Arson & Ache (Surrender to Them 8)

“I still go out with the team, but I don’t run into burning buildings very often these days.” Kincaid shook his head back and forth. “I wait until they put out the fire and investigate what’s left.”

“He’s still being humble.” Donovan started to chuckle. “He’s working on a big case right now. I’m sure you’ve seen the news stories about the serial arsonist, Fireball.”

“That’s the guy who writes those cheesy letters?” I raised my eyebrows and nodded. “Yeah, they talk about him at the office every time a new one gets published.”

“Kincaid’s going to be the guy who figures out who the hell he is—then that bastard can write all the letters he wants from a jail cell.” Donovan pointed at Kincaid and smiled.

I really hadn’t been following the Fireball story, but I knew it was big news since people at the office frequently mentioned the serial arsonist. He started off setting fires in abandoned buildings, and those didn’t get much attention until he started writing letters to the press, bragging about what he did. After he got a little notoriety, he started getting bolder, and the latest fire he set was at an apartment complex. There were no casualties, but several people did go to the hospital for smoke inhalation. It definitely could have been a lot worse, and I hoped they were able to catch him before he did end up killing someone. Kincaid seemed to think it was only a matter of time and Donovan concurred.

“Wow, this place is impressive.” I leaned over and looked out the window as we approached The Remington.

“It won’t be that impressive with all those damn photographers in our face while we try to eat.” Donovan chuckled as he exited the limousine and extend his hand to me.

“You know what…” I looked at him and nodded as I got out of the car. “You have a good point. I’ll be right back.”

We should be able to enjoy our meal in peace—every single moment doesn’t have to be captured in vivid detail for the Livingston Capital website.

I walked over to the group of photographers and told them that they could take pictures of us walking into the restaurant, but I wanted them to leave us alone until we were done. They protested, but after I threatened to call Ms. Stone, they immediately fell in line. That was an idle threat. Ms. Stone would have probably yelled at me for disturbing her—and then yelled at me for deviating from the itinerary. I just wasn’t feeling it anymore. I was on a date with two incredible firefighters—literal heroes—and I was t

reating them like they were nothing more than propaganda to make the company look good. They deserved to be treated better than that considering they weren’t really getting anything out of the date except for a free meal. It wasn’t like they were personally pocketing any of the money I spent at the auction.

“The photographers will leave us alone while we eat.” I walked back to Kincaid and Donovan with a smile on my face.

“Wow, impressive.” Kincaid chuckled. “Okay, let’s enjoy the only peace and quiet we’re going to get tonight.”

“Those photographers look like they’ve been scolded.” Donovan laughed and walked beside me towards the restaurant.

Kincaid and Donovan seemed to open up a little more once we were alone in the restaurant and weren’t rushed to get to our next destination. I knew it wasn’t a real date, but for a little while, it certainly felt like it—as real as a date with two guys at the same time could be. I was getting used to actually looking at them without blushing and holding a conversation without choosing every word carefully—the wine we had with our meal probably helped with that. I didn’t drink very much, but I wasn’t going to waste an opportunity to drink wine that cost more than I made in a month. It was actually quite tasty, and that led to a second glass, even though I was feeling the first one before the last drop was gone. Midway through the second glass, I began to realize that wine and extremely gorgeous firefighters with panty-melting stares mixed quite nicely—enough to make me forget that I was a timid virgin with zero experience in the panty-melting department.

“What’s next on the agenda? Do we have time for dessert?” Donovan tilted his head to the side and reached for his wine.

“I’m definitely skipping dessert.” Kincaid chuckled under his breath. “But we can’t let them take this wine away before we finish it.”

“Finish it?” My eyes nearly bulged out of my heads.

They’ll be carrying me out of here if I have another glass—wait, that means I would be in their arms. No, that’s a foolish thought.

“It’s been a while since I’ve gotten tipsy from wine.” Donovan reached over and picked up the bottle. “Probably a good thing I can’t afford anything this good.”

“Yeah.” Kincaid nodded. “Too much of that and I’ll be waking up in a bed I don’t recognize—not that it would be a bad thing.”

He looked—directly at me when he said that.

I had a third glass once the second one was finished, and it was definitely a mistake. The odd thing was that I didn’t feel that drunk. I was just buzzing and full of energy. Maybe I was just looking at my dates through wine-goggles, but it seemed like they were actually interested in me. Their fingers brushed against mine when they reached for their glasses, they locked eyes with me when we talked, and some of the things they said were barely hidden behind an innuendo. I found myself squirming in my seat a couple of times before my third glass was done. I looked at my watch and realized we were behind schedule. We still had several more stops to make before the night was over, and since I had banished the photographers from the restaurant, I wasn’t really paying attention to the itinerary.

You know what? Fuck the itinerary. I’m just going to have fun. We already have more than enough photographs as it is.

Kincaid

Marissa really started to come out of her shell once she had a couple of glasses of wine. I was pretty confident that the third one wasn’t a good idea, but she was having a good time. We left the restaurant after we finished the bottle, and I was definitely feeling it. Alcohol always ripped my filter off, but I usually needed a few glasses of whiskey to really let go. Apparently, wine that was older than my grandfather had the same effect. Marissa didn’t seem to care much about the schedule we were supposed to be keeping once we got back in the limousine, and I wasn’t going to argue with that. Hanging out with her was a lot of fun, and for once, my mind wasn’t permanently focused on the serial arsonist. I did set out to show my date a good time, and it looked like I was going to get that opportunity—I just wasn’t sure where Donovan was going to fit into that plan because he seemed to be interested in Marissa too.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Drunk girls are usually his type.

“Okay, where are we going next?” I looked over at Marissa once we were all in the back of the limousine.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged and looked at her phone. “The itinerary says you’re supposed to take me on a tour of the fire station, so I can pose with a hat.”

“I guess the photographers will be waiting for us there.” Donovan nodded and sighed. “Should we head that way?”