Page 13 of The Do-Over Girl

Charline and Steve Oliver stand on the lawn on the other side of the front walk, staring at the house. A fireman who looks like he’s in charge hurries over to us. “Anyone else inside?”

“No,” Nash says with confidence, like he’s checked all the rooms. Maybe he did. He got me out, rousing me from a dead sleep—and that dream.

“I’m Chief Goodall.” He nods at me. “You’re Kali Austin, right? You went to school with my younger brother.” I smile, recalling his brother had a mad crush on me. He turns to Nash. “And everyone knows who you are.” Nash doesn’t return the chief’s smile.

“When will we know if there’s a fire or if it’s a false alarm? I didn’t smell smoke or see any flames.” Nash is all business.

“The men are checking the house now, starting in the basement where the first alarm went off. We’ll keep you posted.” The chief is all business now, too. He excuses himself and crosses over the walk, barely avoiding the roses lining the path, to speak to Charline.

Nash turns to me, and I’m suddenly aware that he’s still gripping my arm, holding me close to him. I step away, and he drops his hand. If I thought I’d feel relief being released from his hold, I was wrong. The feeling of safety and comfort I didn’t realize he provided evaporates, and I shiver.

He looks me over, one eyebrow raised, and I look down, just now realizing I’m dressed in nothing but a thin and very short night shirt that says Bad Decisions Make Good Stories. I dart a glance at the chief who’s talking in his walkie-talkie and blush. Then I return Nash’s gaze, and the blush deepens into something more than embarrassment.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure the chief has seen his share of young ladies escaping from houses in nothing but their nighties.” He smirks, his one dimple making him look like the devil he is.

“Sure. I’ll bet.” Maybe it’s true, but it’s hard to believe Nash means to console me rather than tease me with sarcasm. I scowl, shaking my head as I cross my arms over my chest.

“Here, take this.” He shrugs out of his shirt, the white button-down he’d been wearing at dinner, leaving him in a skintight white T-shirt that highlights every one of his bulging, round muscles that look like they’re being showcased by the moonlight in a devilish conspiracy to tempt me.

Before I can protest, he wraps the shirt over my shoulders, and damn him, it feels warm from his body and is redolent with the heady scent of him. Shit. Flashes of my dream come to mind, giving my neglected pussy some crazy ideas.

Avoiding his eyes, I watch the front door like everyone else—except Nash, who has no problem staring rudely at me with that smirk, undoing any notion of chivalry motivating his actions. The jerk is trying to toy with me, to get a reaction from me, so I ignore him.

Eventually, the three firefighters emerge from the front door and huddle with the Chief. When the helmets and gear come off, I breathe in a sigh. While the chief goes to talk to Charline, one of the other firefighters approaches me and Nash.

“Is it safe to go back inside?” Nash asks, a note of sarcasm in his voice.

“Yes, sir.”

“What was the problem?” I ask as the young man looks at me with the kind of smile I recognize as more than appreciative—call it flirtatious. I pull the shirt more tightly around me and, much to my chagrin, Nash moves closer and puts a hand at the small of my back. Shit. Why does feeling the warmth of his hand on my back through the material erase everything else from my mind?

“The alarm was set off by a burnt wire in the basement. It created a small smoky fire that luckily didn’t spread fast because of the dampness down there. Mrs. Pike has promised to get the electrician in ASAP. No problem with going back inside—though we had to shut down a couple of breakers so some of the electricity will be out.” He keeps his smile aimed at me and amps it up. “I’ll be coming by tomorrow to check on you—I mean the house.”

“That’s nice,” I say noncommittally.

Nash clears his throat, though it sounds more like a growl, and the fire fighter turns to him as if he’s finally noticed Nash’s presence.

“You’re Nash Lewis. I remember watching you play at Andrews Point Academy when I was a kid.” He grins, and I stifle a laugh because Nash definitely doesn’t like reminders of his advanced age, especially compared to this young buck. He has to be ten years younger—than both of us. But what do I care? Not at all. It wouldn’t be the first time a younger man showed interest in me. I’ve never been tempted. This time is no different. Though Nash doesn’t have to know that, does he?

“Want my autograph?” Nash quips, no pretense of a smile on his face.

Our young firefighter laughs, not taking him seriously and not taking offense either. Points for his confidence. He turns back to me. “My name is Ken. How about if I come by tomorrow when you’re around? I can show you around the fire station, maybe give you a ride on my fire truck?”

I cough to hide a laugh at the innuendo, but mostly I’m amused at Nash’s immediate tension, his muscles coiling so tightly that I can feel it in the fingers still touching my back. Despite being raised to be a good girl, I decide to fight Nash with his own weapon of choice—taunting—because it’s the only way to shut him down.

“Come by after school. I’m teaching there—"

“Don’t we have some business to take care of after school? You and I?” Nash leans into me, his deep sexy voice filling my ears and all my senses, making me vibrate. His words are meant to send a message to Ken as he throws an intimidating stare at my new firefighter friend. Nash is a good three inches taller than Ken, so maybe that’s why his intimidation seems to work.

“That’s right,” he says to Nash, backing up a step. “You’ve come back to town to save the school, haven’t you? That’s really cool of you, man.”

Nash nods.

The younger and equally macho firefighter grins. “Sorry to hear you were forced into retirement and found yourself ending up back here in town where you started.” He doesn’t look sorry. Shit. Even I cringe as I feel Nash’s tension ratchet up like someone just threw down their gloves on the ice and started circling for a fight. Metaphorically, Ken kind of did throw down his gloves. I automatically reach for Nash’s arm and hold on—just in case he gets any ideas.

My heart pounds loud enough to fill the beats of silence before Nash replies to the nervy young buck. I’m kind of wishing I didn’t flirt with him now. What was I trying to prove anyway?

“You live here in town, right? How bad can it be?”