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“Hey, hey, you can’t go in there,” an officer tells us.
“That’s my house. What happened? Was there anyone in there? Is there anyone in there?” His panicked gaze darts to mine, the same fears reflected there.
“Game.” My voice is a whisper I’m sure he can barely catch over the sound of people shouting and the spray of water.
“Shit. Right. Thank God.” BJ runs his free hand through his sleep-messed hair.
The police officer nods in confirmation. “The house is empty. The fire started in the kitchen. You said you live here, son?”
BJ scrubs his palm over his face and motions to me. “Yeah. I crashed at my cousin’s last night.”
The police officer looks from him to me and back again. “Your cousin?”
It takes me a few seconds to understand why he’s wearing a confused expression. BJ is dressed in only a pair of low-slung jogging pants. His entire lean, somewhat wiry chest on display, along with his tattooed arm, which is mostly a colorful burst of flowers. Lilies to be exact, because that’s his mom’s name, and he loves the freaking shit out of her.
Beyond the shirtlessness, based on the way his jogging pants hang, and the outline at the front, he’s commando. I’m dressed in a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top. It’s black, thankfully, so it hides my nipples, but I’m braless, and there’s a lot of cleavage. BJ’s arm is wrapped around my waist, presumably to keep me from tripping over my own feet.
“Yeah. Cousin. She lives just there.” BJ thumbs over his shoulder and then points at the smoking house. “How bad is it? Do you know what happened? My dad is going to shit a brick.” BJ is all over the place, but I can understand why since his house is currently on fire.
“Hard to say. We’ll know more soon, but it looks like the fire was confined to the kitchen for the most part. You have roommates?”
“Yeah, two, but they play hockey for the school team, so they’re away until tonight.” He looks to me. “This is gonna be bad. We’re gonna have to call everyone.”
I shake my head. “I’m not calling Quinn’s dad.” Lance Romero scares the crap out of me. He’s a nice guy, but when he gets pissed about something, he’s a lot like my dad. The fuse gets lit, and he goes off. I’ve only seen it a few times, but that is more than enough. “Do you think it’ll be better if we call your mom or your dad first?”
BJ strokes his beard like a magic genie is going to appear and blows out a breath. “Dunno who’s gonna be less volatile. I’d say my mom, but man, I can’t see her being happy to hear the kitchen went up in flames. I really hope it was faulty wiring or something.”
Since there’s nothing we can do but stand around and watch the firefighters do their job, BJ and I head back to my house so I can change and find him something to wear from Maverick’s room. I pull a T-shirt from my brother’s closet, unwilling to look inside his dresser. There’s a distinct possibility I might find things I don’t want to, if the tub of lube and box of condoms decorating his nightstand are any indication.
When I return, BJ is sitting at the kitchen table, his phone in front of him, his hands in his hair. I toss the shirt at him and turn on the Nespresso machine.
“Coffee?”
“Please.”
Neither of us talks while I prepare lattes; mine is coconut milk. I grab a box of Lucky Charms from the cupboard and tuck it under my arm. “We should probably go back out there.”
I don’t know what purpose it will serve, other than to remind us we’re lucky the house was empty and BJ likes to sleep on our recliner.
“Yeah.” He’s still staring at his phone.
“Did you call your parents?” I pop a crunchy marshmallow into my mouth. “You don’t want them to see it on the news first.”
“Shit, you’re right. It’s gonna be everywhere.” He waffles between his mom and dad and finally settles on his dad.
BJ video calls him. When his face pops up, it’s like looking in an aging mirror. BJ has his mom’s dark eyes, and his hair is darker than his dad’s salt and pepper, but they are essentially replicas of each other. Uncle Randy’s grin falls as soon as he sees BJ’s serious expression. “What’s wrong?”
BJ explains what he knows so far—that there was a fire, and it started in the kitchen, but they have it under control now. Uncle Randy throws a million questions at him, so we end up walking back over to the house so his dad can talk to someone in charge.
Of course when the police and firefighters realize it’s the Randy Ballistic, former NHL player, they all lose their cool.
