Spiral (Off the Ice, #2) (32)

“Not for me.”

She raises her hands in surrender. “Okay, jeez. I was giving you an out.”

“I don’t need one. Do you?”

“If I want to have sex with someone, I’ll let you know, warden.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “If you’re inclined to date someone, then let me know and we can end this. I don’t need to know about your sex life.”

She’s smirking now. “Why? Does it make you uncomfortable? If it helps, it’s just me and one very reliable battery-powered friend.”

Talking about her vibrator that is likely in one of those boxes she has all her stuff in is not how I imagined my night going. It feels awfully hard to swallow right now.

“We forgot one,” she says. “No falling in love.”

I freeze. That one was not on my radar.

Sage sees my stricken expression and bursts into laughter. “Your face!” She wheezes as she hits my arm. “Don’t worry, you’ll be running for the hills by the end of this.”

My laugh is brittle and not at all believable.

“So, it’s settled. When your season ends and I get word on my NBT audition, we’ll end this. No strings.”

“No strings.” I shake her hand. And just like that, I have a fake girlfriend.

“Before you go ...” She trails off, tapping on her phone until mine pings beside me. The picture is blurry, but it’s clear who’s in it. Sage is on my back, arms looped around my shoulders, and I’m carrying her heels as we head out of the Pint. “That’s for you to post later,” she says.

“When did you take this?”

“I didn’t. Someone tagged me in it.”

“You want me to caption it ‘best part of my day’?” I read her text, trying to hold back a laugh. “A bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“Drop the no-kissing rule, and it’ll be true.”

I’m rendered speechless, but Sage just grins at my discomfort.

“Don’t forget to tag me, Elias.”





FOURTEEN


SAGE




MANLY FIREFIGHTERS SURROUNDED by smoke have always carried a certain appeal. But that appeal quickly dies when I realize the smoke is coming out of my apartment, and the firemen are soaking my belongings with a hose.

After teaching my last class of the day, and successfully posting my first dancing video on my page, I took a bus across town to audition for a last-minute role. I got an email that the National Ballet was having open auditions. I’m hoping my routine this evening met their standards. With the nasty feeling of anticipation, I was set on taking a hot shower before getting ready for my first real date with Elias. He’s supposed to pick me up in an hour.

But of course, life had other plans.

I stand frozen on the sidewalk, because with one step toward the scratched door, I’ll be forced to live in the reality of what’s happening in front of me. A part of me wishes I could brush off the scene and turn to another apartment that isn’t clogged with smoke and large men in yellow uniforms. Some are even dressed in those navy T-shirts that tightly stretch across the expanse of their chests. This situation would be ideal in any other scenario.

A man standing by my front door turns to me when I finally approach. “Miss Beaumont?”

I nod, staring wide-eyed at my ash-filled apartment, still hoping this is all some big joke and they’re actually strippers giving me an early birthday present. “What happened?”

The man pulls off his yellow helmet and gives me a look like he pities me but also wants to scold me. A fatherly look, I suppose, not that I would know. “Do you recall lighting this?”

He holds up a broken glass cylinder, blackened wax crusted on the sides. My magnolia candle from this morning sits on the palm of his gloved hand, and I wince.

So much for self-care.

“I swear, I remember blowing it out. This has never happened before.”

He nods, dropping the candle in a pile of my burnt things. My comforter, a table lamp, and some clothes. The fire must have spread quickly because my tiny living room, doubling as my bedroom with the Murphy bed, is crisped. My kitchen took the brunt of the destruction.

“That’s always the case. But even if candles seem harmless, a lit one can be deadly. You need to be careful. This could have been much worse.”

Emotion clogs my throat as my eyes start to water, and not because of the smoke.

Another firefighter enters with a clipboard. “I’d suggest sleeping somewhere else, ma’am. The smoky smell bakes itself into the walls.”

Mulling over his words, I assess my options. If I call my uncle, he’ll have another reason why my living alone was never a good idea. He’s been hoping I’d move in with him since the bank seized my parents’ house, but I’ve always refused. I’m not his burden.

I don’t have a friend or enough money for a motel. That dark cloud of smoke that contains my apartment shadows me, and I try not to sob in front of the hot firefighters.

Debris crunches under my feet, and I notice my laptop is also burnt to a crisp. If I had insurance, this might be less devastating, but right now panic clutches my chest. My breathing comes out shallow and the smoke feels like tar on my lungs.

The firefighters finish soaking what’s left of my things and gather their equipment. I lean against a corner of the countertop that’s untouched by the fire and rack my brain for where to stay tonight. So far the bushes outside are looking pretty comfy.