Page 3 of The Heat is On

Skye shook her head. The guy was smooth, no doubt.

The music soothed the tenor in the room. The Zulies enticed a couple of pretty tourist twins onto the floor. Probably just by flexing their smokejumper muscles.

And wow, she’d turned cynical.

Her chili fries came, finally, and she watched the flirting on the dance floor. She wasn’t immune to the fine cut of her teammates, but she’d drawn a line years ago between work and romance.

Although in truth, she’d sort of forgotten what romance looked like.

Felt like.

She did remember that romance was messy and complicated and meant a guy would eventually look beyond the exterior. She might look tough and capable and fierce, but inside lived a mess she spent most of the time trying to ignore. And sure, God had helped untangle a lot of it—enough for her to forgive herself, most of the time. But she wasn’t taking any chances letting someone close enough to see her darkness. Her secrets.

No, romance wasn’t worth the cost.

Abba’s “Dancing Queen” came over the jukebox. What, didn’t they have anything from this century?

She finished her fries, wiped her mouth, her hands, and was finishing off her Coke when Life Is Good came up to her table. He smiled at her as she stared up at him.

“So, are you with these guys?” He nodded toward her Jude County Smoke Jumpers T-shirt emblem. “Smokejumpers?”

“Mmmhmm,” she said, stirring the ice in her Coke, trying to catch his vibe.

The Zulies were cutting it up with the twin tourists.

Up close, the man looked like an English teacher or a public defender from the Lower 48. Clean-cut, hair just behind his ears, the smattering of a five o’clock shadow. Built, lean body, honed by a gym but suited to the outdoors. He smiled, and it was sweet, and not at all creepy. “Cool. Wanna dance?”

Oh. Deer in the headlights.

“C’mon, Pope, let’s get out of here.”

The voice came from behind the man, over his shoulder, and Skye’s gaze landed on the big man in denim from the bar, and particularly on a scar that ran down his cheek, just below his eye, and dissected his upper lip. As if he’d been clawed by Wolverine. A tincture of red along the scar betrayed either the heat of the bar or a wound not quite healed to white.

Pope—Mr. Life Is Good—turned at the voice. And for a second, Skye thought she saw his eyes narrow, his jaw tighten. Something about it ran a cold finger down her spine.

Then, he smiled, and clamped his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Yep, you’re probably right.”

He turned back to Skye. “Sorry. We’ll have to take a rain check on that dance.”

She offered him a half smile and watched him go.

“Hey, Skye.” Romeo slid into her booth. He set his Coke on the table.

“I’m not dancing.”

He held up his hands. “Whoa. Where did that come from?”

Oh. With his sweet brown eyes, tousled dark blond hair, lithe and toned body, Romeo probably could live up to his name. Except he seemed a little shy around the ladies—she hadn’t seen him with even one girl since they started rookie smokejumping camp together.

Which meant, given his ease with talking to her, he probably didn’t see her that way. Good.

Still, she’d stuck her foot in her mouth. “Sorry. I’m just in a bad mood.” Her gaze flashed to Riley, back in the corner now with Larke, one hand braced over her shoulder as he leaned against the wall. With the other, he ran his finger across her cheek, tucking her white-blonde hair behind her ear. Definite leaning happening at eleven o’clock.

Skye shook her head.

Romeo laughed, turning back from where he’d followed her gaze. “Yeah, Riley knows how to charm them.” He took a sip of his Coke. “Why didn’t you sit with us?”

She shoved her straw into her ice, like a pick. “I screwed up.”

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