bainbridge Island for the big city, find my dream job, and never look back. After I’m hired on at some giant firm offering me more zeros in my paycheck than I can count on one hand, my long-term boyfriend from college will ask me to move in with him. He’ll be as wildly successful as I am, maybe more so. We’ll spend exactly 1.5 years living together before he proposes. We’ll spend another year planning the wedding. After we marry and spend two weeks in Hawaii for our honeymoon, we’ll return home and settle into a blissful life, raise three kids, and grow old together. It’ll be perfect.

  I just have to find that dream job, first. Everything else will fall in line if I can just find a damn job after graduation.

  Where’s my support group when I need them? They’d talk me out of the sullen mood I’m in. Thumbing my phone’s screen, I scroll through statuses of friends all having fun and posting proof. Great. That’s even more depressing. Maybe I should go home. The drink didn’t do it for me. I wanted something to take my mind off my self-induced misery. I wanted something to take the edge off. Drinking alone surrounded by people having fun accomplishes neither.

  That’s it. I can’t sit here feeling sorry for myself when I can be home doing something productive, like studying. I turn to set my empty on the bar when a familiar sight catches my eye. My heart’s immediately in my throat, closing it off. I swallow hard as I stare at the delicious sight and try not to drool. Random guys in bars aren’t my thing, but Jake Swanson is. Oh, sweet Jesus, how he is.

  There he is, hot fireman in every sense of the word, dressed in a tight, long-sleeved T-shirt, and jeans that should be illegal, they fit him so good. He laughs and I hear it above everything else in the crowded, noisy bar—including the pounding of the pulse in my ears. I’ve always loved his laugh. Deep and sexy, like a slow rumble of thunder. It’s what first drew me to him. Well, that and the fact he should be the star in one of those firemen calendars. I blow out a breath and try not to reminisce over how much better he looks out of his clothes. Jake is lethal to a girl’s self-control—including mine. He’s a total player and damn, he’s good at it. Most days I have the power to resist his wily ways, but not today. He knows the exact words to say, the exact ways to touch me, to render me helpless except to give in to his every command.

  I’m so screwed. Well, that is, if he notices me. I quickly place my back to him. Maybe he doesn’t see me. The time we spent together, we faced each other. Naked. And horizontal. Heat slaps my cheeks. Now I can’t stop thinking about the last time we saw each other.

  Christmas break. We both had to work, and he came into the diner for coffee right after his shift. The weather sucked—rain, rain, and more bone-chilling rain. He was tired. I was tired. We decided to Uber it back to the apartment instead of freezing our asses off walking home. One thing led to another and the next thing I knew, I had my tongue down his throat. He had my clothes off. It doesn’t take much of an imagination to know what happened next.

  Living next door to each other is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing in that I get the pleasure of calling a guy as hot as Jake Swanson my neighbor. I’ve debated knocking on his door to borrow a cup of sugar in nothing but a smile, but I always chicken out. A curse in that he’s so close, it’s too easy to give in to the temptation. It was only one time, but that one time was enough to change me forever.

  I now avoid players like Jake. They’re too destructive. To my plans. To my future. To my sanity. I can’t afford to get hung up on a guy who couldn’t even be bothered to stick around for breakfast.

  My mind made up, I turn and reach for my empty glass. It’s gone, and my shoulders slump. I either need to order another drink or give up my space to a paying customer. I glance in Jake’s direction and lick my lips when I spot him smiling at something one of his friends says. I love his smile. It’s an aphrodisiac, making me want to drop my inhibitions and have a repeat performance of Christmas break.

  No, damn it. I just made up my mind. No Jake. No players of any kind. I’m in no state to be here alone. I’m lonely, horny, and can’t stop staring at my sexy neighbor.

  What’s he even doing here? Tonight of all nights, when I’m at my lowest. I’ve sworn off guys for a while. They’re all total douchebags, especially the cheaters like my now ex-boyfriend, Ian. The asshat even blames me, like I’m the reason he can’t keep it in his pants. Who texts a list of faults to his girlfriend, demanding she change? Who does that? Ian, that’s who.

  He’s wrong. I can be spontaneous. I don’t have to control everything. I don’t have too many rules. I do to know how to have fun. It pisses me off I’m still letting his text get to me when I’m here staring at quite possibly the most beautiful human on the planet. I offer Jake a smile when his gaze snags mine.

  My heart stops as my breath freezes in my lungs. Everything around us stills. He doesn’t look away. Neither do I. And, just like that, my rule of no more players takes a backseat to my libido.

  Oh, damn. Hella damn and holy damn. Why does he have to look so good from a distance? I know firsthand how good he looks up close. And smells. And tastes. Among other things. I draw in a deep breath and hold it as my body sparks to life. The hum of arousal ignites my skin, sending a rush of erotic pulses
straight to my core. It was almost six months ago, for Christ’s sake. It’s time for my clit to move on. It was a one-time thing. Two lonely neighbors looking for a little company. A little sexual attention. It meant nothing.

  Why can’t I get that through my damn head? Or convince my other body parts?

  Why’s he eyeing me like that? I can’t resist him when he barely pays me any attention. I’ll never make it if he gives me even a hint he’s interested in more than saying hi. In the mood I’m in, I’m definitely wanting more than a hi, which is not a good thing. It’s been too long since I’ve been with a guy. Ian and I stopped having sex over a month before we broke up. I thought it was me, like I couldn’t catch a wild animal’s attention with bacon wrapped around my neck. That was before I found out he’d been sleeping with half the female student body at BU.

  Stop it, Kayla Riggs! I did not just spend the last six years of my life earning a degree from one of the top universities west of the Mississippi, finding some of the best friends a girl could ever have, all to regret it over one vaping dickhead. He’s not worth it.

  Jake, on the other hand, is worth every memory, and even a few I’ve made up and totally want to happen. Like him giving up his playboy ways and choosing me, even if only temporarily. After all, we both graduate in a month and, honestly, there’s no room in my plan for someone like Jake.

  That realization alone sobers my thoughts. He’s a total tool, a guy girls hook up with but never date. He’s not boyfriend material. He’s one-night stand material, and I’ve already had my night.

  It sucks how he’s looking better than ever tonight. Eyes the color of a rich cup of coffee. Hair even darker. He wears it short, as do all the guys on the fire department. His tight shirt does nothing to hide his abs. Those abs. Oh my God, those abs toy with my memory. They’re hard, like the rest of his body—especially when he spent the night between my legs.