Page 24 of Breakaway Hearts

I can’t help the grin that breaks out across my face. “Well, Sutton, you know me too. And have Ieversaid no to being spoiled?”

He laughs. “That’s my girl.”

My stomach gives a little flutter at the way he says those words—and then it flips over entirely as he leans toward me. His lips brush my cheek, just an inch away from the corner of my mouth. He’s done this before, but somehow knowing what his lips feel like pressed against mine makes it feel much more intimate.

“Goodnight,” he says when he draws back, his voice low and his face partially shadowed in the dim car.

“Goodnight,” I echo. “I’ll see you on Friday.”

I push open the car door and climb out, shivering lightly as cool air hits my flushed skin. Goosebumps break out over my arms as I head up the walkway toward my apartment, and Reese doesn’t pull away until I’m safely inside.

Chapter8

Callie

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I press my lips together, careful not to let my internal monologue come out in case there are any kids lingering in the halls. They should all be gone by now, but I’ve trained myself to keep my language squeaky clean at school just in case.

Reese’s game is tonight, and I wanted to get all my grading done before I went, but I’m already running late.

I hustle out of my classroom, stuffing my current book in my bag as I go. The bus is on a delayed schedule, which means one only comes every twenty minutes, and as I speed walk toward the bus stop, I realize I’ve just missed it.

“Dammit,” I mutter, allowing myself to curse aloud now that I’m away from the school.

I’ve been a distracted mess all day, and although I’d like to deny it’s because I know what’s coming tonight, that would be a lie. I’ve been dreading and looking forward to my next “date” with Reese. It’s weirdly fun, seeing this side of him, being doted on by him and having him treat me like a princess. But it’s also stressful, always having to make sure to keep up the ruse and thinking on my feet to play my role the best I can.

I slump onto the bus stop bench, pulling my phone out and glancing at the screen to read the time. Reese may be right about me needing to get a car. It would be nice, but I can barely afford my apartment as it is. I’m not sure whether any car in my price range would help or hurt, since there’s a good chance that whatever beater I buy would cost an arm and a leg in repairs.

A new bus pulls up about twenty minutes later, and I climb on, nodding to the driver. One nice thing about being a teacher is that school gets out before rush hour, so I can always nab a seat and read for a little while before I get home, which is precisely what I do.

My current read is an office romance with amazing banter and a perfect amount of steam, and I get lost in it as the bus navigates the streets of Denver. Once we reach my stop, I pull the cord and get off, then walk the few blocks to my apartment, hurrying down the sidewalk.

But my footsteps slow as I turn the corner onto my street.

Smoke billows into the air, filling my nostrils with an acrid scent, and I come to a complete stop, staring up at my apartment complex.

It’s on fire.

“What the…?” I murmur, stunned.

Firefighters shout commands at each other from the sidewalk right in front of the building, spraying water from a giant hose. A few of the other residents gather on the sidewalk near me, some without coats, and others holding crying children.

“What happened?” I ask an older woman who I think lives on the bottom floor.

“A fire, obviously.” She wraps her puffy coat closer around her body. “Smaller than it looks, though. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry,” I repeat, suppressing the urge to laugh. How am I not supposed to worry?

“It’s mostly smoke,” the old woman continues. “Started on the first floor. You know that puddle? And the flickering light?” She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “A recipe for disaster, if you ask me.”

“Yeah. I guess it was.” My lips feel a little numb, and I grip my bag tightly to my chest.

After several more minutes, the firefighters turn off the water. Tendrils of smoke still creep out of the building, but there aren’t any flames anymore. I dig my phone out of my bag and pull up my text thread with Reese.

Once I have the thread open, I hesitate, debating about what to tell him. He has his game tonight, and something like this will only distract him. All he needs to know is that I can’t make it—I’ll tell him about the fire later.

ME: Hey. Something came up. Can’t make it to the game tonight. I’m really sorry. Good luck!

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