From Air (Wildfire)

Chapter Sixteen

“Jamie!” Melissa squeals the second we exit the secure area. She hikes up her denim crop top and slides her phone into her baggy white linen pants.

I drop my carry-on next to Fitz and run into my best friend’s arms.

“I’ve missed you so much!” I don’t want to let her go, but I do.

She narrows her eyes, glancing over my shoulder. “Um ... is he with you?”

I chose not to explain Fitz to her over the phone. My plan was to think of a solid explanation on the plane. That didn’t happen.

With him at my back, I give her a tight smile and wide eyes. “Be cool. Okay?”

Her gaze remains glued to him. “ Pfft. My middle name is Cool.” She shoulders past me. “Hi. I’m Melissa, Jamie’s BFF. You must be the gift she brought me.”

Yep. She’s so cool.

“Calvin, this is Melissa. Mel, this is my roommate, Calvin.”

Her merlot-painted lips twist as she offers him her hand. “Sex Dream Calvin?”

Please, God. Just let me die.

His smile swells in increments, right along with his ego. I think he’s two inches taller than he was just moments ago. “In the flesh,” he says.

They laugh while my skin ignites into a bonfire of embarrassment.

“How was your first time flying?” Melissa loops her arm around mine, and we exit the airport.

“I don’t want to jump out of the plane. I don’t know who would do something like that. But I love flying.” I glance over my shoulder at Fitz.

His gaze lifts from my ass to my face, and he winks. Fitz is not a winker. What’s that wink all about? My ass? My comment about jumping out of planes?

“Fitz’s hotel is not far from your apartment.”

“What?” Melissa opens her convertible’s trunk.

“He’s staying at a hotel.” I start to lift my roller bag in, but Fitz grabs it from me.

He’s full of little surprises; each one makes a new crack in my heart.

“Nonsense.” Melissa shakes her head as Fitz loads his bag.

“It’s not nonsense. He’s—”

“Shh.” She holds out her hand before opening her door. “Not another word.”

The second we step into Melissa’s one-bedroom apartment, I focus on Fitz and his wide-eyed inspection. It’s an oasis of white furniture, white paint, and white trim with hot-pink accent pillows, rugs, flowers, and washi tape, affixing black-and-white prints along one wall. Another wall displays a collection of hats in a gradient of pink shades.

“I like pink,” she says with a shrug before gesturing to the sofa. “I put clean sheets on my bed. You two can have it, or—”

“I’ll sleep with you. Fitz will sleep on the sofa.”

Fitz clears his throat. “Or, I can sleep with Melissa, and you can sleep on the—”

“Stop!” I giggle. “Mel, you have to promise to ignore everything Fitz says. Bullshit is his native language.”

She blots her brow. “What? Sorry. I didn’t hear anything after Fitz suggested he sleep with me.”

“Do you sleep on the right or left? Top or bottom?” he asks with a smirk.

Melissa bites her lower lip.

“Go.” I push my roller bag in her direction. “I just said to ignore him. Take my bag to your bedroom while I have a word with my roomie.” I give him a tight grin.

Melissa blows me a kiss and giggles before disappearing around the corner.

“Can you behave?” I cross my arms.

He wets his lips, barely hiding his grin. “I thought the point of coming here was so I didn’t have to behave.”

“I thought the whole point of you staying at a hotel was because you know you can’t behave.”

“No.” He steps to the window and peers out at the busy street. “The hotel was for your benefit. You knew you couldn’t keep from jumping me.”

“Who’s jumping who?” Melissa rejoins us.

“Nobody’s jumping anyone.” I clap once. “Let’s grab dinner. I’m starving.”

Melissa eyes me but just as quickly nods toward the door. “Tacos and margaritas across the street.”

“Perfect.” I toss Fitz an exaggerated smile. “Let’s get a few drinks in you so you’ll be too numb to feel the lumps in Melissa’s sofa.” I follow her out the door.

“If only my job involved sleeping on the ground .”

He wins. How does he always win?

Melissa dives into her interrogation the second we’re seated at the restaurant. She peppers Fitz with every possible question about his job. And I realize I’ve asked him so little about it. Maybe it’s because our relationship has been built on a solid foundation of banter. However, I have to give him credit for not only answering all her questions but doing it with a smile and not an ounce of the sarcasm he feeds me like slow-drip coffee.

Melissa decides to change the subject after thoroughly exhausting the smoke jumper Q&A. “Have you been on your skateboard yet?”

“A handful of times.” I stir the last few ounces of my margarita.

“Jamie has broken three bones, sprained an ankle, cut open the back of her head, and needed stitches twice in her knees because she refuses to wear proper gear while riding her skateboard. And she’s a nurse .”

Eyeing Melissa, I shake my head. “It’s restrictive.”

“Or lifesaving.” Melissa frowns.

“I’ll get her a helmet and pads.” Fitz wipes his mouth.

“I’m good.”

“There’s a reason your mom’s nickname for you was Intrepid Little Girl.”

Fitz chuckles. The look on his face melts me from the inside out.

The intensity of his gaze.

That sparkle in his eyes.

Every time Melissa reveals something from my childhood, he lights up a little brighter. I’m envious of him. I’d love to hear about his childhood, even if nothing would make me laugh or bring out the sparkle in my eyes.

“What’s that look? You look like you spotted a ghost.” Melissa’s nose wrinkles. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned your mom.”

Fitz’s gaze drops to his empty plate.

“It’s fine. That wasn’t it. I’m fine.”

“I know you.” Wrinkles fill her brow. “You’re not fine. I’ve known you for-evah .” Melissa downs the rest of her second margarita and jumps into the continuation of the Jaymes Lanette Andrews biography. “Jamie and I met when we were five. She and her mom moved into the apartment across from my parents. My family basically adopted Jamie and her mom since her mom was estranged from the rest of her family. So I know everything about her. Every boyfriend—she’s had seven. Her first kiss—Riley Kirk, age eleven, Fourth of July on the beach. The loss of her virginity to Miguel, two floors down from our apartments.

“Jamie doesn’t like pickles or broccoli. She’s obsessed with the color yellow. She says she listens to all genres of music, but I guarantee her playlist is nothing but Imagine Dragons and Ed Sheeran. When she’s tired, she gets cranky. And when she’s excited, she nearly cries. If she says she loves dogs, she’s lying. Jaymes is a total cat person. She hates to wear makeup. Never gets manicures or pedicures. And she was suspended from school for three weeks at the beginning of our senior year. But I’m not allowed to tell that story, so that’s all I can say about that.”

“I’m cutting you off.” I take her empty glass and slide a cup of water toward her. “Why stop there? Perhaps Fitz wants to know when I got my first period or where I bought my first training bra.” I press my palm to my head and shake it.

Melissa giggles, stirring her water with a straw. “Your first period was—”

“Oh my god. Stop!” I cover my face.

Melissa doesn’t stop. She drank too much tequila. “It was toward the end of our seventh-grade year. You got it at Andie Olmen’s house during her slumber party. Your mom was working, so my mom picked you up because you were so devastated. And you didn’t buy your first bra. I gave you one of mine because your mom said you weren’t ready for a bra, but you were the only one in our friend group who didn’t wear one. And since you were homeschooled, you were also the lucky one who didn’t have stupid boys snapping your bra strap.”

“I’m never coming back here. Our friendship ends now.”

Melissa bites her lower lip, but it doesn’t contain her laughter.

“Let’s go.” I retrieve my credit card, but Fitz plucks the bill from the table and heads to the bar to pay it without a word. “Can you walk?” I ask Melissa.

“Of course I can walk.” She stands on wobbly legs, adjusting her crop top before flashing unsuspecting patrons.

When I glance back at Fitz waiting at the bar, he signals for us to head toward the exit. We loop arms and start across the street. Fitz catches up by the time we reach her apartment building.

“Thanks for dinner. I would have paid,” I say.

He holds open the door for us. “You’re welcome.”

I get Melissa to her room and in bed. She giggles, mumbles something, sighs, and falls asleep.

After I shower to wash off the day’s travel germs, brush my teeth, and partially dry my hair, I pad on bare feet to the kitchen for water. “The bathroom’s all yours.”

Fitz hums his acknowledgment and slips into the bathroom for a shower. While he’s in there, I search for an extra pillow and blankets. Just as I exit the bedroom, he opens the bathroom door in a pair of black gym shorts riding low on his hips, exposing the wide gray waistband of his briefs.

I stare at his bare chest for a few seconds before lifting my gaze to his. “The blankets are thin. Hope you don’t get cold.”

Fitz lets his eyes wander down my body, past my oversize yellow tee to my bare legs. “I’ll be fine.” He takes the blankets and pillow from me and tosses them on the sofa, plopping down next to them.

I stack the pink decorative pillows on the white velvet armchair. “Sorry she drank too much. I think she was nervous. She always drinks too much when she’s nervous.”

“Why was she nervous?” He fluffs the pillow and unfolds the blankets, spreading one over the sofa to sleep on.

I laugh, closing the living room blinds. “I’m pretty sure you make her nervous.”

“Why would I make her nervous?”

I sit on the arm of the sofa. “If you’re fishing for compliments, I’m not giving them out tonight.”

“No? Why is that?” He stretches out on the sofa, lacing his hands behind his head. “Am I not Miguel?”

“Shut up.” I laugh. “God. She had major diarrhea of the mouth tonight.”

Fitz doesn’t respond. After a pregnant pause, I realize I’m staring at his bare chest and maybe a little lower than that. My gaze shoots to his face.

He grins.

I clear my throat. “Are your scars from the same fire?”

“No.”

“Is there a heroic story involved?”

He smirks. “No. But I could make one up if you want to fantasize about my scars.”

I fight the impending eye roll. “You, uh ... really should try my friend’s burn salve.”

“With the oil for my nuts?”

Pressing my lips together, I shake my head. “You’re such an ass,” I mumble while running my hands through my damp hair.

“Do you look like your mom?” he asks.

I still for a second before dropping my hands to my lap. “No. I look more like my dad, at least from the pictures I’ve seen of him. Do you look more like one of your parents?”

His brow wrinkles while drawing in an audible breath through his nose. “My mom.”

“And your sister?”

Fitz’s gaze drops to his lap. “My dad.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, I don’t pry. Again, I feel that invisible line that I don’t think he’ll let me cross, at least not yet.

“I better let you get to sleep.” I make it two steps before his hand snags my wrist.

He sits up.

I stare at his hand on my wrist, untethering every nerve.

“Jaymes,” he whispers, pulling me between his spread knees. His hand drifts from my wrist to the back of my knee.

A shaky breath rattles my chest as his hands skate up my legs to the curve of my butt. “Fitz.” His name falls from my lips in a breathy exhale.

He lifts his gaze to mine. It’s mysterious, and his accompanying grin is a little mischievous. “How asleep is your friend?”

There’s no room in my brain to calculate Melissa’s sleep state while Fitz’s fingers curl into the waist of my panties. “Passed out,” I offer, an unsteady reply based on no facts.

His tongue makes a lazy swipe along his bottom lip as he drags my panties down my legs.

My spasming heart might wake Melissa. I can barely hear my breath past the rhythmic whooshing in my ears. We shouldn’t do this.

We can’t do this.

Fitz guides me into straddling his lap.

We can’t do this.

An unavoidable gravity pulls me to him, and I fall into a sinkhole of need when his erection presses between my spread legs, the thin material of his shorts rubbing my sensitive flesh.

Here we are again.

My eyes briefly drift shut in a heavy blink, and I realize we can’t not do this.

The second my eyes open, his lips press to mine, igniting everything.

One hand’s in my hair. The other threads up my shirt.

I know a person’s heart can’t really explode, but I think mine might do precisely that as the pad of his thumb draws a slow circle over my nipple.

“I can’t fucking think ...,” he whispers, kissing along my neck. “And I blame you.”

My hands crawl into his hair as my head lolls to the side. The buildup to this moment continues to stir inside me. My heart’s sticky fingers won’t be able to let go if he gets too close.

“Fitz.” His name leaves my chest as a plea while I rub myself along his erection.

Again, he takes my mouth, tongue acquainting itself with mine while his hands grip my hips. I pull away to breathe, and we stare at each other, exchanging labored breaths. I curse the flimsy material between us. “This is a little wrong,” I whisper with no conviction.

He lifts his hips again, drunken gaze, parted lips. “Jaymes, you’re my favorite kind of wrong. And I want to watch you come again.”

Dear god.

His throaty words could make that happen all on their own.

“Not again ,” I say, refusing to let him have anything over me. But I can’t help but grin while discarding my shirt onto the floor behind me, leaving just the head of his erection beneath his shorts and briefs wedged between my legs.

“Again, and you know it.” He takes the weight of my breasts in his hands and teases them with his soft lips and warm tongue.

My lungs draw in a breath, readying my next comeback, but it dies before reaching my lips when he whispers over my breasts, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Framing his face, I force his mouth back to mine, and I kiss him like he just called me fucking beautiful . Because surely Calvin Fitzgerald didn’t say those words to me.

When I raise to my knees, kissing him deeper, Fitz slides two fingers between my legs, drawing another moan from my chest.

My fingertips trace the burn scar on his chest.

Fitz thrusts those two fingers inside me, and I gasp.

His intense gaze holds mine while my quickening breaths fall over his face in the dimly lit room. He’s unequivocally the sexiest, most handsome man I’ve ever known. My heart and my head war over the physical and emotional sensations he evokes. I’m a discombobulated mess.

“Do you like when I’m inside of you?” He moves his fingers slowly in and out.

“Y-yes.”

He adds a third finger.

“G-god ... damn ...” My nails dig into his shoulders while my abs tighten.

“How far are we taking this, Jaymes?”

He’s controlled. Too controlled. His body commands mine in every way—the drunk lust in his eyes and his smoky tone.

It’s not fair.

“All the way.” I blink. It’s slow and heavy, like the need he’s building with his touch.

Keeping his steadfast gaze on mine, he withdraws his fingers and wipes them over my heaving chest. The hint of a grin quirks the corner of his mouth before that same mouth devours my breast, humming his pleasure while shimmying his shorts and briefs partway down his legs.

I lower myself, anxious to feel all of him, desperately hoping my heart doesn’t do the feeling. He drags the warm head of his erection between my legs several times before bucking his hips and driving inside me.

It’s too much. The fortress around my heart begins to crumble. He’s an earthquake—a force of nature. And I don’t stand a chance of surviving him.

Fitz grabs my butt with one hand and the blanket with his other and lays us on the sofa, kissing the life out of me. I think I could kiss him all night.

Unfortunately, I’m not supposed to kiss my roommate.

And I’m definitely not supposed to have sex with him.

“We’re going to be homeless,” I murmur while he kisses my neck.

Fitz chuckles, rocking his hips in a slow, firm rhythm. “Jaymes, it’s called keeping a secret.”

“What if—”

He cuts me off with another kiss, and I surrender my body and mind because Will and Maren are on the other side of the country, my BFF is passed out in the other room, and Calvin Fitzgerald is exactly where I’ve wanted him for weeks.

“This is your fault,” he mumbles, kissing his way down my body, trapping my nipple between his teeth before flicking it with his tongue.

I arch my back. “W-what?” I’m unsure if I heard him correctly because his touch is all consuming and dizzying.

“Touching me all the damn time.” He works his way back up my body.

“Goading me.” He thrusts back into me, and my breath catches in my throat.

“Getting off on me in my truck.” His hands tangle in my hair, and his mouth covers mine again before I can object to the blame he’s placing on me.

My hands wander along his body, because Calvin Fitzgerald has irresistible, finely sculpted muscles that tense and relax under my fingers as he moves with me. And I want to feel every inch of him. I can’t get enough.

After a deep, mind-bending kiss, my head jerks to the side so I can catch my breath for a second. “I’m com ... I’m ...” Each breath chases the next as I come undone beneath him.

“Of course you are,” he says, just as the legs of Melissa’s sofa decide to whine in protest of his vigorous movements.

My mind spins, my thoughts an aura of unhurried bliss. I’m boneless, euphoric, and so damn satisfied by the time he curses my name and stills inside me.

That. Happened.

It takes a moment for it to feel real. I wait for that brain worm of regret to extinguish every last flame of happiness. Except it doesn’t. I don’t regret it. If I could press rewind and do it again, I would.

“What took you so long?” I quip while he nestles his face into my neck, breath erratic, heavy body limp on mine.

“Fuck you.” His body vibrates with his soft chuckle.

“Fitz?”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t breathe.”

He climbs off me, and I give him a shy grin while wrapping the blanket around my body, plucking my shirt and underwear from the floor, and hurrying toward the bathroom.

“Shit,” I mumble to myself, sitting on the toilet, hunched forward, hands fisting my hair. “I had sex with Fitz. That was ...” Stupid? Perhaps. But good. So good.

It’s okay, I mouth, flushing the toilet and washing my hands. I give the messy-haired reflection in the mirror a toothy grin. “It was just sex,” I whisper.

My heart laughs—a full-on bent-at-the-waist, gasping-for-its-next-breath sort of laugh.

When I return with the blanket, Fitz is back in his shorts and sitting on the sofa. We share a look. I can’t read his. I’m unsure what mine means, either, so I sit beside him.

An uncomfortable silence settles around us.

“I’m on the pill, in case you were wondering.”

“I’ve had a vasectomy, in case you were wondering.”

My head pivots toward him. “Because you were tired of counting sperm?”

He smirks. “Exactly.”

My lips twist for a few seconds. “But I do have genital herpes.”

“I have crabs,” he says, glancing at me with a serious expression.

I try not to react. If I react, he wins. And it’s been well established that I’m not okay with him winning. Sadly, I can’t hold it in. I snort, covering my mouth and shaking with silent laughter. I feel it in my belly—a deep contentment.

It cracks his stony facade, and he grins, snagging the blanket from my hold. “Go to bed.”

“In the morning, will you pretend this never happened?”

Fitz straightens the wadded blankets. “Of course.” He stretches out on the sofa, forcing me to scoot to the edge.

For a second, I frown, unable to hide my disappointment.

“Night, Fitz.” I stand.

“Is Melissa waking up soon?”

I rest my chin on my shoulder. “No.”

He holds up his blanket. “I’ll have you in her bed by sunrise.”

How did this happen? How did I fall so fast and hard for Calvin Fitzgerald?

I can hide my grin as I step back toward the sofa.

“I think your shirt will make us too hot,” he says with a serious face that lasts two seconds before he breaks out his winning grin.

Losing the shirt first, I crawl up his body, and he covers as much of us as possible with the dinky blanket.

My face hovers over his. “You just like my breasts pressed to your chest.”

“Fuck yeah, I do.”

I rest my cheek high on his chest. “I’m going to listen to your heart until you feel the need to make me think you don’t have one.”

Fitz doesn’t respond with words. He rests one hand on my back and the other on my butt.

My person.