Brodie’s was in an old brick building that used to house the local newspaper. It’d been abandoned for the past few years since the newspaper had gone out of business. She could still make out the faint Portland Press logo sun-stained into the brick. Portland had a habit of doing this—refurbishing buildings, breathing new life into otherwise deteriorating subsets of the community.
The old ramshackle press stoop that used to be the target of spit wads by the nearby middle schoolers and drunks sleeping off their rough nights was now replaced with a heavy oak door with a long, spindly iron handle. The kind she’d expect to see in a castle or a cozy tavern in the Scottish isles.
As she pulled open the door, the smell of hops and fried food enveloped her, and the heaviness of her day melted away as she made her way to the back table. The place was packed. Which wasn’t all that surprising, since it had just opened this past weekend. Every seat at the bar and the surrounding tables was taken. She scanned the room for her friends and finally landed on them, sitting in a corner booth.
Sloane slid into the empty seat next to Madison. Across from her sat Erin and Jake, who were currently staring at each other like maybe they should get a room. They’d been doing that since they first got together. Every relationship tended to lose that shiny, new relationship glow after about week three. Nearly six months, and they glowed more than the models in a face-wash commercial.
Sloane ignored the two lovebirds and pulled Madison into a hug. “Have they been like that all night?”
“Heard that,” Erin said. “And I was just grilling Jake about today’s events with Reece. Where was my text?”
“I figured he’d tell you.” Sloane motioned toward Jake. “My job is complete.”
Sloane gave a wry smile to Jake, who just shrugged in response.
“How was your shift—besides stitching up my brother?” Erin asked, taking a sip from her pint glass.
Sloane let out a long sigh and settled farther into the plush cushion lining the booth. “Long.”
“We already ordered mozzarella sticks and crab wontons. They should be here any second.”
Madison pushed a beer in front of her. “And this is their signature IPA. Although I don’t know how it can be a signature item when you’ve been open only two days, but who am I to judge?”
Madison was always thinking of others. If Sloane was good for a quick comeback, Madison was the mom of the group. She bet if she peeked into Madison’s purse, she’d find wet wipes, tissues, and probably a box of Band-Aids. Sloane didn’t even own a first-aid kit. Which was sad, considering the fact that she worked at a hospital.
“You’re a goddess,” Sloane said. She smoothed her thumb over the condensation that had built up on the outside of the pint glass and then grabbed the glass and took a long drink. The liquid hit her lips, and the bitterness of the hops exploded on her tongue. She’d need a few more sips to see if it would make her favorites list, but it was off to a good start.
“So just to give you a heads-up . . . ,” Erin started, but trailed off when she looked past Sloane.
“Smurfette. I didn’t realize you were going to be here tonight.”
Sloane steadied herself and managed not to choke on her beer. It would be a waste if it had sprayed in his face, because the beer was actually pretty good.
“Shouldn’t you be home healing? Or, I don’t know, not getting shot by people?” Sloane asked. She caught Erin eyeing her brother protectively.
Everyone had the nerve to look a little sheepish. Except for Jake, who merely nodded at Reece and went about sipping his beer. For the past six months or so, Sloane had managed to avoid most of the events where she knew Reece would be in attendance. At first because she was so mortified about the whole drunken exchange she’d had with him. And then it had slowly built to a simmer of resentment. Because he’d confirmed her worst fear—that her ex was right, and she was in fact disgusting and undatable. Or, as Brian had so lovingly told her, You’ve let yourself go, babe. After ten years with someone, maybe she’d been lax about hauling her butt to the gym, but she’d brushed it off as him being an angry ex. And then when Reece had basically said he was repulsed by her? Well, Brian’s theory didn’t seem so far-fetched. “Is this why you guys bought me a drink? A preemptive sorry?”
Madison and Erin groaned. She loved her friends, but damn it, they knew how much she loathed Reece. As far as she was concerned, he was on the same level as black licorice and candy corn. Maybe a step lower, and that was saying something, because she wouldn’t feed that to trick-or-treaters, not even the high school punks who arrived way past the appropriate door-ringing hour. And seeing him twice in one day was definitely pushing it.
“You guys used to be fine. Can’t we go back to the good old days?” Erin asked. She had recently moved up from California after she’d been terminated from her teaching job due to budget cuts. Now she was a teacher in Portland and sickeningly in love with Jake.
Sloane took another sip of her beer. Normally, she held the mantra of “Give as few craps as possible.” Jerk patient at work? She let it slide off her back before she made it to the exit at the end of her shift. Doctor trying to mansplain something that Sloane already knew? Yep, she let that slide too. But something about Reece’s words still haunted her, and she resented the fact that she couldn’t just let it slide. Ew, Sloane. I wouldn’t get with you if you were the last woman on earth. And then he had gone on to date several nurses around her. So yeah, she was saltier than a McDonald’s french fry.
“You mean when Reece used to keep it in his pants around the people I work with?”
He raised a brow. “I haven’t heard any complaints.”
“You just did.”
“Unfair bias. You have to actually experience it before judging.”
She let out a snort. Yeah, that wasn’t happening. She was way too tired to be dealing with this crap. If she had known he’d be here tonight, she would have skipped and opted for her couch and some much-needed cross-stitching time. She’d finished up a dozen or so projects in the past few weeks, and she was proud of the one she’d just made that said DOWN WITH THE PATRIARCHY, with Rosie the Riveter on it. In fact, that was exactly how she felt about Reece. She wanted to roll up her sleeves and Hulk-smash that disgustingly masculine face.
“Not in a million years,” she said, throwing his words back at him.
He mashed his lips together and had the decency to look like he felt a little bad.
“On that happy note, I’d like to make a toast,” Erin said. “Thank you, guys, for showing me that coming home was the right choice to make. I’ve just learned I’m being invited back next year and get to keep my position teaching science.” Erin beamed. The charter school she worked at seemed to be treating her well, and she loved the administration and the kids.
Jake kissed her forehead.
“So proud of you,” Sloane said.
“Only took you ten years, but we’re glad you came to your senses,” Madison said.
They liked to give her a hard time. She’d been so reluctant to come back to Portland, but once she and Jake started dating, there was no chance of her leaving.
Erin raised her glass again. “And here’s to my brother, who scared the living shit out of all of us but lives to annoy us for another day.”
“To friendship, and Reece annoying the women in his life,” Jake said. He eyed Erin with an intensity that even made Sloane blush. If a man looked at her the way he did her best friend, she might believe that love still existed. As it was, she had a perfect setup with a body pillow, a boyfriend of the rechargeable variety, and a subscription to the Hallmark Channel. By her standards, she was doing just fine, thank you very much.
“Glad you decided to stick around. We’re all pretty fond of you,” Erin said.
“Some more than others,” Madison snickered.
Jake turned to Reece. “Did you ever end up hearing back from the Craigslist person about the part for your car?”
He frowned. “Gertie is s
till without a radiator.”
Reece had this annoying habit of naming his cars. His first car in high school had been Prudence. After that was a Shelby Cobra named Alice. There were a couple of other junkers he’d fixed up and sold throughout the years, but Sloane hadn’t bothered to learn their names.
To be fair, she probably wouldn’t have an issue with anyone else who named a car. It was a Reece-specific pet peeve. Just like the way he chewed gum and his jaw would pop. And the fact that nine times out of ten, he wore a plaid button-up. Like a mountain man. By his size, he definitely fit the criteria, the big oaf. As evidenced by his wardrobe at the moment. A red-plaid flannel and dark jeans. A few women from the bar kept glancing his way as he kicked back his beer.
Yeah, good luck, ladies. Not one you want to waste your time on.
“Do you ever name your cars male names?” Sloane asked, moving her finger through the condensation on her pint glass.
Reece chuffed. “Why would I do that?”
“Because it seems a little desperate that the only women in your life are of the mechanical variety.”
“Funny, I’d put money on mechanical objects being your only form of entertainment these days.” He raised a brow, challenging.
Sloane’s cheeks heated. Oh, the nerve of this man. Didn’t matter if it was true.
“Who wants beer? I love beer,” Erin chimed in a little too brightly. She hated conflict, especially when it came to her brother and Sloane.
“We should just set them in a room and let them duke it out,” Madison said. “It’d be safer for us all. Plus, I put fifty bucks on Sloane winning.”
Jake laughed. “Of course Sloane would win. She’d make poor Reece cry like a baby. But Erin’s right. I’m dying for a beer. Mind helping me, Reece?”
Sloane liked Jake. He was calm, levelheaded, and made her best friend go all heart eyes, which she’d never seen Erin do before.
Reece’s gaze cut to hers. Cold, distant. Much more so than when he’d landed on her hospital bed this morning. The shock from being shot must have worn off.
He gave her one last once-over and then slid out of the booth, not seeming at all affected by the stitches in his shoulder. He and Jake made their way to the bar as Erin scooted over in the booth to sit directly across from Sloane.
Sloane knew what was coming. Especially when she felt Madison’s stare coming from next to her. Instead, she focused on scanning the bar. This early time of evening saw patrons who were well on their way to getting buzzed but still a few hours away from the complete fiasco that this part of Portland exhibited once the bars started closing up for the night.
Sloane was thankful that she’d moved to the day shift again. Anything was better than being on the night shift in the ER, which saw the worst of the bar fights, the fraternity-brother dares, stupidity in general.
“What is with you? Can’t you be nice for one night?” Erin hissed. Her fingers raked down the condensation of her glass, leaving a set of vertical lines from top to bottom.
Yeah, Sloane felt like a jerk. No, she would not admit this to Erin. “He started it.” Okay, maybe she had this time. She wasn’t keeping tally.
“What are you, three?”
“We all know I have the mentality of a thirteen-year-old boy, but thanks.”
Erin gesticulated with her hands. “I know he was an asshole to you. And dated a couple of women from the hospital, but can’t you try to be nice?”
“Eight women.”
“Right. He was an ass to eight women, but dear God, can we save the torturing for another night? The man’s been shot. I feel like this should at least give him a few hours of you two not fighting like cats and dogs.”
Her best friend was right, of course. “Fine.”
“Plus”—Erin’s lips curved into a wicked grin—“I have a much better way that you can get back at him.”
Sloane took a sip of beer. “I’m all ears.”
Chapter Four
“When you said getting back at your brother, I didn’t think it’d require spending money. Seriously, why are we going to the auction?” Sloane asked. She groaned as she buckled her seat belt and turned to face her best friend. When Erin had told her to meet her at her apartment the following Saturday, she hadn’t known what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t going to a charity event. To be honest, she’d become sort of a recluse on the weekends. And if Erin hadn’t coaxed her out of her apartment, there was a 110 percent chance Sloane would be in sweatpants and cross-stitching right now. Basically, she was living her best cat-lady life, minus the cats.
She’d prided herself on fostering rescue pups from the shelter, which kept her busy most of the time, but her apartment building had recently changed their policy on animals, which meant that she wasn’t able to foster any until she found a new place.
“It’s for a good cause. What’s better than watching hot firefighters up on a stage getting bid on like cattle?”
Sloane could think of a lot of things better than this, but she didn’t want to rain on her best friend’s gung-ho attitude.
“Plus, I got some insider info.” Erin tapped her fingers along the steering wheel and practically bounced in her seat. “Reece is apparently going to be a fetch boy with the champagne.”
Champagne. Now she could get behind that. If she was going to pay to come to the event, she might as well enjoy the commodities of the alcoholic kind.
“I almost feel bad for your brother for having to dress up.”
“Knowing him, he’ll be in his turnouts,” Erin said.
Reece had two types of dress: plaid flannels and work gear. There was no in between. Both held no appeal to her, especially the latter of the two.
As a rule, Sloane had no interest in firefighters. A certain type of person went into that field of work. Overconfident, overly masculine, just too much man in general. She’d much rather date the quiet, bookish type who hung out in coffee shops while filling out crossword puzzles. Yes, apparently she was ninety. The only other thing to complete the look would be to plant her in front of the TV with the evening news and Jeopardy.
Erin’s boyfriend, Jake, remained the one and only exception to the rule. He was a decent guy who treated her best friend like a queen—just how she deserved to be treated. The firefighters Sloane dealt with while at the hospital were a different story. Okay, maybe one in particular clouded her judgment. He oozed enough macho-hero vibe to compensate for the rest of them. She’d dated that type. Been there, done that . . . had the emotional scarring as a souvenir. A year on her own and she liked her newfound control—of the remote and the number of covers on her bed—so she’d come to the conclusion that that type of personality would never mesh with hers.
Erin slipped an arm around Sloane’s shoulder. “Just relax. It’s a night of fun. You don’t even have to bid if you don’t want to.”
“Oh, trust me, I won’t.” Every penny went straight into the bank. She’d had her eye on a house right off Mississippi Avenue. It was a bungalow with a white picket fence and a purple door, and it had enough room in the backyard to start a garden. And the best part was that it had plenty of room for foster animals. She passed it on her running route, always admiring the handcrafted shutters with hearts etched into the wood. She’d heard through the grapevine that the owner was looking to sell soon, and she’d be ready to strike the day it went on the market.
As Erin pulled her Prius into the event-center parking lot, Sloane stared at the swarm of people moving toward the entrance. They were in all styles of dress—casual, formal, somewhere in between. Sloane lumped herself into the latter of the three options, with her black dress and candy-cane leggings. The holidays were just around the corner, and she’d already busted out her Christmas wardrobe. Tomorrow she’d wear her Grinch scrubs. Patients always loved those.
A parking attendant swiveled his arms toward an open space in the lot, and Erin parked the car.
They both slid out of Erin’s car and made their way to the audit
orium. If there was a silver lining for the night—because Sloane always liked to look for one—it was that the event raised money for local charities.
“Who knows? Maybe someone will catch your eye,” Erin said.
“Told you, I’m not looking for anything right now. Plus, I’m up to my eyeballs in dating apps.” One night while angsting over the empty left side of her bed, she’d signed up for a dating site. She still had yet to meet up with anyone, but she had come close a few times. It just never felt like the right timing. Either she’d had to work several days in a row when the guy had shown interest—and then by the time she had been available, the guy had ghosted her—or she’d come up with some excuse to put off meeting up. She had to take care of a foster dog. Vet appointments. Volunteering at the Humane Society.
Putting those apps on her phone was more stressful than the fact that she was still single. Consensus: Fielding weirdos was more trouble than it was worth.
“Just haven’t found the right guy yet.” Her best friend smiled brightly. Sloane had made the distinct observation that the only people who expressed this sentiment were the ones who were already happily in relationships.
Sloane wasn’t in any hurry to commit. She liked being single. Had come to terms that she very well might be for a long time, and she was okay with that. But that didn’t mean she didn’t occasionally miss human contact, to be wrapped in the warmth of a man’s touch. “Where’s Jake?” she asked.
“He’s meeting us there. He had a few things he had to do with Bailey beforehand.”
“Sounds ominous.” Erin and Jake had been dating for almost six months now and were living together. Sloane figured he’d be popping the question anytime, given how serious her friends had gotten over the past four weeks or so.
“No, just something with computer coding.” Bailey, Jake’s daughter, was a computer whiz. Bailey had even set up Sloane with a new computer. Did Sloane understand half of Bailey’s explanation in code-speak? No. But the computer ran Netflix and Facebook just fine, so that was all she could ask for.
They made their way into the event center, and Sloane paused to take everything in. A layer of hay was scattered over the concrete floor, hay bales were stacked up against the walls, and country music blared through the speakers.
Up In Flames (Flirting with Fire Book 2) Page 3
