Page 4 of Dueling Flames

“Yes,” I said slowly.

“Thorne lives on the fourth floor with no elevator. He’s going to have a tough time getting in and out of his apartment for the first few weeks. You’re on the same schedule, and he doesn’t have family here—”

“Really? You’re asking me?” I knew the situation with Thorne’s apartment building, since I lived there, too.

“It would only be for maybe three…six weeks.”

I stared at him. “Three or six?”

“Probably six.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re partners. Like I said, you have the same schedule.”

“I don’t have the room for an extra person.”

“Think of him as an out-of-town visitor.”

“No.”

“At least until his back feels better. Using crutches with a sore back—”

“Surely you could house him.” We’d all been to Captain Cole’s house for the occasional summer barbeque.

“My wife is renovating the kitchen, which means the entire house is a minefield. I’ve almost broken my neck four times last week alone. It’s unnavigable for someone on crutches.”

“There are so many more people we work with.”

“And everyone else has kids, partners, or lives on a high floor. And you both live in the same building.”

“Why are you asking and not Thorne?”

“Because I’m hoping I don’t have to order you to do the right thing.”

“Are you serious?” I glared at him.

“Also, Thorne doesn’t know I’m asking. He insists he can manage the four floors with no problem.”

I frowned and started walking toward the exit. The captain had a point. The elevator in our building had been broken for the last three months. And I’d been up those stairs a time or two. They were just narrow enough and steep enough to notice. Dumbass Thorne was sure to hurt himself again going up and down them.

“So, what’s your answer?” Captain Cole called.

I kept walking and said, “I hate you.”

“Is that a yes?” he yelled.

“Shut up, I gotta go make room in my tiny ass apartment.”

Lissa

The captain picked up Thorne from the hospital and drove him home. I followed Thorne as he hobbled up the stairs to pack his things. It made me feel bad for even thinking he should just suck it up and walk it every day. He refused any help except to carry his things back down the stairs. His studio apartment was only slightly smaller than my one bedroom. How on earth were we going to live together in such a small space?

Once back on the first floor in my apartment, he collapsed onto my couch. “Can we do the tour in like half an hour? These crutches take it out of me.”

“How’s your back feeling?” I brought him a glass of water and sat on the couch with him.

“Hurts, but the doctor said it would be sore for a few days.”