Kristen Painter - All Fired Up

Setting her soda on the counter, she shuffled into the living room. She grabbed the key off the mantle, knelt and turned the fire off, swaying slightly.

“A-ha. I thought there was magic in that fire when the wood did not burn away.”

The key fell from her hand and clunked onto the hardwood floor as she pivoted. Her robe twisted underneath her and she plopped onto her backside, barely managing to keep her legs together. She swallowed, praying her stomach wouldn’t embarrass her.

The fantasy man from her dream wasn’t a dream. He was still here, sprawled on her sofa, the blue flannel sheet still draped around his waist. National Geographics littered the floor, and Snickers snoozed on his chest like a fat fluffy traitor. Her fantasy man was real and even hotter than she remembered.

She pointed, her finger shaking. “You…you shouldn’t be here. You’re a figment of my imagination. Why aren’t you gone?”

“I tried to explain that to you last night before the wine bested you. And I told you, I will not leave until the three changes have been granted.”

“You mentioned that.” She rubbed her temples. “ Go away.”

He shook his head. “I am the Phoenix you summoned.”

“I can’t believe you’re real. I thought you were a dream.” She groaned softly. “My head hurts too much for this. I need a hot shower and something to eat. Don’t move. I mean it. We’ll discuss this later, okay? Because I have the sinking feeling that ‘later’ you’re still going to be here.”

He smiled. “Aye. I will be here.”

“Don’t smile at me. I’m not in the mood for that either.”

“As you wish.” His smile disappeared.

She stood and tugged her robe a little tighter. A wandering thought made her skin tingle. She narrowed her eyes. “How did I get into bed last night?”

“I carried you.” His big hands massaged Snickers, who rolled over onto his back and kneaded air biscuits into space.

The sight of his hands on her cat and the knowledge that those hands had been on her made her shiver. “Quit doing that to my cat. He doesn’t like men.”

One dark brow arched up. “He likes me well enough. Perhaps he just does not like the men you have brought home thus far.”

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but I am not discussing my love life with a…a naked stranger.” Calleigh snatched the Pepsi off the counter and stomped down the hall to the bathroom, slamming the door to the detriment of her aching head. She locked the door. The nerve of that, that…man thing.

She cranked the shower knob toward hot then got the aspirin out of the medicine cabinet. Popping the top, she dumped three little white pills into her hand. She tossed them into her mouth and washed them down with the diet Pepsi. The fizzy liquid burned her throat.

Closing the toilet lid, she sat and waited for the water to heat. What would her mother do if a strange man suddenly appeared out of a pillar of smoke and fire? Probably set out tea and cookies. Calleigh sighed. She’d always winked at her mother’s beliefs in the “little people”, Irish white witches and the Fae. Maybe her mother hadn’t been so far off.

Steam poured over the top of the glass door. She hung her robe and stepped beneath the blissfully hot water. Tipping her face into the spray, she relaxed. No more thinking until after breakfast.

She emerged from the shower feeling a little better. A few minutes later, she padded back into the living room, dressed in a grey sweatshirt and faded Levi’s, her damp curls pulled through a Yankees baseball cap.

Alrik still sprawled on the couch, one brawny arm propping his head up. Snickers hadn’t moved either and now snored, upside down, feet in the air. Calleigh rolled her eyes as she tugged her sneakers on. Dumb cat.

She didn’t really want to leave this guy alone in her apartment, but she was not taking a naked man to breakfast. “I’ll be back in a little bit. Don’t touch anything, don’t answer the phone, don’t answer the door, just stay right where you are. Understand?”

Alrik jumped up, dumping Snickers onto the couch. “I am going with you.”

“Oh no, you’re not.”

“In this, you cannot stop me. A Phoenix must stay with his charge to protect them from those who might influence their decisions.”

“No one knows about you and these three changes so no one is going to influence anything. And I don’t have to stop you. The police see you walking around in nothing but a sheet and they’ll do the stopping.”

“Police?”

“You know, the law?”

“Aye, the law.” He rubbed his chin and stared at her curiously. “What year is this?”

She frowned. “It’s 2009, why?”

His brows shot up in surprise. “The war is over, then?”

“What war?”

“Between the northern and southern clans.”

“You mean the Civil War? That’s been over for a long time.” She shook her head. Apparently they didn’t get CNN in Phoenixland.

He ignored her response. “I am going with you.”

“I think I covered that already. No shirt, no shoes, no service.” She crossed her arms.

“You will give me clothes.” The sheet slipped down around his hips, exposing lush curves of muscle.

Her mouth felt like the Sahara. “Hah! What makes you think I have anything that will fit you?” She winced at the loudness of her own voice and pressed her palms to her temples. So much for the aspirin.

“Then I will go as I am, law or not.” He folded his arms across his chest. The sheet finished its descent to the floor. He didn’t seem to care that he was naked again.

Oh my. A new, more intimate part of her body started throbbing. She threw up her hands. “Fine! Wait here.”

Mumbling under her breath, she went to her bedroom, returning a few minutes later with a bundle.

“Here.” She tossed a football jersey in his direction without looking, even though she wanted to. “These were supposed to be part of the bonfire so I don’t care if you stretch them out. These sweatpants are gonna be small but they’re all I have.” Eyes on the wall, she flung the pants in the same direction.

“ Sweat pants?”

She glanced over her shoulder. He held the pants out with two fingers and sniffed at them.

She turned around, hands on her hips. “For Pete’s sake, that’s just what they’re called. They’re perfectly clean, just put them on already.”

He laughed softly. She was staring again. And not at his face.

Her cheeks went supernova. She spun back toward the wall and tried to think about baseball and math. “Hurry up, I’m hungry and hung over and in no mood for your games.”

“I am not playing games, Calleigh lass. You will know when I am playing games with you, trust me.”

The tone of his voice implied things she didn’t want to think about. Or maybe she did want to think about them. Focus! “Are you dressed yet?”

“Aye.”

She pivoted to face him. Tight didn’t accurately describe the sweatpants. The peel on a banana fit looser. He filled out the jersey like he wore the proper padding underneath. People were going to think he shopped in the kid’s department.

A bead of sweat trickled down her spine. The temperature in her home seemed directly connected to the tightness of his clothes. She stared again but he had clothes on now, and there was no sin in staring at a clothed man. Not much sin, anyway.

“Um, okay, let’s go.” After grabbing her purse off the sofa table and her umbrella from the corner, she pulled the door open. The cool blast was a refreshing change from the hot, cinnamon-scented air in her apartment. She glanced over at him. “Can everybody see you or is this my own personal mental problem?”