From Air (Wildfire)

Chapter Nine

CALVIN

Maren hums while scrubbing her and Jamie’s toilet, hair corralled like a hay bale on top of her head. She’s still in her nightshirt, boxer shorts, and brown teddy bear slippers. It’s our biweekly cleaning day—the easiest biweekly cleaning ever because our new roommate is a perfectionist. Jamie’s always organizing, washing laundry, and cleaning shit.

She bakes.

She has a great job.

She’s sexy as fuck.

I’m not marrying her, but some guy should.

“Maren, do you want to be my date to Gary’s birthday party this weekend?” I ask.

“Oh man, I wish, Fitz. Gary has the best parties. But I can’t. I’m going home this weekend.”

When I don’t respond, she eyes me over her shoulder. “Ask Will.”

“He’s working.”

“It’s okay for you to go alone.”

I cross my arms. “I know.”

Maren chuckles, returning her attention to the toilet. “Order a ride if you drink too much, and have a condom in your pocket if you don’t want to be some third-grade teacher’s baby daddy.”

“Are you sure you have to go home this weekend?” I stop short of begging, but I’m sure she can hear my groveling undertone. Crowds make me uneasy. When I get uneasy, I drink. When I drink, my dick wanders.

“Ask Jamie.”

“There’s no way I’m asking Jamie.”

“Ask me what?”

I suppress a sigh at Jamie’s stealthy way of sneaking up on me. She needs more weight to her steps or a few creaks in her joints.

Maren flushes the toilet just as Jamie makes it to the top of the stairs. “Fitz needs a chaperone to Gary’s birthday party this weekend.”

“I don’t need a chaperone because I’m not attending the party.” I brush past Jamie to the stairs just as she flips a dusting rag over her shoulder.

“I think we have a mouse in the house,” Will declares with the refrigerator pulled out of its spot, inspecting the area behind it. “Are those traps still in the garage?”

I mumble a “yeah” on my way to the laundry room.

After I knock down a few cobwebs in the corners and empty the lint filter, Jamie appears in the doorway. “I’ll be your date.”

“I don’t need one.” I dump the clean sheets into a laundry basket.

“Then why did you ask Maren?”

“Because she knows Gary.”

“I know Gary.” She steps closer, plucks a sheet from the basket, and folds it.

“No. You’ve met Gary. You don’t know him.” I fold the pillowcases and set them on the dryer.

“Well, what better way to get to know him than at a party?”

“I’m not going.”

“Why don’t you take Mrs. Wilke?”

I don’t acknowledge her, but I know she’s grinning.

“Stop!” She takes the sheet from me. “Didn’t your mom teach you how to fold a fitted sheet?”

Her question knocks the wind out of me, but I disguise it with a shrug and a murmured “apparently not.” However, I do remember how easy my mom made it look, despite the fact that memories are not my friends.

Jamie makes it look easy too.

“Tuck the corners into each other. Then fold the flap like this.” She glances up at me with a quick grin. “Voilà. Now, it’s a rectangle; you can fold it like a flat sheet. How does a professional parachute packer not know this?” She hands me the folded sheet laced with a floral fabric softener. “Now, when is the party? Do you want me to drive so you can drink? Maren said it would also be my responsibility to keep you from impregnating anyone. Clearly, she doesn’t know about your scrapbook of carefully counted sperm.”

“Christ!” I drop the folded sheets into the laundry basket, then rake my fingers through my hair. “I’m not a child. I don’t need a chaperone.”

“Then why did you ask Maren to go to the party with you?” Jamie lifts onto her toes, invading my space to fix my hair. I’ve never felt this on edge. “Because she likes Gary’s parties,” I murmur, losing some of my fight because I’ve decided her hands in my hair and breasts pressed to my chest beat watching her bake, but just barely.

“Maybe I’ll like them too.” Her fingernails gently scrape my scalp, and I shudder, jumping back a few feet.

We have a brief stare-off while the washing machine gurgles. She blinks first. I’m not sure if that means she’s won or lost. But then she grins because she did that on purpose.

“You’re taking me to the party.” She flicks a resolute nod at me before spinning on her heels and strolling out of the laundry room.

“Why would I do that?” I follow her.

She glances over her shoulder and grins while curling her hair behind her ear. “Because I’m the best you’ve ever had, Fitz.”

“The best what?”

“You’ll see.”

The last time Gary hosted a party, a fire started in the kitchen. His wife called 911. Sixteen firefighters attended, and she called 911 for a small stove fire. I hope this party is less eventful, but I have an uneasy feeling about it because Jamie is anything but predictable. And she’s sure as fuck not punctual. We were supposed to leave a half hour ago.

I knock on her shed door.

“Come in.”

Jamie’s floral scent and a Taylor Swift song from her Alexa greet me.

She eyes my reflection in her mirror while applying lip gloss. “Are we fake dating or just best buds? How much alcohol are you allowed to have? And do I prevent you from having sex or just make sure you’re properly fitted with a condom?”

“You’re already proving to be an inferior plus-one. Not the best I’ve ever had. I’ve never needed to tell Maren any of that information. She just gets me.”

“Oh, I get you, Fitz.” Jamie rubs her lips together and caps her lip gloss. “The alpha personality that allows you to jump out of planes and fight fires is struggling. You need it. And an idle winter feels like torture. I’ve rattled the structure on which you thrive—the new roommate shifting the dynamics around here.”

I scoff, surveying the tiny space. “Nice try.”

Jamie shoves her feet into chunky black boots that look too big for her body. She’s jaw dropping in black tights, a short denim skirt, a low-cut black top, and silver hoop earrings peeking out beneath her straight black hair. Her tan and freckles have faded a few shades lighter. She’s fucking gorgeous, but I’ll never say those words to anyone.

“How do I look?” She threads her arms through her puffy white jacket.

“Late.” I glance at my watch. “You look thirty minutes late.”

“It’s a party. Can you really be late for a party?” She squeezes past me, opening the door.

“If they run out of Gary’s famous ribs, then yes. We’ll be too late to the party, and it will be your fault.”

Jamie navigates around the house to her Jeep like a prancing antelope taking its favorite path to avoid areas of slushy snow, mud, and muck.

I give her directions to Gary’s house, but I don’t know why she’s driving. There’s a slim chance I’ll drink enough to need a driver. I don’t trust her. Okay, I don’t trust myself with her unless I’m in my right mind.

When we arrive, Jamie steps out of the Jeep, wearing her signature smart-ass grin. “Do you have a girlfriend pet name for me or just a best-bud name? I’m not a fan of ‘princess,’ but ‘queen’ is fine.”

“Just get the fuck inside.”

That grin doubles. She’s a lot .

“This is a great house.” She stops halfway up their steep driveway, gawking at the cream-and-redbrick two-story Queen Anne–style house, complete with an asymmetrical front facade hugged by a wraparound porch and a conical roof over the polygonal front corner tower.

“It’s fine,” I mumble, pressing my hand to her back, encouraging her to keep walking.

When she slides her gaze to me, I keep my eyes straight ahead of us, despite my grin. Yes, it’s a great house.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa ...” Gary appears before we get the door shut behind us. He squeezes my shoulder with one hand and hands me a beer with his other. “Did you bring a real girlfriend to my party?”

“You’ve met Jamie. She’s my roommate. Maren couldn’t make it.”

Jamie pays no attention to us as her bug eyes survey the entry that’s technically the parlor. Gary’s wife, Evette, insisted they keep the character of the home. The rooms are small, but the ceilings are tall, and each space has an abundance of embellishments, such as elaborate dark woodwork, colorful stained glass windows, and embossed botanical wallpaper in muted green-and-gold tones. For a good time, I could mention the burgundy velvet drapes just to see Gary lose his shit.

“Uh ...” Jamie shakes her head. “Nice to see you again. Happy birthday.” She whips out a bubbly voice and face-splitting grin while giving him a quick hug.

Jamie’s rousing personality shines for everyone but me. I bring out something in her; I’m not sure what that is yet.

“You have a stunning home.” She digs into her purse. “I brought you this.” She hands him an envelope.

Is she showing me up? It’s a no-gift party.

“You shouldn’t have.” Gary winks. “But thank you. Grab something to eat, and enjoy the party.”

“Sounds great,” she replies with too much enthusiasm.

When Gary heads in the opposite direction, I slip a hand into my front jeans pocket and glare at her, again catching her floral scent. “You bought my friend a card?”

“I bought our friend a card and a gift card for coffee.”

“You’re making me look bad.”

She messes with the collar of my gray flannel shirt. “I put your name on the card too.” Her gaze flits to mine when she’s done with my collar. “I make you look better .”

“You’re full of shit. Now go eat.” I gesture with my chin before taking a swig of my beer.

“Bossy.”

I shake my head, but not before grinning.

“The ribs. Dude, make sure you get the ribs.” Todd sidles up to me while wiping sauce from his lips.

With an easy hum, I shift my attention to the spread of food on the dining room table.

“What, uh ... is going on with you and my girlfriend?” Todd stuffs half a brownie into his mouth.

“Girlfriend?”

He eyes Jamie, filling her plate with food. “It’s not official yet, but we shared a moment when she brought those cookies. Are you cool with me asking her out?”

“Is your wife cool with it?”

“Soon-to-be ex-wife. I’ll message her and ask.”

“Make sure you get your balls back in the divorce settlement.”

“Fuck you, Fitz.” He finger combs his mullet.

My nose wrinkles. “What’s that smell?”

Todd sniffs his fingers. “Oh, that’s my tea tree hair oil. Keeps everything in the back soft and smooth.” He chuckles before making his way back to the food.

As with all of Gary’s parties, there’s music, enough food to satisfy all of Missoula, and a well-run bar, courtesy of Evette churning out drink after drink; her tight red chin-length curls spring in all directions when she shakes a cocktail. Evette’s a gifted mixologist when she’s not teaching first grade.

I fetch some food and chat with my buddies while keeping one eye on Jamie. For a designated driver, she’s consuming too many mixed drinks. She doesn’t have enough body weight to handle that much alcohol.

“Another beer?” Gary finds me again and holds out another bottle.

I shake him off. “I think I’m driving home.”

“But you brought a driver.”

For the past hour, Jamie’s been chatting it up with a group of teachers from Evette’s school, head tipped back in laughter and a new drink in her right hand every fifteen minutes. “I brought my roommate. I think this is her first party.”

Gary’s gaze follows mine, and he smirks. “What is she? A buck ten? This won’t end well. Maybe you should show her the bathroom, so she doesn’t lose it all over my floor.”

I barely register his words because my shitty DD is too entertaining. I have no idea what she’s saying to everyone huddled around her, but they seem to hang on her every word. I bet she’s, once again, sharing embarrassing Jeopardy! -level information. Perhaps she’s telling them about her friend’s nut oil.

I can’t focus or relax because I can’t take my eyes off Jamie. She makes me lose a game of darts, and I come in last playing pool.

I meet Deana, Rachel, Gabby, and Jocelyn. At least, I think those are their names. Four single women. Four possible chances to get laid. Yet I let my poor dick down because I brought the wrong roommate to Gary’s party.

“Hey, Evette. Have you seen Jamie?” I yell above the music, leaning over the bar while she shakes a drink.

“I’m not sure. But I can tell you, she’s a keeper.” Evette waggles her eyebrows at me.

I return a toothy grin. “Well, at the moment, I’m just trying to keep her from emptying the contents of her stomach onto your furniture or carpet.”

Evette gives me a funny look.

I check upstairs when I don’t find Jamie on the main floor. “Jaymes?” I knock on the bathroom door.

It eases open, and she jumps, glancing up at me. “Shit. Fitz. Sorry. Um ... are you good?”

My hands rest against the thick doorframe, blocking her from exiting the bathroom. “I’m drunk as fuck. And I think I just impregnated the music teacher from Evette’s school.”

Her eyes widen, lips parted.

“And I want to go home, so I’ve been looking for my designated driver.”

She swallows hard and salutes me with a shaky hand to her forehead. “At your service.”

“You’re drunk.”

She narrows her eyes. “I am?”

I cast my gaze to the ceiling. “I’m glad we brought your Jeep and not my truck. Let’s go.”

“Do you think you should at least exchange numbers with the music teacher before we go?” She follows me to the stairs.

I ignore her.

Gary’s bushy eyebrows slide up his forehead when I reach the main level. I nod and give him a tight grin. This is the earliest I’ve left one of his parties.

“Oof!”

I turn, and Jamie’s on the floor.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry.” Travis, another smoke jumper, cringes. “I didn’t mean to back into you.”

“It’s fine.” I scoop her off the ground and into my arms. “She drank too much.”

“My jacket,” she mutters while squirming.

“It’s by the door.” I tighten my grip on her wiggly body. When we reach the entry, Gary’s waiting for us. “It’s the white one.” I nod to her jacket.

“Thanks for coming.” He drapes the jacket over her.

“You’re going to drop me,” Jamie whines when I step onto the porch.

“I carry a hundred and fifty pounds of equipment for miles in the heat of summer. I think I can manage to carry your drunk ass to the street without dropping you. Where are the keys?”

“Oh, look. A full moon.” She tips her head back and grins in the crisp air of the windless night as I descend the driveway to the desolate street. “Did you know that a white moon cycle results in higher rates of boy babies? That’s when you’re ovulating during a full moon.”

“I haven’t ovulated during a full moon, but sometimes I turn into a werewolf.”

She giggles. “I would love that so much. Calvin the werewolf.”

“Get your keys out so I can drive.”

“You’re drunk. I’m your driver.”

I laugh. “Cute. But no. Tonight’s not my night to die or kill anyone else.” I set her on her feet at the Jeep and hold out my hand.

“No. You’ve had too much to drink.”

“No. You’ve had too much to drink.”

A slow grin creeps up her face before she clenches my shirt and rests her forehead on my chest. Her body shakes with laughter.

“You’re so wasted,” I say under my breath.

“Why won’t you believe me?” She laughs. It’s more like a cackle.

I cup her face and kiss her— not because I want to kiss her. It’s to prove a point.

When her warm lips start to move against mine, I nearly forget the point.

I nearly forget I shouldn’t want to kiss her.

So I end it before it ends something in me, like all my common sense. Her hands fly to my wrists, eyes flared.

“See? If you were sober, you wouldn’t have let me kiss you,” I say.

Shock continues to paralyze her expression. Is she breathing?

A car drives past us, its musty exhaust lingering while the brakes squeak as it slows down to pull into the driveway.

“Give me the key,” I say.

After a few more seconds, she releases my wrists and slips a hand into her purse to retrieve her keys. As I reach for them, she pulls them away. “If you were sober, you would not have done that. Get in the Jeep. We never speak of this again because I’m not letting you get me kicked out of the house.” She marches around the front of the Jeep to the driver’s side.

How can a nurse be so irresponsible?

I jog after her. “The fun’s over. There’s no fucking way I’m letting you drive.”

When I reach for the keys, she hugs them and angles her chest away from me. “Calvin Fitzgerald, get your stubborn, controlling ass in my Jeep. I am not drunk.”

“I watched you down over six cocktails in less than ninety minutes.” I bear-hug her from behind and slide my hand between her chest and crossed arms to steal the keys.

“Calvin, stop!” She wriggles. “I’m not drunk! They were mocktails. Virgin drinks.”

I halt my pursuit of the keys. She stumbles a few feet from the door, breathing heavily. Cheeks and nose colored pink from the air.

Fuck.

She blows her hair out of her face. “I’m your person. I know you ate two plates of food. You lost a game of darts and two games of pool. You talked to a dozen guys and four women. I know you drank one bottle of beer. And you didn’t impregnate the elementary school music teacher because I met him . His name is Mitch, and his wife is six months pregnant with their first child.”

I manage a few blinks before I find a weak voice. “You let me think you were drunk.”

“I did no such thing. You made an assumption, and I laughingly played along. But I thought you knew the truth, the way I knew the truth about you. Then you”—she stabs her hands in the air between us—“ kissed me. If Will and Maren find out, it’s on you. I’m not moving out. You did this. A controlling Capricorn.”

This woman and her moons. There are so many things I could say. An apology. An explanation for my behavior. A promise that Will and Maren will never find out. So many good options. Yet, I go with the most reckless response.

“We didn’t have sex,” I murmur.

Jamie squints. “What?”

“We didn’t have sex. That’s breaking the rules. We can’t have sex with other housemates. That’s the rule. But if you orgasmed, I’ll keep it between us.” It’s not the right time to smirk or taunt her, but I can’t help it. I live for getting a reaction out of her.

She balls up her hands. “Get. In. The. Jeep.”