Page 11 of Fire in You

I shook my head. “Ass.”

Wondering why the cat even bothered sleeping next to me, I reached for my cellphone. Hitting the screen, I saw I had a missed call from my friend Abby. “Shoot,” I murmured, remembering I’d turned the phone on silent after I’d gotten done talking to Avery last night.

Weeks had passed since I’d last spoken to Abby, and it had been almost a year since I’d seen her. When I headed back home for Thanksgiving, we were going to have to get coffee and catch up. Since she and Colton married a few years back, they’d been in the process of renovating an old, nineteenth -home they’d bought.

There was also a missed call and message from a local number I didn’t recognize. Curious, I hit the message button and waited.

“Hey, Jillian, this is—um—this is Grady. We met last night?” There was an awkward laugh. “Well, of course you probably remember that. Anyway, I hope you don’t get mad, but I finagled your phone number from Avery, because I wanted to know if you’d like to check out that art exhibit I was telling you about. I’m going to be out of town this weekend, but I would love to show it to you when I get back.”

Eyes wide, I stared at my phone in disbelief as Grady rattled off his phone number and then laughed again when he realized I’d have his number because of caller ID. His constant laughing at himself was . . . it was cute.

Grady wanted to see me again after I insinuated I had an uncontrollable bowel or something? For real?

A shocked laugh burst out of me. I didn’t even know what to think of that, and I felt like I needed a gallon of coffee to truly process it.

I threw the covers off my legs and rose from the comfy bed, padded across the plush carpet, and made my way down the narrow hallway, into the sunlit kitchen and living area. The hardwood floors in the main part of the apartment were cool under my bare feet.

Rhage was sitting on the kitchen island, his bushy tail swinging to and fro as he watched me shuffle toward the coffeemaker.

“There’s food in the bowl,” I told the cat, placing my phone on the counter. “You can eat the dry kibble and it won’t hurt you.”

As I turned around, Rhage hopped off the island and pranced out into the living room, his furry butt high in the air. A second later I heard one of the thick pillar candles hit the floor and roll across it.

“Ass,” I muttered and then said louder, “You’re eating the food in the bowl.”

Another candle hit the floor.

I folded my arms across my chest. “Throwing a temper tantrum is not going to get you anywhere.”

There was a moment of silence and then the loud thump of the wooden candleholder joining the candles on the floor. Then the remote hit the floor, and I knew he’d move on to bigger and more fragile things, like the blue blown-glass bottles situated on the center of the coffee table.

“What a diva.”

Sighing, I pivoted around and went to the narrow pantry. I opened the door and grabbed a small can of wet cat food. The tinny sound of the lid peeling open was like ringing a damn dinner bell. Tiny cat paws scampered off the floors and Rhage came slipping and sliding into the small kitchen. I raised a brow as he crashed into his water bowl. Water sloshed over the side, spreading across the mat the bowls sat on.

Rhage stared up at me with yellow eyes, ears perked, and I’d swear, if I didn’t know better, the damn cat was smiling.

I was such a pushover.

Seriously.

My gaze drifted to where my phone sat. Grady’s laugh was . . . it was cute. Maybe I would call him back and take him up on his offer.

Maybe.

Later that day, after reading what had to be every article on Buzzfeed, I picked up my phone and called Grady.

And I made plans to see him next weekend, when he was back in town.

Chapter 5

I spent the rest of Saturday and most of Sunday absurdly proud of myself, because agreeing to go out with Grady again without Cam and Avery was a good step—a great step, because what else would I be doing?

Living like a hermit in my apartment, arguing with my asshole cat while trying not to drop ice cream on my Kindle and using my stomach as a table for my bowl? Yep. That soundedalmostright.

Sunday night, I spent an ungodly amount of time going through my closet, plotting what I would wear on my first day at work at the Academy. That time was interrupted by a call from the mothership.

“Are you excited about tomorrow?” That was what Mom said when I answered the phone.

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