Fuel the Fire (Calloway Sisters 3)

Lily nods, stealing one more look at Rose before she departs. Daisy follows suit.

Loren reaches the doorway but doesn’t leave. Instead, someone else walks in. I rub my mouth, frustration pulling my brows. When I meet Rose’s eyes, she’s smiling at me, the smug kind of smile that I always have for her. She’s gloating at my distress.

I nearly turn towards the counter, my erection worsening. When I need one fucking second, I lose five more. Time is rarely on my side.

Ryke walks further into the bathroom, holding lime-green Nikes by the neon blue laces. He stops short, jaw unhinging at the sight of Rose. “What the fuck.”

Rose crosses her arms, tightening the shirt which unfortunately pops a few of her buttons, unbeknownst to her. I restrain myself from pinching the bridge of my nose.

I motion between the two of them. “Rose has decided to dye her hair. Of the events we’ve all shared together, this is really mundane.”

“It’s fucking weird,” Ryke mutters, his gaze lingering on her breasts.

After Rose’s warped image of me sharing her with another man, one I don’t celebrate at all, I’m not really in the mood for a wandering male gaze. I almost walk in front of her, which would piss her off more than it would help any situation.

Lo smacks the back of his brother’s head before I move a muscle.

“Fucking A, let me process this,” Ryke says, rubbing beneath his hair.

“Process what?” I ask. “Rose’s hair or her breasts. You do know that women have them, right? Or are you just now figuring out basic human anatomy?”

Ryke flips me off.

“Oh good, he knows where his fingers are,” I banter. Rose begins to button her shirt.

“Fuck you,” he curses.

“No, fuck you.” My facial muscles tighten. Definitely, not in the mood.

Ryke raises his hands now, understanding that I’m not playing around. “Look, I don’t fucking care what anyone does to their hair. I just wanted to give these to Rose.” He nods to her. “I know you won’t rent rock climbing shoes or wear any kind of footwear that’s been previously used, but Daisy had an extra pair. I figure she’s your sister, so it might be different. She said you two were about the same size.” He still has one of the shoelaces looped on his finger.

They’re not rock climbing shoes, but they’re slender sneakers with what looks like good tread, a decent alternative.

Rose drills a hole in them, like they’ve offended her. “What are those?”

I answer first, “Sneakers. Tennis shoes. Running shoes. There are a plethora of useless names for them in my opinion.”

When her eyes ping to me, they narrow. And I grin, any sort of annoyance starting to seep into better sentiments that I enjoy.

“Your opinions are useless,” she retorts.

“And your opinions are biased. Do you want to keep going?”

Lo cuts in, “Please don’t.”

It takes Rose an extended moment to detach her gaze from mine, fixing it on Ryke. “You can leave those things by the door.”

Lo elbows Ryke’s arm. “You’re a common serf in their kingdom, bro. Don’t take it too personally.”

Rose frowns. “You know what serf means?”

Lo rolls his eyes. “Jesus, I’m not an idiot. I may’ve been expelled from college, but I can count to one-hundred and multiply and divide too.”

“A borderline genius,” I quip.

Lo winks. “I knew all this time you were scared I’d beat you.”

“You have a way with words,” I say honestly. “Most men should be frightened of you.” I’m not most men, but this is the truth. Once he has confidence in himself, he should be unstoppable.

Lo digests my statement with a nod, hearing my sincerity.

Ryke brings us back to the point. “You have to wear these, Rose. I’ll put them right here, but you can’t show up in the car or at the gym with high heels on.”

Rose sighs heavily. “What if—”

“No,” Ryke forces.

Rose glares. “You suck.”

“How old are you?” Lo interjects.

Rose flips him off.

I grin. “I’m the oldest here—”

I can’t even finish my statement before Rose interjects, “I’m twenty-six too.”

“Yeah, me too.” Ryke sets the Nikes by the door.

We all look to Lo, who’s just twenty-five “What?” he snaps. “Do you three have some sort of older kid’s club.” Slightly, yes. We talk about Lo and Lily and Daisy all the time. Right now, no one says anything, and he glowers. “I was joking.”

“I’ll wear the sneakers,” Rose diverts the conversation.

“Thank you.” Ryke taps the door frame on his way out.

Lo walks backwards as he begins to leave. “Ten minutes? Will you be ready then?”

I need more than that, but clearly we’ve lost time. “Fifteen,” I amend. “We’ll meet you downstairs.”

Lo nods, and as he disappears into the master bedroom, I lock the door behind him.

* * *

Rose immediately spins towards the sink, drumming her nails on the marble counter. I come up behind her, the pungent bleach watering her eyes. I suspect it burns her scalp, but she won’t complain of pain until she has third degree burns.

While I tower above her, inspecting her hair with sight alone, she says, “Rape me.”

I set a hand on the counter, beside her waist, my confusion pushing me towards her when it should do the opposite. Her eyes are blazing through the mirror. I’m not sure I heard her correctly. I say, “Parlez clairement.” Speak clearly.

She licks her red lips. “Rate me,” she says slowly, “on my performance.”

That sounds more like Rose. “I give you a B minus. You struggled with your sisters.”

She crosses her arms, popping buttons on her shirt again, no bra, and this time, I notice her nipples hardening. My cock digs closer to her ass. She stiffens, her collarbones protruding.

Her cold voice never changes temperatures. “Well, I give you an F.” As expected.

She keeps flunking me today—with challenges that I’m certain I’d win, given any circumstance. “Are you trying to incite me, darling?” That’s usually my job.

“I speak the truth.”

She sounds like me. Those are my words. Swiftly, I spread her legs open with my feet, breaking them apart. She chokes on a pleasured noise, and I grip her ass beneath the button-down, my lips to

her ear. “You’re plagiarizing me now.”

That one comment riles her, not in the way that I like. She spins on me, forcing her ass out of my clutch. Her back digs into the counter. I cage my arms around her, slyly turning on the faucet.

“So now you have a monopoly on truths?” She rests her palms flat on my bare chest as a warning, enraged. “I never plagiarize. You can’t copyright facts.”

This is all true, ironically. “Why did I fail?” I ask.

She raises her hand, to scratch at her hair, and I catch her wrist right before she succeeds. She exhales shortly and says, “You cursed Ryke out for real. You broke character, Connor.”

It’s not like that directly hurt our ploy. “I was me,” I state. That was a real reaction, an emotional one, she’s saying.

“You can’t be you,” she reminds me. “That’s the point of this. We play up the dramatics, be fodder for the media, be salacious and scandalous for popularity. We’re something else. You taught me this.”

You taught me this. She taught me how to be real. I taught her how to be fake.

I wish I could take pride in this part, but I have none. I don’t want to discuss it anymore. “Lean over,” I say. “Your eyes are watering.”

She rotates back around, leaning over and dipping her head into the sink’s basin, and without stepping away from her, I put on a new plastic glove, using one hand to wash her hair. I massage her scalp as I rinse the bleach. She tries to close her legs, but I keep my foot inside of hers, forcing them apart.

Her eyelids flutter open.

“Keep your eyes closed,” I command, worried that bleach and water will run in them.

She reluctantly shuts them again. “My neck hurts.” She tries shifting her shoulders.

With my free hand, I adjust her, turning her head a fraction, so she isn’t staring straight at the sink. “Better?”

“Mmmh.” She relaxes into the head message. With the bleach almost gone, I notice the color of her hair isn’t blonde—not yet at least. We needed to let it set longer than we had, and the strands are tawny, the color of rust.

Rose will call it orange.

She’s beautiful no matter what color hair, no matter if she had none, but she’ll be pissed. I just need her hair to smell good, so she won’t feel uncomfortable. When the bleach is rinsed, I discard the glove and lather shampoo along her scalp, her body loosening even more.