Page 14 of Wild Fire

I’ve never considered my subs, or my co-workers for that matter, friends. Apart from JJ and the guys at the firehouse, and maybe Lacey, I don’t really have friends. Not ones that I’d hang out with on a regular basis, anyway. But it’s how Jackson says it, almost guiltily, that tells me this isn’t what he’s claiming it is.

I think on some level I knew that when I agreed to a scene with him.

But that’s what I came here for, right?

Normally, I’d argue and insist on paying anyone providing me a service—especially someone like Jackson whose sole gig is being a sub for hire. But my cock is hard, I’m tired, and I need this. So I don’t argue.

I swallow hard as he swipes his QR code and the lock clicks, knowing I’m probably going to regret this later. Jackson opens the door slowly.

My stomach flips, and I feel the rush of shame, of guilt, because I am weak. Too weak to fight this darkness that threatens to consume me.

I said I’d never come back here, not after everything that’s happened, but…

Here I am.

Jackson reaches for my hand, pulling me from my thoughts, and I shove my reservations away. I let him pull me into the room and close the door, and then I close my eyes and take a deep breath and let the fire inside of me ignite once more.

Chapter Five

Nate

I stare at the pink coffee cup in my hands, the steam rising like smoke.

I have to tell myself that it’s not smoke, because I swear I can still smell it sometimes.

Lacey takes a seat across the table, her brown hair piled in a messy bun atop her head. Her eyes are tired, and I can tell by the dark circles she didn’t get much sleep last night. Not that I’m faring any better. I don’t think I’ve slept since that first night I came here, and that was over a week ago.

“Got anything fun planned today?” she asks far too cheerily for my liking. I don’t know how she does it—how she manages to maintain such a positive attitude when she deals with so much fucked up shit. Seriously, I’ve been here a damn week and the stories I’ve heard from her in that short time frame are crazy. But I guess if you’re used to people calling 911 because they “slipped and fell while cleaning naked” and landed on top of something they most definitely shouldn’t have, I guess your threshold of crazy might be a little different from most people’s.

Still, sometimes I wish I could be that good at not letting shit affect me. But I digress.

“Same thing as yesterday,” I grumble, taking a sip of my coffee. “And the day before that.”

The sweet taste of cream makes my body relax, but only for a moment.

Not only have I had to deal with the loss of my childhood home, but I’ve been fighting back and forth with the insurance company about the claim for the fire that destroyed the house. Technically, as the only living Barrett in Gram’s will, the house belongs to me, but I hadn’t signed the paperwork yet that makes it official. Like I should have done, before I went to the house to take a fucking nap. And every time I call the insurance company, my agent isn’t there, and I’m tired of explaining my situation repeatedly to new agents I never hear from or speak to again. I don’t think all this runaround is helping matters. It’s certainly not helping my sanity. Which is why I might need to make a stop at Riverside Insurance to see if I can talk to someone. In person. Maybe then I’ll get some answers finally.

I didn’t think it would be so difficult to find a job in a city as big as Chicago. I never finished college, but then again, I wasn’t really going for anything other than my general courses. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, and I guess I still don’t. But with how fucked up everything is right now, I doubt I’ll be able to go back anytime soon, anyway, so I guess it doesn’t matter. I assumed I’d be able to get a job at the diner, or one of the many cafes or bakeries around here, but it doesn’t seem like any of them are hiring. I set my cup down and continue to scroll Indeed, trying to find something that looks legit and won’t land me murdered in a back alley.

That’s when I see the post for a concierge at a nightclub that’s offering twenty-four bucks an hour. My eyes widen because most of the places I did manage to get an application into were offering way less than that. I don’t need a six-figure job—though that’d be great and probably a turn in the right direction—I just need a job. Period.

Something with tangible income so I can at the very least pay Lacey something for letting me stay here, like she is. She’s such a sweet girl, truly.

It’s only been a week, and we’re still sort of getting to know each other, but some people are easy to read. Lacey’s one of them.

She wears her heart on her sleeve and that sucker is made of gold. Twenty-four carat.

I don’t want to take advantage of her kindness; friend of my Gram’s or not. I also don’t want to get too comfortable here. With her.

Comfort leads to trust, and trust leads to letting your guard down, and that’s how people get hurt.

Because you never believe those people that comfort you are capable of hurting you. Not until the knife’s wedged halfway into your chest.

I push away all thoughts of Evan and his stockbroker beau because they’re the last thing I want to think about. I need to focus on finding a job and getting my shit together.

Er, get Grandma’s shit together, I guess.

“Hey,” I call out nonchalantly as I look up from my phone. Lacey takes a sip of her coffee.