Page 38 of Raging Fires

“I know. I’m not going to bring him inside.” She stood up. “I’m going to get him some food. Don’t let him leave, Jake.”

“Yeah, right.” Like the dog wasn’t already trotting right behind Kelli. He clearly knew a sucker when he saw one.

Jake picked up the plant and the Swiffer and followed. Kelli slipped inside, deftly keeping her newfound love out with a foot. The dog sat down and whined at the door. Jake knew how he felt. He set the plant back down by the steps and leaned the Swiffer against the wall. Then he stood, shoulder to one of the porch posts—which he had painted, not Mr. Man-bun—and waited for Kelli to re-emerge. She slipped out of the door, a plate of ground beef in hand and set it down on the porch, which was no mean feat since the dog was already jumping for it.

“I was going to grill burgers with that tomorrow,” Jake protested.

“Are you serious? Are you going to refuse to share with a poor starving animal?”

“You could have at least given him that smelly fish instead.”

“Salmon is good for you. It has good fats, and that’s important. Stephanie says—”

“Wait. What? Stephanie? Moran’s wife?”

She nodded. “I told you I had coffee with her last week. She said Neil eats it at least once a week.”

Jake groaned and wiped his hand down his face. “So now I’m getting diet tips from Neil Moran.”

“Who better? You told me you were studying the mechanics of his throw.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. Jake didn’t really care what they were talking about. He was enjoying the hell out of looking at Kelli. Maybe it was worth burning up all night long if it meant she was wearing this little outfit around the house in the mornings.

Her sleep shorts were loose but showed a lot of leg and were made of some silky material that would feel really good beneath his fingers. The top was even better, the same material, with little spaghetti straps that tied in bows and would be so easy to tug apart. The material was soft enough that the points of her nipples thrust against it. Her hair was down and all sleep-tangled. And though it didn’t seem possible, he really thought she was sexier than she had been four years ago.

He was an idiot, of course, to set himself up this way. The past two weeks had been torture, sticking to her rules, steering clear of her. Her scent was everywhere, permeating the bathroom after she took a shower. One day he’d gone in and sniffed her shampoo like a creep. She was there every morning in a t-shirt or tank top and shorts, her hair up in a messy knot, scrambling eggs while he brewed coffee and put in the toast, a chore he’d taken on so he could put in bread that was made from actual wheat.

That sleepy, quiet time was the most harmonious they ever were, almost like the past, and once or twice he’d had to stop himself from going to her at the stove and curling an arm around her waist, lifting her hair to kiss the back of her neck.

The dumbest thing of all was that in the evenings when she wasn’t there to stir him up, he sometimes went over to the Blue for a beer and watched her. Or, at least, the dumbest thing until tonight when he’d sat there on the couch with her, separated by only a couple of feet, so close he could touch her, bantering back and forth about a horror movie.

It had been like old times—only, you know, without the love part. He’d spent half his time looking over at her instead of the screen, and the rest of it imagining her coming across the couch and sitting down astride him.

He’d gone to bed wanting her, and then there was that dream, sultry and sweet, Kelli’s body on his, her hands gliding over him, his own fingers sliding into that sweet spot between her legs, hot and wet and ready for him.

Remembering all that and looking at Kelli now in the flimsy garments, there was nothing in his mind except visions of being in her bed, being in her, sheathed in that tight heat. How in the hell was he going to last through a year of this?

Kelli, of course, wasn’t thinking of anything but the stray dog, who had just wolfed down Jake’s dinner tomorrow and was standing there, wagging his tail hopefully. “No, no more for you right now,” Kelli told him, patting his head. “You eat too much all at once and you’ll get sick.” She looked up at Jake. “We need to think of a name for him.”

“Why?”

“So we can call him something besides boy.”

“How about Toby?”

“Jake…” Kelli gave him a stern look.

“What? It’s a perfect dog name. It’s just guys that shouldn’t be named Toby.” This was almost enough to make Jake like the dog.

“We are not naming him Toby.” She crossed her arms and stared out across the parking lot, tapping one foot. After a moment, she said, “What about Traveler?”

“Huh? What about a traveler?”

“For a name. That’s what we were talking about.”

“You were talking about a name,” Jake told her, then added, “I already have one: Toby.”

Kelli gave him one of those fake glares—the kind that he enjoyed, not the real one that could stab you through the heart. Or, at least, he thought it was fake. She whirled and went back in, returning with a bowl of water. She bent over to set the bowl down on the porch, presenting Jake with a perfect view of her rounded ass. He turned away before he could do something stupid. Like caress her arm. Or kiss her. Or, you know, rip off those shorts and squeeze that oh-so-squeezable ass.