When Sparks Fly

by Helena Hunting

  It’s a habit I’ve gotten into since we moved in together, in order to avoid being exposed to things I can’t unsee. Once I didn’t announce myself and walked in to find one of Declan’s lady friends riding him naked on the couch while he was half paying attention to the soccer game. I entered the room as he shouted a “Fuck yes!” I discovered mere seconds later that it had nothing to do with the woman in his lap, riding his joystick, but because our favorite team had scored a goal.

  After that we created our own Bat-Signal. When the Thor action figure is facing the wall, it’s a sign that Declan has company. For a while, Thor often faced the wall, but it’s been happening a lot less frequently over the past several months.

  “Thank God, I need a beer,” is the response I get as I round the corner.

  I step into the living room, one hand already on my hip and a bitchy retort on the tip of my tongue. I find my roommate on the floor. He’s wearing navy basketball shorts, and he’s shirtless. Declan is built like an athlete. His abs ripple as he rolls up in a crunch. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple and lands on the area rug.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?”

  “Sweating all over the carpet.” His dark hair is wet at the temples, turning it almost black. His chest glistens and new beads of perspiration form and travel in slow rivers between his pecs.

  This isn’t a sight I’m unfamiliar with, but he’s usually not shirtless, so mostly I get to look at sweat stains instead of all those cut muscles. My best friend is easy on the eyes. Thankfully, I’ve had enough exposure over the years to his pretty face and his ridiculously impressive body that I’m immune. Mostly. A bit. Okay, maybe 65 percent of the time.

  “I couldn’t make it to the gym this morning, so I thought I’d get in a quick workout before you came home. Earn the takeout I’m about to destroy. Ten more and then I’m ready for that beer.” His blue eyes glint with humor.

  I flip him the bird. “If anyone should be asking for wait service, it’s me.”

  I pass through the living room and make a right down the hall to my bedroom.

  “Where are you going?” he calls after me.

  “I need to change into something more comfortable.”

  “You’re wearing yoga pants and a T-shirt. How much more comfortable can you get?”

  “Let me rephrase. I need to change into something clean.” I return two minutes later wearing oversized gray jogging pants with holes in them and a loose, baggy shirt.

  Declan has finished his workout and is wearing a shirt that probably fit him a lot better in college than it does now. I’m guessing laundry day is coming up. There’s a discarded towel on the floor, likely used to mop up his sweat trail.

  Declan, being the sometimes-thoughtful roommate he is, has done me a solid and poured me a beer. I drop down on the other end of the couch with a groan, and he passes me the full pint glass.

  “I need this more than air right now, so thank you.”

  He cocks a brow and turns his attention back to the soccer game. “Should I even ask how your day was?”

  I grab my phone and pull up my group messages with my sisters and click on the video Harley sent about an hour ago, while I was getting my nails done and the hair ripped out of my sensitive bits. I toss it to Declan and he presses play. “What the hell am I looking at right now?”

  “A hobbyhorse fight.”

  He cringes at the loud thwack, rewinds the video, and bursts into laughter. “Are they jousting with stuffed horses?”

  “Yup.”

  “Jeez, who won?”

  I chuckle. “No one, because I took care of the situation.”

  “Huh, I can’t decide if that’s disappointing or not.” He plays the video over again, much like I did while I was getting my nails done. “Is this a normal thing? Like, I can’t imagine that hobbyhorse riding is actually popular.”

  “You would be surprised at the number of people involved in the sport.”

  “Seriously? How have I never heard of this? And how many times have you held a hobbyhorse … fence jumping event?”

  “This would be a first for Spark House. And possibly a last, depending on whether there’s more jousting between now and Sunday.”

  He passes my phone back, and I set it on the side table.

  “Looks like a lot of people are into it, though, so maybe it’ll be worth the headache. Is it a lucrative sport? Do people bet on it like they do actual horse races and competitions?” His eyes light up.

  “I have no idea, but I’m going to say probably not, so whatever scheming is happening up there, you can shut it down right now.” I reach over and tap his temple.

  Declan works in finance. In fact, he handles the financial portfolio for Spark House and works with London to ensure we’re meeting all our financial goals. He’s excellent at what he does, and there’s no one I trust more than him to keep our finances safe. Any time I need to discuss additions, renovations, or potential expansions I can go to him and talk it through. I try not to hound him about things like that on the weekend, but he loves talking about money and investments.

  “It was just a question. I know you’ve been talking about fixing that fountain in honor of your grandmother this spring, and it’s not going to be cheap, or really a value add.”

  “We’ll only do it if we can afford it, but it would be a really cool surprise if we could fix it before she’s back from Italy.” At eighty-one, Gran is still spry and incredibly active. She ran Spark House with my grandfather, and then after he passed, with the help of my parents. When we lost them in the car accident, Gran took over full-time again. At least until my sisters and I were ready for the responsibility. I’ve always loved Spark House and knew I wanted to take it over one day. And now that’s exactly what we’re doing.

  Declan flips his pen between his fingers. “If hobbyhorse riding is half as lucrative as actual horse racing, the jousting matches might be worth it. Actually, they might be even better than the riding.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not condoning adult men beating one another with stuffed horses. I’ll make sure we have the capital to fix up the fountain before I start throwing money at it.”

  He reaches across the back of the couch and gives my neck a squeeze. “London still on the fence about it?”

  “She doesn’t want us to get in over our heads. Which I get. I know it’s not a necessary expense, but it would still be a great surprise.” Declan knows how important Gran is. She’s the one who stepped in and raised me and my sisters after our parents died when we were teenagers. The loss of our parents created a hole in the fabric of our existence, and my sisters and I have mended our hearts as best we can by sticking together. “Anyway, enough about that. How was your day?”

  “Not nearly as exciting as yours. Although I did land a pretty kickass client, so that’s something.”

  “Oh yeah? What kind of client?”

  “Super into eco stuff, has this massive company that’s really making waves, innovative and smart. Guy is only in his early thirties and is making more money than I could in the next three lifetimes, but I’m not going to cry over the management fee.”

  “Congratulations! That’s amazing! Does that mean you’re buying the pizza and wings tomorrow? Because if you are, I’d like an extra-large meat lover’s with the stuffed crust.”

  “Don’t you have an event?”

  “I’ll be in and out.”

  “Right. Cool. Well, I can definitely accommodate the pizza request even though it probably means I’m going to need extra hours at the gym next week.” He pats his six-pack. He can eat an entire pizza by himself and never gain an ounce.

  I roll my eyes. “You just go to the gym so you can pick up women.”

  “Untrue. I know better than to date the women who go to my gym. It’s the same as dating someone you work with.”

  “Or someone in your friend group,” I mutter. I’m referring to my sophomore year when I stupidly starte
d dating Sam, one of the guys we all used to hang out with, and Declan’s former best friend. Sam was a year older and a junior when we first got together. At the time, Declan and I had become good friends. Like most of the female population at our college, I wasn’t totally immune to his charm. He oozed charisma and was ridiculously hot. But his parents had been in the middle of a messy divorce, and he had a habit of leaving a trail of broken hearts. I thought Sam was the safe, smart boyfriend choice.

  Turns out he was neither.

  Declan always jokes that I got full custody of him and the guys in the separation. But the truth is, Declan found out that Sam was cheating on me, and he was the one who told me. The guys sided with me, and their friendship didn’t survive the fallout.

  “Everyone makes stupid mistakes in college. Also, the only reason I don’t date the women who go to my gym is because I did it once and had to switch my membership over to another location.”

  “Ah yes, Stalker Sue. I remember her. She showed up here once after you broke up. Made me almost consider getting my own place,” I tease.

  “I had to buy pizza on your night for like six months to make up for that.” He grins sheepishly.

  Declan and I could definitely afford to live on our own, but I like the company of a roommate. I’ve never lived alone. Ever. I went from my parents, to living with my grandmother, to college dorms, to off-campus housing with roommates, back to living in my grandmother’s house, and then here with Declan. I could have moved in with my sisters, but I felt like it was better for me to have my own space, especially since we all work together. And London and Harley have a special bond. It’s not that I don’t, but I went off to college not long after we lost our parents, and they stayed in Colorado Springs together.

  So I made it easier on all of us and moved in with Declan. Guys are way easier to live with than girls. They’re uncomplicated, and they say what they mean when they mean it. We’ve been living together for two years, and I’ve never regretted the decision. Apart from Stalker Sue, anyway.

  I peek inside the take-out box sitting on the coffee table. “Oh my God! You are literally the best.” I grab half of the buffalo chicken wrap and take a massive bite. At the salon, they gave me tea and flavorless biscuits that reminded me of Communion wafers. I haven’t eaten since lunch, which was a delicious, but not entirely filling, salmon salad.

  “Wow. Vultures look sexier feasting on roadkill than you do scarfing down that wrap.” Declan wears a look somewhere between amusement and disgust.

  “I haven’t eaten since noon.”

  “I can tell.” He returns his attention to the game while I shovel the rest of it into my face. I eat the second half a little slower.

  My phone pings with a reminder for my tire appointment next week. “Oh! You’re still coming with me to the university on Sunday, right?”

  “Huh?” Declan’s eyes are glued to the screen. Our team is down by a goal and they’re currently in control of the ball.

  “Sunday. We’re supposed to meet up with the soccer alumni. We’re going to see a game, remember?” I extended the invitation to Mark and Jerome, but they’re both busy. Jerome has some afternoon date planned with his current girlfriend—he’s also not sure if he’s planning to break it off or not. Usually that’s a sign he’s bored and ready to move on, but it’s really not my place to say. Mark is going fishing with his dad for the weekend, so it’s just me and Declan making the trip.

  “Oh, fuck, yeah, of course I’m still in for that.” He drops his feet and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Come on! Get with the program, Donahue! You were right there!

  “And we can take your SUV?”

  “Yup, for sure. I’ll drive,” he says.

  I pull up the weather app. “Good, it’s calling for heavy rain, and I can’t get my car in for a tire change until Tuesday.”

  “I got you covered, Ave.” He pats my knee, then jumps off the couch and shouts victory when our team manages to get the ball past the goalie.

  I wait until he’s seated again before I ask, “Do you need me to put an alert in your calendar?”

  “Nah. It’s already programmed up here.” He taps his temple. “Oh, you’re up on the crossword puzzle. I got carried away and did twelve instead of ten. Sorry about that.” He looks under takeout boxes until he finds the newspaper crossword. There are a couple of grease stains and possibly some buffalo chicken sauce on it. Declan and I always share the weekly crossword puzzle.

  “I was hoping it was my turn.” I grab the paper and scan the answers. “Did you have trouble with eighteen?”

  He gives me an as if look and then smiles when he realizes I’m kidding.

  For the vast majority of women, it would be considered a panty-dropping smile. I love him, but he’s got more baggage than a packed airplane, and I’ve already been down that road once before.

  3

  JUST ONE OF THE BOYS

  DECLAN

  “Mark, these must be for you.” I drop the box labeled MILD on the coffee table.

  “Don’t judge. I’ve had heartburn lately.” Mark scoops them up.

  Mark never goes above medium, and even then, he hiccups and sweats buckets. “Do you think that might be attributed to the fact that you’ve been here for less than an hour and already polished off three beers?” Avery grabs the box of suicide wings out of my hands before I can check to make sure the contents match the label.

  There’s a place down the street that has the best pizza and wings, but they often mislabel the boxes, so most of the food requires a sniff test prior to consumption. They’ve labeled the suicide wings MILD on more than one occasion in the past. Once, Mark ate a supposedly mild one without the requisite sniff test, and we thought he was having a heart attack. He sweated all the way through his shirt and his face went beet red. He proceeded to chug half a gallon of milk and instantly regretted that as well.

  “It’s all about balance,” Mark says defensively. He pulls an economy-sized pack of TUMS out of his backpack, pops the cap, and shakes a bunch directly into his mouth.

  “How many bottles of those are you going through in a week?” Avery asks.

  “Uh, two, maybe three?” He offers them to the rest of us like they’re candy, not chalky antacids.

  “That’s not normal.” Jerome reaches for the honey garlic wings.

  “Maybe you need to see a doctor?” Avery tosses her first wing bone into the discard bowl in the middle of the table and goes for the nachos. She tucks her hair into the neck of her shirt and leans over the box as she shoves three loaded chips into her mouth, one after the other.

  Despite Avery growing up in an insanely tight family who hosted family events in a dining room with a table that’s probably as long as this entire condo, she eats like a pig. Unless she’s in a restaurant. Then she uses all the right forks and spoons and knives and is extra delicate. It’s hilarious to watch because Avery is very much the opposite of delicate.

  “Nah, I’ve been trying to up my hot sauce tolerance for the past month, and I just need to slow my habanero roll.”

  Avery’s phone chimes from somewhere on the coffee table, under the discarded bags and take-out boxes. When she finally finds it, she checks the alert, and mutters, “Oh shit.” She grabs two more loaded nachos, shoves them in her mouth, and springs up off the couch, rushing down the hall.

  “What’s that about?” Jerome asks.

  “Dunno.” I shrug and dig into my wings. Avery always has a million things going on, so it could literally be anything, but usually it’s work or sports related. Work tends to be her primary focus, as it is mine, apart from nights like these, anyway. The four of us always get together for Monday Night Football. Then we play in a rec soccer league on Wednesday nights, and every other weekend me and the guys hang out like we are tonight. Avery works most weekend evenings for whatever event they’re hosting, but maybe tonight her sisters are taking control of things. Usually Avery’s the one to handle all the people aspects of t
he events, since she’s pretty much the face of Spark House—not that she would agree with that title at all.

  I shift into the corner of the couch—which is Avery’s spot, but on sports night, if you move, your seat is always fair game.

  A while later an odd clicking sound draws my attention away from the game. I can’t place it until Avery steps into the living room. She’s no longer wearing sweatpants and a ratty, threadbare T-shirt. Instead, she’s poured herself into a slinky black dress that hugs every single one of her athletic curves. In all the years I’ve known Avery, and I’ve known her for a lot of years, I can probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen her in a dress. And I’ve never seen her wear anything this … sexy.

  I’ll be honest. It’s kind of freaking me out, because ever since college, when she started dating my former best friend Sam, I regarded Avery as a friend—she just happens to have a chest that she usually flattens into a uni-boob with a sports bra. The fact that her ex, Sam, screwed her over and nearly caused our friend group to disband helps keep her in the friend zone.

  Except right now it’s hard not to see her as the attractive woman she is. “You’re a little overdressed for soccer and beer.”

  “Ha-ha.” Avery rolls her eyes. “I’m going out. Obviously.”

  “You got a Spark House event or something?” I know we’ve got that alumni thing tomorrow, but I figured her being home tonight meant she didn’t have anywhere to go. And I’m not sure I would consider that work-appropriate attire—even if it is a night thing—especially since those hobbyhorse dudes look like they probably don’t do much in the way of socializing beyond comparing the size of their stuffed horse heads on sticks.

  “Holy shit, Ave, you are smokin’.” Mark whistles loudly, drawing Jerome’s attention away from the game as well.

  “What’s the special occasion?” Jerome’s eyes flare, signaling he’s as shocked as I am by the dress.

  We’re all used to casual, dressed-down Avery, not this hair and makeup done, dressed-up version.