I cringe. “I hate that saying.”
“Really? I love it. Reminds me of my gramps.” She smiles wistfully. “Anyway, I don’t think you can hold it against Shane for going out with other women while you keep turning him down. And you can’t keep playing whatever game this is. You’ll drive yourself mad.”
“Aren’t you the one who said I should play the player? Cat and mouse and all that?” I remind her wryly.
“Yeah, but that was before I knew you were seriously hung up on him. Plus, I am perpetually immature. And spiteful. I slashed Bill’s tire when I thought he was cheating on me, remember?”
“Vaguely.” One of many of Justine’s dark, insidious secrets that I will take to the grave.
“Don’t ever take my advice.”
I pull my sheet over my head. “I think I need more sleep.”
The mattress lifts as Justine climbs out of bed. “I’m gonna make a pot of coffee. Will you be up for greasy eggs and bacon in an hour?” Another of Justine’s post-drunk proclivities.
“I don’t have any eggs or bacon.”
“What kind of establishment is this?” she scoffs.
I listen to the soft pad of her bare feet as she heads downstairs and then let myself drift off to the fuzzy memory of Shane’s lips on mine, my internal conflict swelling.
The truth is, I already know, deep down, that I want to give Shane another shot, no matter how dumb an idea that may be, no matter how much he might hurt me again.
I’m just terrified I won’t survive getting played by him a second time.
The faint waft of bacon stirs my senses. It takes me a few moments to process that Justine must have made a grocery run, which means she’s cooking up a full brunch buffet.
I smile, knowing she’ll fix a heaping plate and bring it up to lure me awake. Breakfast in bed sounds good right now—
The high-pitched shrill of the smoke alarm sounds, followed by Justine’s shrieks. “Fire! Help! Oh my God, fire!”
I bolt out of bed and charge down the stairs.
“How was I supposed to know your stove is a fucking death trap? You should have told me!” Justine yells through a bout of coughing, waving a dishcloth in the air to help disperse the haze of dark smoke out the open side door. “I went to pee and I came back to flames!”
“I didn’t know this would happen. Iris just said it sometimes acts up!” I set the emptied fire extinguisher on my table, my limbs shaking and my pulse racing from the adrenaline. It’s hard to tell, given the white residue coating everything, but there doesn’t appear to be much damage, aside from the charred stove top and scorched tile behind. The most severe casualty is the bug calendar that hung on the wall, its pages turned to black ash.
“Acts up? Your stove ‘acts up’? What does that even mean? I almost burned down your whole house!” Justine’s bottom lip wobbles. God, not the wobbly bottom lip. If she doesn’t get a hold of herself, she’s going to melt into a sobbing mess on the floor.
“But you didn’t,” I say calmly. Had I not had the fire extinguisher here, though … I shudder at the thought. “And it wouldn’t have been your fault.”
She throws the dishtowel to the sink. Blinking back tears, she smooths her disheveled ponytail with her fingers. “Okay. You are going upstairs and getting dressed, and then we’re going out to buy you a new fucking stove. One that won’t try to kill you.”
I sigh. “Fine.” I’m getting paid next week anyway. I should have enough room on my credit card.
“And it’s being delivered this weekend, before I leave.”
“Okay.” When Justine’s upset, she gets bossy. I’ve learned to just let her get it all out.
“But first, we’re going to get breakfast, because I’m starving and my perfect bacon is now charcoal.” She throws an accusatory hand toward the pans.
The last thing I can think about is food, but Justine’s mood will only deteriorate without her grease fix.
“And I don’t want to hear how broke you are or that you have to sell your body on the street to pay for it. You are buying my meal.”
I laugh. “Okay! I’m so sorry, Justine. That scared the shit out of me too.”
The corners of her lips twitch. “Good. Hurry up and get dressed.”
My ears catch the faint sound of a siren. I don’t think much of it as I head toward the stairs, but it grows louder and louder …
And louder.
Until the wailing stops outside my house.
“Is that for us?” Justine and I share a panicked glance and then run to the window that overlooks my front yard.
“Holy shit.” My stomach drops as I take in the enormous red truck pulled into my driveway and the swath of bodies in full yellow firefighter gear charging across my lawn. “Did you call them?”