Suppose Dean and I now have something in common.
Technically, two things: grease fires and pie.
But I’m not giving him the satisfaction of ever admitting my mistake out loud.
Dean looks to the firefighter. “What’s the bad news?”
“You burned your apartment.”
“Fully aware.” His teeth gnash together, jaw tight with frustration. “I meant—”
“Is that a turtle?” the firefighter interrupts, pointing to Leo, who is sitting between us in his hut at the back of the ambulance. “Were there any other pets inside the apartment?”
“Just Leo here.”
“You named your turtle Leo?” The man huffs. “How original.”
“Thank you!” I toss my hands up. “That’s what I said!”
“He’s actually named after Tolstoy.”
“Uh-huh. I’m sure that’s what you were going for and you didn’t just come up with that after you named your turtle after the Ninja Turtle and people made fun of you for it.”
“I don’t have to answer to you, especially when you’re dressed like a baked potato.” Dean’s eyes drift down my body.
I don’t get the same chills I got when he raked that gaze over my towel-clad body earlier. The hair on my arms doesn’t stand on end, and my whole being doesn’t tingle with something I haven’t felt in areallylong time.
No. Now, I’m mortified.
I look ridiculous.
Like the idiot I am, so wrapped up in my anger at Dean, I ran next door to yell at him in nothing but my towel.
By the time I’d realized it, it was too late to turn back. He was opening the door, and I am not one to back down from a challenge—no matter how ridiculously dressed I am.
Then the fire happened, and the last thing on my mind was putting on clothes. I just wanted out of the burning building because the last person I want to die next to ishim.
Now I’m standing at the back of the ambulance wrapped in some spacesuit-like blanket looking like a fool while our neighbors glare at us for ruining their day.
I’m glad Caroline is at work and isn’t around to witness this—though I’m sure Cooper, who is trying his damnedest to hold back a smirk, will relay the debacle in complete detail.
I give him a wave, and he tips his head to the side.
You okay?he mouths, like the gentleman he is.
I shoot him a thumbs-up and he grins, accepting my answer.
Like I can feel his eyes on me, I glance up at Dean, who’s staring down at me with a look I can’t quite decipher.
“What?”
Ignoring me, he turns back to the firefighter. “What’s the damage?”
“Your apartment is burned.” The firefighter laughs when Dean’s face twists with frustration. “I’m just screwing with you, kid. Sometimes you have to find a way to laugh on a tough job like this.”
He doesn’t respond, just stares at the first responder with unamused eyes.
The guy clears his throat. “Well, like I said, the fire was semi-contained, so much of the damage is to the kitchen. However, because of the open concept of the apartment, my men are reporting that part of the living room was damaged as well.”