Page 104 of Burning for Alexander
When Frank yelled out of his little kitchen window to ask if I needed another beer, I realized I’d been sitting there too long.
“No, thanks. I’m heading out.”
It was time for one last stop before heading home… where the only things waiting for me were a frozen Italian dish and the second half of an old mystery novel I was rereading.
Timber’s front door opened with enough force to rattle the windows. I walked in annoyed as fuck that we were back in a situation that required goddamned inspections every two seconds after the six-month shitshow we’d finally gotten through.
But here we were.
Alex looked just as pleased about it as I was.
“Oh, for the love of fucking Christ,” he murmured.
Maddox Sullivan and Adrian the influencer guy were there filming—probably another one of their holidates—and Maddox made a snarky comment under his breath.
“By complicated, you mean Kincaid’s about to make my night a living hell with another ridiculous inspection to make sure Timber’s living up to his impossible standards,” Alex said, not bothering to lower his voice as I approached the bar.
I made my way toward him, taking my time and nodding to a few people along the way.
“Evening, Firebug,” I called, also not bothering to lower my voice. “Hope you’re not burning anything down, with all of these poor innocent townsfolk trying to enjoy the holiday season.”
Alex cut me a look and inhaled sharply through his nose. The pain of seeing him stole my breath. He was so fucking beautiful and so fucking far away, though he was right in front of me.
“You know what? I actually expected you tonight, Kincaid. It’s been a whole week since your last inspection,” Alex shot back. “Figured you were due for another power trip.”
If these stupid inspections were all we had right now, I was going to make the most of them. Get under his skin, the way he was still—and I was pretty sure wouldalwaysbe—under mine.
I reached the bar and pulled out my flashlight to inspect the paper Santa hats hanging precariously close to the string of holiday lights. “These lights properly secured? Electrical cords in good condition? You know what happens when bars get careless with their wiring.”
“The lights are fine. The cords are fine.Everythingis fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “It was one time, Kincaid. And nothing fucking happened.”
I tilted my head at him and pretended to be confused. “I’m sorry, you didn’t just suggest lighting something on fire thanks to your carelessness was ‘nothing,’ did you?”
Alex closed his eyes. His jaw ticked. He took a breath before opening his eyes and plastering on a fake smile. “What can I do for you, Chief Kincaid? Would you like a holiday cocktail? It’s on me. I’d love to help you celebrate the season with asedative.”
I wanted to provoke him, make a potshot comment about how he tended to light cocktails on fire, but I decided instead to stop antagonizing him. I was tired. One final tease, and I’d go. “Thanksfor your kind offer, but I have to decline. I have a hot date tonight with my?—”
“Great, have fun,” he snapped, cheeks crimson and eyes wide. “Good night.”
I stood there as Alex moved away to mix cocktails. His movements were forced and deliberate, as if he was having to pay extra attention to make sure he didn’t fuck up the process.
“My book and a frozen pizza,” I finished softly, but I wasn’t sure he heard me.
I waited for a response, but none came.
On my way home, I considered texting Max back to tell him I’d changed my mind, that I would fly to Philly for the holiday weekend. But I was too depressed to even pull out my phone.
I didn’t look at my phone again until hours later, when it buzzed with a text from an unknown number telling me they’d deposited their cousin in my yard and “good luck with that.”
I threw on warm clothes and stomped into my boots before racing out the front door, where a very drunk Alex Marian was reciting poetry in my snowy front yard.
“O ruthless stars that grant me sight.” He stopped to hiccup. “To see the man I dream each night. He glares, he stomps, he will not stay—And still my heart won’t look away. If love be a wound, then let it burn—For every scar’s a lesson learned!
His arms were open, and he spun.
“Goddammit!” I shouted, thankful my neighbors were too far away to hear. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I held a flame I could not keep, A blaze that burned my nights of sleep,” he continued, burping a little and weaving on his feet. “That’s Rumi, you know.”
