Page 12 of Raging Fires

Her top clung to her wetly, outlining every curve. It was a damn good look on her, but she was right; it wouldn’t work at a wedding. “Don’t you have anything else you can wear?”

“No, Jake. I do not have anything else to wear. I’m not in the habit of changing clothes at McDonald’s.”

“You go to the gym, don’t you?”

“Yes. Okay, I do have a sports bra and shorts in my trunk. You think I should get married in a sports bra and old saggy gym shorts?”

“It might start a trend.” He cracked a smile. Now that he’d gotten the ice cubes out of his shirt, he’d calmed down some. And Kelli in a snit looked… well, there was no other word for it. She looked cute. “You know, when you think about it, this situation really is kinda funny.”

Kelli gave him a death glare and swung around to pop open the trunk of her car. Every movement was a jerk—she was probably imagining that she was pulling out his fingernails—as she slung her damaged jacket into the trunk, then pulled out a small duffle bag and unzipped it, yanked out a piece of cloth, and slammed the lid of the trunk shut. She stalked toward him, holding up a scrap of gray fabric.

“This, Jake. This is what I have to wear. Aside from being, you know, underwear, it’s a crop-top. I am not getting married with a naked stomach and a T-back bra.”

“Okay, okay, calm down. Let me see what I’ve got.” He ambled around to the back of the jeep and dug into it. “Hey. Here. I’ve got a box of something. T-shirts. There are plenty. We can both change.”

He straightened, holding out a fluorescent green shirt with Kents do it in tents emblazoned across the front.

Kelli’s jaw dropped. “The old t-shirts from your family reunion?” Astonishment had driven the anger from her voice. “What are you doing with t-shirts from five years ago in the back of your car?”

“Shockingly, a lot of people ‘forgot’ to take theirs home after the reunion was over.” He shrugged. “I guess I just left them here. I don’t drive the jeep anymore.”

She came over to him and took the t-shirt, looking uncertain. “Really? We’re going to get married again in matching t-shirts that say Kents do it in tents?”

“You tell me.” Jake plucked the gray bra from her and held it up in one hand. “Sports bra.” He raised the t-shirt in his other hand. “Or matching t-shirts that make us look like a couple of jackasses.”

Kelli groaned and grabbed both garments from him. “Well, at least I won’t have to go bra-less beneath the jackass t-shirt.”

Okay. That was an image that would mess up his mind for the rest of the afternoon. Kelli climbed into her car to change, closing her door and turning her back to him. Like he was a stranger. That was irritating as hell.

“You don’t have to hide,” he called. “I’ve seen it all before.”

“Yeah, well, I’d prefer not to get arrested for indecent exposure outside McDonald’s. And just because you’ve seen it before doesn’t mean you’re ever going to see it again.”

“Right. Thanks for reminding me. For a minute there, I forgot we hated each other.” She didn’t reply; he wasn’t sure she’d heard him. Probably better that way.

Jake stripped off his shirt and pulled on the hideous green one. He could barely shove his head through the opening, and it was so tight he thought it might cut off his breath. He dug through the box, pulling out shirt after shirt. Apparently they were one-size-fits-all. He hadn’t been able to wear one-size-fits-all since he was fifteen. He pulled at the constricting neck, hoping to stretch it, then tugged at the hem, which barely reached the waistband of his jeans. He had visions of the shirt splitting apart like the Hulk’s in the middle of the ceremony.

After a few minutes, Kelli emerged from her car wearing the baggy tee with her skirt. “At least I didn’t have to wear the fugly gym shorts. I had the jacket on my lap so my skirt only got a few spots on it.”

She turned around and saw him in his too-tight shirt, and she burst out laughing. “You’re right. It is kinda funny.”

Chapter Eight

They were silent on the drive to the Blue Shack. The open-air Jeep was too noisy to hear anything. And anyway, what was there to say? Kelli’s spirits, already low today, had severely dropped by the time they pulled into the bar’s front parking lot. There were only a few cars there, one of them Gran’s dinosaur Buick.

“Geez, are they still letting Gran drive around in that thing?” Jake remarked as he pulled in beside the behemoth. “She’s got to be a wreck waiting to happen.”

“They?” Kelli asked sarcastically. “Exactly who do you think is going to stop her? Pops was the only one she ever listened to. She’d still be hauling around empty kegs in the back if he hadn’t been so insistent that she stop. Don’t know who can possibly do anything about her now.” Kelli’s eyes filled with tears again and she looked away from Jake, blinking until they subsided.

“You have a point.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze. It was an innocent gesture, but the touch of Jake’s capable fingers still sent shivers through her. And her mind was now running through the other, decidedly not innocent, ways Jake had touched her. Kelli quickly pulled her hand away.

Getting out of the car, she tried to finger comb her hair into something that didn’t look like she’d stuck her finger in an electrical outlet. She remembered now why she hated Jake’s Jeep. It was like being in a wind tunnel. On the positive side, the hair on the front third of her head was no longer in wet sticky strings. It was now in dry, sticky spikes.

The Jeep had no handy mirror in the visor, of course, so she bent to peer into the side rear-view mirrors. She tugged and swiped, but her hair was hopeless. Nor could she completely wipe off the mascara smudges beneath her eyes from her stupid tears earlier. As if dealing with Pops’ death hadn’t been bad enough on its own, she’d had to call her ex for help, knowing exactly how much he would enjoy her humiliation at having to ask him to rescue her.

Now here she was, looking like she just got off a rollercoaster, wearing a dorky t-shirt with her favorite skirt and heels. And she was late for her wedding. The only thing that could be worse was if she was having to re-marry the jerk she’d divorced four years ago. Oh, wait. She was.

Why had Pops left the bar to her with this requirement? Why had she agreed? Was owning this stupid bar really worth it?