Torch (Take It Off #1)(11)
Author: Cambria Hebert

He glanced over the back of the couch, his bright eyes spearing me in the fading light of the room. “You hungry?”

My stomach rumbled. I nodded.

“Pizza?”

I nodded again. “Veggie?”

He made a face. “Please tell me you don’t eat nothing but lettuce.”

I smiled, the tense muscles in my back relaxing. “No, but I like veggie pizza.”

“Sausage too?”

I nodded even though sausage wasn’t my favorite.

“Veggie it is!” He must have had the pizza place on speed dial because he had the pizza ordered in five seconds flat.

I decided to stop clinging to the door and moved farther into the room, slipping my flip-flops off and leaving them beside the door.

“So, Freckles,” he said when I sat down.

“Freckles?” I interrupted.

“You said I couldn’t call ya, Katie-cat.”

I shuddered. “I do have a given name, you know.”

“I don’t want to call you what everyone else calls you.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope.”

“Why?” I asked suspiciously.

“Because I’m special.”

“There goes that ego of yours again.” I held out my arms wide. “Big,” I mouthed.

A few minutes later, the pizza arrived and I was a little shocked at how fast that happened. But when Holt opened the door and greeted the delivery guy by name, I understood. He must eat a lot of pizza.

When the box was open in front of us, the TV volume was turned down low, and napkins were scattered on the couch between us, he shoved half a slice in his mouth and then looked at me. “So, Freckles, who’s trying to kill ya?”

I choked a little on the bite as I swallowed, a little shocked at his bluntness. “No one.”

He looked at me in disbelief.

“I think it was just a random thing. A burglary gone wrong. The police seem to agree.”

“You think someone tying you to a chair and pouring gasoline all over your house was random?”

I set down the pizza, no longer hungry. “Yes, I do. I don’t know anyone who would try to kill me.”

He regarded me for long moments. “No one?”

“You say that like I’m some criminal with a bunch of mobster friends.”

He laughed. “There is no mob in Wilmington.”

I leaned in. “You sure about that?” I deadpanned.

His eyes widened a little and I grinned.

“Funny,” he said and shoved the rest of the pizza into his mouth.

“May I use your restroom?”

“Make yourself at home,” he said and then directed me toward the right room.

I shut myself in the bathroom and studied myself in the mirror. It was just as I thought. I looked like crap. Well, except for my hair, thanks to the nurse. It actually looked good, falling in waves over my shoulders and onto my chest. It actually stayed fairly straight too, the cinnamon-colored, thick strands only taking on a bit of waviness, likely from the time I spent in the hospital bed. My skin was paler than usual, making the practically orange freckles that scattered across my cheeks and nose stand out. My eyes were light colored, blue, but they weren’t icy cool like Holt’s. They were more grayish, like a stormy sky, and were lined with light-red eyelashes that kind of disappeared against my skin (thank goodness for mascara). My lips were full and peach-colored, on the pale side, and I usually used gloss to give them more pop.

I looked down at Holt’s shirt buttoned up over my hospital gown and grinned ruefully. I looked ridiculous. Carefully, I peeled off his shirt and untied the gown from around my neck. It was so large it fell around my bare feet in a puddle. I covered back up with Holt’s shirt, glad for once that my breasts weren’t large because I didn’t have a bra to hold them up. I couldn’t help but notice how comfortable the worn fabric of his shirt was against my skin and how it carried the scent of him, which caused me to breathe a little deeper.

I shoved the gown in the trash, hoping I would never have to wear one like it again, and then did my business and left the bathroom. By the time I was back on the couch, I felt weary and my injuries were hurting.

“Everything come out okay?” Holt said when I sat down.

“Did you seriously just ask me that?” I couldn’t help but laugh.

“You were gone a long time.”

“My hands are burned and so are my wrists!”

That seemed to wipe the humor off his face. I hadn’t meant to do that. “Want me to help you with the bandages?”

“No, the nurse did it before you arrived.”

“You barely ate,” he observed.

I picked up the pizza and took a bite, not because I wanted it, but because he clearly wanted me to. I paused in chewing. Since when did I do things because someone else wanted me too? Uh, never.

I set the pizza back down and scooted into the couch cushions, leaning my head back and trying to get comfortable. I felt homesick. I missed my couch, my favorite blanket, and my house. I knew this was only temporary, that I would have my own place again, but I hated temporary.

Temporary was just a word—a state of being that really just meant nothing was mine. It was like I was borrowing something that didn’t belong to me.

I was tired of that.

I wanted permanent.

Some action movie was playing on the flat screen and I turned my attention toward that, trying to distract myself. I was only tired. Tired and upset. A combination that always made me feel slightly grouchy and, tonight, kind of sad.

Tomorrow I would feel better.

Holt snorted at something on the TV and I turned my head to look at him. He was so solid looking—wide shoulders, strong jaw, and rock-hard biceps. The stubble on his face was soft, setting off some of the hardness he projected. His presence was reassuring; somehow he made me feel like everything was going to be okay.

The blurry vision of him stepping through the fire to rescue me arose in my head, and I tried to see more of him, but a memory was just that—a memory. I couldn’t really pull more detail out of that moment even though I wanted to. If I were able, I doubt I would notice how good-looking he was in his fireman’s gear. If anything, I would notice the way the flames devoured my home.

I closed my eyes, willing myself to stop thinking altogether. I took a few deep breaths and positioned my arms so my wrists wouldn’t get squished beneath my body. It didn’t take long to drift off into soundless sleep. Every once in a while, the TV would break into my slumber, but I found the sound comforting. It made me feel less alone.