Playing With Fire (5 page)

"It's probably a good thing you came home early. Though where you're going to sleep, I don't know.” He clapped Matt on the back of the shoulder. “You look a little rough around the edges, pal."

"I feel rough around the edges."

Exhausted and ready to snap at the least little provocation, Matt had abandoned his plans to stay overnight at his parents’ and started home right after supper. Driving like he had a death wish, he made the return trip in just under two hours.

About the time he reached the outskirts of the city, Mother Nature unleashed a surprise on her unsuspecting children in the form of an early monsoon storm. Matt had been operating under the mistaken impression he had two more months of sunny weather ahead before he'd have to replace the roof. One look at the cracked and sagging ceiling told him he'd better hurry.

"Your boss in the market for any part-time help these days?” Occasionally Matt signed on for a few days at the fire sprinkler company where Joey worked. “My credit card hasn't recovered from the new air conditioner."

The old unit, which was manufactured about the same year Matt started kindergarten, had suddenly stopped working one day last month. After a cursory inspection, the service man pronounced it dead, and Matt went into debt yet again because of his house.

"How about a beer?” Joey asked, his grin wide and friendly. “Might dull the pain."

Shame ate an ugly hole in Matt's gut. His roommate wouldn't be so accommodating if he knew Matt had spent the entire drive home fantasizing about Lindsay. His groin still throbbed from the sustained erection.

"That sounds great, but I'd better take a rain check. No pun intended.” He scratched his head and tried to remember if he'd put his sleeping bag in the garage or the bedroom closet. With his luck, it was probably soaked, too.

"Where you going sleep?"

"The floor, I guess."

"The couch isn't all that wet. We could push it out from under those two leaks and put the plastic tablecloth under you."

"Naw, I'll take the floor. It won't be the first time.” Matt backed out of his bedroom and headed down the hall. “Any leftover pots or pans?"

"I used them all."

On a shelf in the spare bedroom, Matt found his old football helmet from college. After stripping his bed, he set the football helmet on the bare mattress under the leak. Then he returned to the kitchen, carrying the soaked sheets and brightly patterned Indian blanket he used for a spread.

"I take it your visit to the old homestead didn't go well,” Joey commented as Matt passed him on the way to the small laundry room situated off the kitchen.

"What gave it away?"

"The facial tic."

At the doorway, Matt leaned against the jamb, considering. “Every time, it's the same old crap. I barely get two feet inside the door and Dad starts in with his you're-not-living-up-to-my-expectations lecture. Today, I just wasn't in the mood to listen."

"Having a job where you put your life on the line every day to save others isn't good enough for him?” Joey's question was neither snide nor sarcastic.

The same couldn't be said for Matt's reply. “According to Dad, being a firefighter isn't a real job."

"What is it, then?"

"How did he put it exactly?” Matt squinted his eyes and concentrated, shifting the load of laundry from one side to the other. “Oh, yeah. A game for men who never really grew up."

"Ouch!” Joey winced.

"I don't wear a suit to work and earn six figures a year, therefore, I'm a deadbeat."

Matt turned the knob and bumped open the laundry room door with his shoulder, swallowing his resentment toward his father. It went down like a spoonful of broken glass. He dropped the bedding on top of the washing machine, leaving it for the morning.

When he returned to the kitchen, Joey had his head submerged in the open refrigerator. He came up for air holding two bottles of water and offered one to Matt.

"Thought you wanted the hard stuff,” Matt said, taking the bottle.

"I hate drinking alone.” Joey broke the plastic seal and raised the bottle to his mouth. “So are you sorry you bought this house?"

"Don't you mean dump?” They both laughed, and Matt began to relax.

The fixer-upper home had seemed like a good idea when he'd purchased it last year. Zero down and low monthly payments made it affordable, especially with a roommate to share expenses. He'd done most of the repairs himself and took pride in his accomplishments, thinking his father would feel the same. But his efforts had only earned him another lecture, this one on the irresponsibility of buying an older home.

Cripes. He needed sleep. Fourteen hours of uninterrupted rest might change his perspective on life, which at the moment, was in the toilet looking up. He pulled out a chair and sat at the table, opened his water, and guzzled half the contents.

"What about your dad's chest pains?” Joey asked, joining Matt. “Are they serious?"

"Who knows? He won't see a doctor and refuses to discuss it.” Matt scowled and spoke in a deep voice, imitating his father. “Doctors are a colossal waste of time and money.” He pounded the table with a closed fist.

"Maybe he's afraid."

Matt started to make a glib comeback, but something stopped him. What if his father was afraid? Or in denial?

No
. His exhausted brain rejected the idea. Everett Callahan was and always would be in absolute control of his emotions. “I doubt it. The man has to give himself daily injections of antifreeze so his blood won't turn to ice.” Twisting sideways in the chair, Matt asked, “Have you seen my sleeping bag anywhere?"

If Joey noticed the change in topic, he didn't mention it. “In the storage shed out back."

"Figures.” Matt pictured a sodden mess. The storage shed had no floor. He stood, went to the Arcadia door and peered through the darkness at the wall of water pouring from the porch roof. “Why aren't you with Lindsay tonight?” he asked, debating the pros and cons of retrieving his sleeping bag.

"No particular reason."

Something in Joey's voice had Matt turning around. “Everything okay with you two?"

Joey scrunched his face and rubbed the back of his neck. After a moment, he answered, “Karyn called today."

"Really.” Matt took a moment to digest the news about Joey's ex-fiancée. “Why?"

"She has a box of my things she wants to return."

"After six months?"

Joey shrugged.

"You going to see her?"

"Yeah."

"Is that wise?"

"I'm sure it's not.” Joey laughed cynically. “But I am anyway.” He sobered. “Lately, I've been thinking of calling it quits with Lindsay."

As much as Matt had wanted to hear those words, he thought only of Lindsay and how hurt she'd be. “Hey. Just because Karyn called out of the blue—"

"This has nothing to do with Karyn."

"Are you sure?"

Joey ignored the question. “I'll be doing Lindsay a favor. She deserves a guy who isn't in love with another woman."

"Think about this,” Matt warned. “She's a great gal."

"She is. And beautiful, too.” Joey flashed Matt a knowing smile. “I've seen the way you look at her."

"Huh?” Matt didn't hide his surprise.

"Come on, pal. Quit the innocent act."

"I don't know what you're talking about.” Matt panicked, like a kid caught with his fingers in the cookie jar.

"Relax, will you? I'm not mad. I'm not jealous either, which says a lot. I should want to rip your throat out.” Joey sighed and shook his head. “But I don't."

Matt made a final attempt to reason with Joey. “You were a wreck when Karyn ditched you last winter. Remember that before you go off half-cocked."

"I'm meeting her,” he said with finality. “I don't expect anything to happen, but I'm keeping my options open."

The kitchen had become a vacuum in the last two minutes. Matt needed some fresh air or he'd suffocate. “I'm going to find my sleeping bag."

He opened the Arcadia door and stepped outside. The oxygen rush did nothing to restore his body functions to normal.

Joey was breaking up with Lindsay.

On a sudden burst of energy, Matt sprinted across the backyard to the aluminum storage shed. He found the sleeping bag quicker than he'd counted on—dry, at that—then ran back to the house, wondering what he'd say to Joey.

As it so happened, he needn't have worried. Joey was talking on his cellular phone.

"All right.” He checked his watch. “Give me thirty minutes.” A pause. “Okay.” Another pause. “Yeah, I have some in the truck.” He glanced around, then reached for a pad and pencil on the counter. “What's the address?” He scribbled something on the pad. “I'll be there, don't worry. Bye."

"Problem?” Matt asked when Joey hung up the phone.

"Big one.” Joey tore off the slip of paper and shoved it in his front shirt pocket. “Sprinkler lines burst at a client's house on Camelback Mountain. The whole stinking place is flooded."

"Geeze. How'd that happen?"

"Who knows. Probably the city screwing with the water pressure.” Joey patted the front of his jeans. “Keys must be on my dresser.” He went to his bedroom in search of them. A few minutes later, he returned. “Don't wait up. This promises to be an all nighter."

Matt trailed Joey into the living room. “Anything you need done while you're gone?"

"Like you'll be awake to take care of it if I did.” Joey halted at the front door, snapping his fingers. “Hey, why don't you sleep in my bed? I've got the only dry room in the house."

"I can't do that."

"Sure you can. I just changed the sheets this morning and sprayed for roaches."

"That's reassuring."

"It's a damn sight more comfortable than the floor."

"Maybe. We'll see."

"Whatever,” Joey said in a tone that suggested Matt was being stubborn for no good reason, then headed out the door. “See you in the morning."

Tired as he was, Matt showered first and put on a clean pair of boxers. Afterwards, he unrolled the sleeping bag on the floor at the foot of his bed and lay down on it. Fifteen minutes later, he remained irritatingly awake. The steady drip of water into his football helmet sounded like a hammer striking an anvil, and the hard floor dug into his aching bones.

After another fifteen minutes, he admitted the real reason sleep eluded him; his conversation with Joey and the prospect of Lindsay becoming a free woman.

Itchy and restless, he leaped to his feet, taking his pillow with him. What the hell? He'd try Joey's bed. And if that didn't work, he'd continue moving until he either fell asleep or keeled over from exhaustion. Fortunately, he succumbed within seconds. His last waking thought was of Lindsay and what it might feel like to have her snuggled up beside him.

Lindsay stood at the front door of Joey's house, her trembling fingers clutching the spare key he'd given her for emergencies. She'd parked at the curb instead of the empty driveway because she hadn't wanted to risk Joey hearing her arrival, thereby ruining the surprise. The truth of the matter was she needed the short walk to gather her courage. Somewhere between
Naughty But Nice
and her elaborate preparations for the evening's seduction, Lindsay had lost her nerve. Only Mahina's hovering presence had kept Lindsay from abandoning her plans altogether.

She'd bathed, shaved her legs, and moisturized her skin, all with products purchased that afternoon. Then she'd donned her new outfit and covered herself with, of all things, a raincoat. She'd kidded with Mahina about being a flasher. In the pocket of the raincoat, she'd placed the bare necessities: her wallet, two condoms, and a small bottle of scented oil. She'd almost turned back half a dozen times on the drive there but managed to talk herself out of it.

Not a single light shone in the house, but that meant nothing. Joey left for work at the crack of dawn, so he was usually in bed by nine o'clock at night. With Matt out of town, he must have parked his truck in the garage.

Closing her eyes, Lindsay drew several deep breaths, willing her racing heart to slow down and her upset stomach to settle. If only she had more experience with men, maybe then she'd be excited instead of afraid. What she knew about sex would fill four pages of a hundred page book.

Mahina had assured Lindsay her inexperience wouldn't matter, saying, “One look at you in that outfit and trust me, your skills in bed will be the last thing on Joey's mind."

The outfit did boost her confidence. The memory of herself standing in front of her full-length mirror, looking like one of those fashion models from a
Victoria's Secret
catalog, gave her the encouragement she needed to insert the key and unlock the door.

It swung open on a soft whoosh. She gingerly stepped into the cool, air-conditioned living room and listened. No signs of movement. Her entry hadn't wakened Joey. She shrugged off her raincoat and draped it over her arm. Goose bumps immediately formed on her exposed skin. Her teeth chattered, so she clenched them tightly together. At the hallway, she slipped off her sandals and nudged them into a corner.

Skimming her fingers along the wall, she guided herself down the dimly lit hallway. Outside the bathroom, her foot collided with something hard, and she jumped back.

"Shit!” She slapped a hand over her mouth.

Cold water seeped between her toes while a fat drop splattered onto her head. Realizing what had happened, she set the bowl back under the leak and tried to find her bearings. Joey's room was the first door on the right, opposite the spare bedroom. The master bedroom, Matt's room, was at the end of the hall. For a split second, her trepidation vanished, but when her hand encountered Joey's closed bedroom door, it returned with a vengeance.

"You've come this far. Don't chicken out now,” she whispered.

Calling on the steely determination which had seen her through any number of difficult situations, Lindsay grasped the door handle and pushed. Inside the room, she hesitated, giving her eyes the opportunity to adjust. A body, long and definitely male, lay in the bed, the lower half covered by a brightly colored sheet. A flash of lightning illuminated the window, allowing Lindsay to make out a bare back, lean hips, and muscled legs that reached almost to the foot of the bed. An arm tossed carelessly across the pillow hid his face from view.