Page 41 of Catching Sparks

“Stop being so stubborn. I’m not asking you to stop dancing. Just to put a curtain up.”

I cross my arms, not giving him a single inch here. No way am I allowing him to push me around, brother or not. I’m not pressing my bare ass up against the window for all to see, and as far as I’m concerned, even if I was, it’s within my rights to do so. I’m not doing anything wrong by dancing on a pole, nor am I doing it for their attention.

“You’ve pissed me off now, Darren.”

“When do I not piss you off?”

“You were off to a pretty good start.”

He sets his hands on his waist and drops his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Forget it, then.”

“I was already planning on it.”

Spinning on my heel, I leave him in the room alone. The window he’s so worried about is right in front of me now, and I glare at it, invisible steam shooting from my ears. I’m moving the moment I see Caleb in the open garage bay.

Darren calls after me when I shove the door to the studio open and storm down the sidewalk. Anna’s car is parked beside mine, Thistle and Thorn directly next door. If I wasn’t in such a rage, I’d stop in and ask for her help with this, but I can take care of this myself.

“Hey, Pops,” Caleb says once he sees me coming. The shift of his casual expression to one of surprise comes a second later once he has a chance to really take me in. “Oh, shit.”

I jab my finger at him, the soles of my sneakers scuffing the uneven pavement. “You better not have been involved in these so-called conversations about me and what I do in the privacy of my own damn studio, Caleb, or I swear to God?—”

“Woah, slow down. You know better than to think I’d have anything to do with all that,” he says stiffly, sounding offended.

Realistically, I do. The guy’s been happily married for forever, but the hurt and frustration rolling through me doesn’t seem to care much about it.

“Fine,” I mutter before pushing past him into the garage bay.

The fire truck is wet, red paint gleaming in the sun as three volunteers scrub the side with thick, wet sponges. I’ve never gotten to know most of these firefighters on a personal level. It’s hard not to recognize every face in a town this small, but sometimes, that’s the end of it. I can’t say I’m regretting not wasting my time speaking to them much when they’ve been too busy running their mouths off about me and my body.

All three of them are staring at me as I close the space between us. Their eyes bulge when I continue right for them.

“Which of you has been watching me in my window and then blabbing about it? I don’t even want to know what you’ve said because I’m sure I’d be appalled, but I do want to know why you feel comfortable enough to do it, especially around my brother!” I shout, chest heaving.

“What the fuck, Darren?” one of the guys yells, staring right past me.

I forcefully clear my throat and step into his view, waving both my hands in front of him. “Why are you talking to my brother right now?”

“I don’t know what Darren told you, but I haven’t said shit,” a different guy says.

“Me either,” the third blurts out, taking a step backward, away from the scene I’m causing.

So that leaves one, at least one who’s at the station right now. God knows how many others there are that are off today.

I bare my teeth at the red-haired guy in front of me, the one still shooting daggers over my shoulder instead of looking directly at me.

“So, what? You’ll only look at me when I’m on a pole but not right in front of you wearing appropriate clothes?” I ask, seething in a way I haven’t since I heard the first negative comment about my studio years ago. “As if I don’t have enough to worry about! You’re just as bad as my old-as-shit landlord!”

Maybe my red-hot response to this has more to do with the ongoing judgment I face in Cherry Peak than what Darren requested of me, or maybe it doesn’t. Maybe I’m just sick and tired of men feeling brave enough to run their mouths about others—especially women—simply because they can and believe there’s nothing wrong with it.

Finally, the guy gifts me with his full attention. The annoyed curl of his lip has my fingers curling into a fist. “If you don’t want an audience, maybe don’t give us a show, sweetheart. I ain’t gonna apologize for looking.”

I’m vaguely aware of the footsteps behind me, the pace of them obviously too quick to be a casual walk. But I don’t particularly care about who’s watching. Let this serve as a warning for everyone in Cherry Peak.

He doesn’t have a chance to protect his face before my knuckles crunch his nose. There’s no squirting blood like I’d hoped, but it does begin to trickle from his left nostril the moment I drop my arm and stare at his shocked form.

“Poppy?”

I snap my teeth at the guy I’ve just punched and allow the hands now gripping my arms to shift me away, turning me in the opposite direction. My smile falls when I take in the full expanse of the man bending slightly in front of me, his green eyes brutally cold as they drift over my face.

---