Burning Up (Flirting With Fire Book 1)

  OTHER TITLES BY JENNIFER BLACKWOOD

  Rule Breakers

  The Rule Book

  The Rule Maker

  Snowpocalypse

  Landing the Air Marshal

  Falling for the Fake Fiancé

  Drexler University

  Unethical

  Foolproof

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2018 by Jennifer Blackwood

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503901414

  ISBN-10: 1503901416

  Cover design by Letitia Hasser

  To the heroes who run into burning buildings when everyone else is running out

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Chapter One

  It was a well-known fact that when in search of incontinence products at the grocery store, Erin Jenkins would pick the squeakiest cart known to mankind. First mistake: picking the stray cart pushed off to the side like a dreaded yellow Starburst. But twelve aisles from the front of the store, she’d gone too far. Okay, fine, pure laziness stood between her and going back to the entrance.

  The Bluetooth headpiece nestled in her ear beeped, and she clicked the “Call” button.

  “What’s the status on the contraband?”

  Erin rolled her eyes as her sister’s voice carried through the speaker.

  “This isn’t a drug deal, Andie.” Although she’d likely be getting fewer side-eye glances with those types of items in her cart rather than Preparation H. This was Portland, after all. “Do you need something? Or just want a direct play-by-play of my shopping trip?”

  “I need something to keep me entertained while I make tea for Mom. She called my steeping skills subpar. Can you believe that?”

  Erin side-eyed her headpiece. “How can you screw up Lipton?”

  Plates and silverware clanged in the background, and she could picture Andie clattering around in the small galley kitchen, her curls curtaining over her inked shoulders as she searched for more tea products in the lower cabinets. “I’m just that talented.”

  “You’re something, all right.” Erin chuckled but then focused back on the job at hand. With her mother out of commission because of her hernia surgery, Erin was tasked with shopping for her grandmother. So that left her rolling her squeaky cart down the incontinence aisle.

  Mission: Acquire Depends, bunion pads, hemorrhoid medication, and age-defying wrinkle cream.

  Casualties: Self-pride.

  She loved her family. To the point where she slapped a carefully practiced grin on her face to do yearly photos with matching plaid shirts. Yes, they were that family. The type that re-created throwback photos of embarrassing pics that were really better off collecting dust in an album. But there had to be a line drawn somewhere, and a cart full of incontinence products at her old stomping grounds came awfully close.

  “Any chance of you picking up some tea on your way home?” Andie asked.

  “The odds are about as good as you learning how to brew a good cup before I get back.” She’d drop the groceries off at her grandma’s house, lay low at her mom’s house, and then pray that her purchases lasted until she skipped out of town in six weeks.

  “I thought I was your favorite sister.”

  “You’re my only sister,” Erin said.

  Erin crumpled the grocery list in her palm and shoved it into the side compartment of her purse. Hemorrhoid and age-defying cream, check. Bunion pads, acquired. All with the stealth and precision of a seasoned FBI operative. She’d managed to strategically drape a cluster of bananas over the items, but that wouldn’t cut it for the jumbo 120-pack of adult diapers she’d soon be rocking in her cart. Maybe she should buy a few new beach towels. That would cover the box.

  As she turned down the aisle, her cart decided to act up again, the wheels emitting a high whine. A group of guys in their early twenties breezed past her to the beer section, each giving her an amused smile as she squeaked along. This day could end anytime now.

  Squeak, squeak, squeak.

  “What the hell is that noise?” her sister said.

  On the other end of the line, fine china clinked together, and Erin could picture her sister roughly handling her mother’s tea set. “The slow death of my emotional stability.” Her fingers dug into the cart handle as she took a calm, steadying breath.

  “I thought you’d lost that years ago.”

  Six weeks. Six excruciating, long weeks and then you’ll be back in San Francisco. That was what she’d written in her teacher planner, and by golly, if it was in there, it was going to happen. She’d used ink and surrounded the words with star stickers: August 1, setting up my classroom. Positive thinking put plans into motion, right?

  Then again, no amount of positive thinking would reverse the million-dollar budget cut to the city’s education fund that had left six teachers, including Erin, without jobs this fall. No amount of planner decorating could save her old position. Hopefully one of her interviews would pan out and get her back on track to return to her old apartment in the city.

  “Very funny, smart-ass,” Erin said. “Remind me why you called again?”

  “Someone has to keep tabs on you to make sure you’re not skipping town again.”

  “Ha ha.” Although it was a valid statement, because Erin did, in fact, want to bail.

  Positive thoughts. She’d had a job interview yesterday, four hours before she’d driven home. The optimist in her had hoped they’d offer her a job on the spot so she could take her packed suitcase back to her San Francisco apartment. The realist in her knew that there had to be phone calls conducted and references checked before they could offer anything. So, here she was. Back in Portland, the town she hadn’t called home for more than a decade.

  As long as her latest job interview panned out, she’d be set to decorate her new classroom at the end of the summer. This one felt right, the principal telling her how much she loved the lesson plan Erin had shared during the meeting.

  Erin narrowly avoided bumping into an older lady as she passed on the right. The lady shot her a look. The I got you figured out, your stupid bananas hide nothing look. Or maybe she was becoming paranoid. Luckily, she hadn’t run into anyone she recognized. She’d made sure to go to the
supermarket on the outskirts of town just so she wouldn’t encounter any neighbors.

  Squeak, squeak, squeak.

  Erin cringed and muttered a few choice words under her breath. Her sister continued chatting about the tea, banging more cabinets in the process.

  She glanced sideways at the endcap, spotting the Depend logo out of the corner of her eye, and scooped it into her cart faster than her favorite mascara at a Sephora sale. Add a couple of boxes of Rolaids, and she’d be bringing all the blue-pill-popping boys to the yard.

  “Mission accomplished. And a bonus—I don’t think the cartel will be hunting me down anytime soon,” she told her sister.

  “Good to hear. Which means you still have time to get that tea . . . you know, if you want to be a good sister and all.”

  Erin managed to make it down the fourteen aisles to the checkout stand without bumping into anyone she knew. Luck must’ve been on her side today. “Not happening. Read the instructions on the back of the package.”

  Another beep came through on her headset.

  “Hold on. I have another call coming in,” she said, and then clicked to the other line.

  Erin didn’t bother checking her phone to see who it was. Chances were pretty high it was her mother. Probably complaining that Andie was taking too long with the tea. Or making sure she hadn’t fled town yet. Both viable options.

  “Hello?”

  “Ms. Jenkins?”

  Erin stopped unloading her grandmother’s groceries onto the conveyer belt, frozen in place. “Yes?”

  “This is Linda Murphy from Dennison Middle School.”

  Holy crap. So soon? Either they really liked her, or this was a pity rejection call.

  Her lungs couldn’t decide whether they wanted to zip off to warp speed or stop working altogether. It had been the fourth and final interview she’d managed to snag before her trip back home. The last three had called to tell her the positions had been filled by someone else. This was her last shot. Fourth time was a charm, right? “Uh, hi. Hello.”

  She cringed as soon as the words left her mouth. Lame. Seriously, she worked with people for a living. At the very least, she could strike up polite chitchat.

  The cashier waved a hand in front of Erin. “’Scuse me, miss? There’s a two-for-one special on all Depends products. Do you want me to send a checker to get another box?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. What did you say?” Linda asked, her voice crystal clear in Erin’s Bluetooth.

  No. A potential employer did not just hear she was buying adult diapers.

  Erin shook her head at the cashier, praying he didn’t say anything more about her grocery items, and focused back on her call. “Nothing. I’m so sorry. You were saying?”

  The cashier glared at her but grabbed the package and ran it over the scanner. It emitted an angry beep, beep, beep. First, the squeaky cart from hell; now the loudest checkout stand in existence. Seriously, what was with her and these sounds at this supermarket? The checker tried again, and it made the same noise. He picked up the microphone and announced, “Price check for Depends, Fit Me Snuggly.”

  For the love of all that was holy.

  Erin’s lower back broke out in a cold sweat. She dug her toes into her sandals, and it took everything in her power not to shrivel up and die of mortification. Gaze trained on the cashier’s name tag—Clint—she fought for a calm, happy place. A box of newly sharpened number-two pencils. Planner stickers. A completely untouched whiteboard.

  “Are you sure this isn’t a bad time, Ms. Jenkins?”

  “No, no. Perfect time.” As in perfect time to bang her head into unconsciousness and forget this ever happened. She swallowed hard.

  The cashier picked up the ringing phone a moment later and then said, “Ha! I knew there was a sale going on. Sure you don’t want me to have someone grab you an extra box?”

  “No,” she growled. She shot him a look that promised mental death daggers to fly his way if he asked again. If it scared a class of thirteen-year-olds into not torching the science lab with Bunsen burners, it’d work on pretty much anyone.

  Cashier Clint with the Mohawk wasn’t getting the memo. “I mean, if it were me and I had a leaking problem, I’d want to stock up. Just sayin’.”

  She muted the speaker to her Bluetooth. “What is this? A used-car lot? What did I ever do to you?” She sighed and counted to five in her head. She looked at Clint and his ridiculous Mohawk and decided to give in. “Fine. Give me the extra box.”

  “Sheesh. Just trying to help you out, lady.” He shrugged, then picked up the courtesy phone and said, “Bring that package of Depends up to the register, Larry.” He hung up, and a loud thud reverberated over the speaker system.

  Erin cringed and focused back on the conversation, unmuting the call. “I’m so sorry. What were you saying? Someone ahead of me is having trouble at the register.”

  Um, yeah. Nobody with a brain would buy that garbage she was selling.

  “Admin at Stephens Middle School sang your praises when we called for your references. We know you’d be a fantastic addition to any school . . .” She trailed off.

  Erin swallowed back the sudden thickness in her throat. There was a but coming. The looming but was as obvious as a cart full of incontinence products being wheeled around at the grocery store. No. No. She needed this job. Teaching was all she knew, and if she didn’t get a position by the end of the summer, where would she be? Unemployed? Extending her stay at her mom’s house? She shuddered.

  Linda sighed. “But we needed to hire from within. I’m so sorry, Ms. Jenkins.”

  “I understand.” And she did, but that didn’t ease the sting in her eyes.

  “I really wish you the best of luck in your job search.”

  She swallowed past the thick lump in her throat and managed a thank-you before clicking to her sister on the other line.

  “Andie?”

  “About time. I’m so bored I almost started doing the dishes.”

  That cracked a smile on Erin’s wobbly lips. “I’m going to head to Barry’s Bakery and go eat my feelings now. Be home later.” She turned off the Bluetooth and dragged her groceries to the car. Six weeks might seem like forever at the moment, but it wasn’t very much time to find a job for the upcoming school year.

  Chapter Two

  “Ready to head back to the station, Bennett? C shift’s here to take over,” Reece called from across the street.

  Jake Bennett nodded to his buddy and fellow firefighter and made his way to the apparatus. “I was ready two hours ago.” His muscles were tight and heavy with every movement. Finally, this forty-eight-hour shift of torture was over.

  In order to get time off for his sister’s wedding this weekend, he’d covered for another guy on A shift. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the charity event hadn’t happened right after the brutal night where Jake had spent the majority of it in his turnouts rather than the cot at the station.

  He swiped a hand across his forehead as the unforgiving midday sun beat down on his face. He was decked out in his turnout gear—everything except his mask—and sweat trickled down his neck as he walked the riverfront with a black-and-yellow rubber boot in hand. Wads of money crested the rim, the rest of it packed tightly into every crevice of the shoe. All he had to do was drop off the money in the cash box in the engine parked a few blocks away, and then his shift would almost be over. And after working a double twenty-four-hour shift, he was ready to pass the hell out once the clock hit eleven.

  Jake locked up the cash and began to unhook the hoses and wind them back onto the engine his team had dubbed the Intimidator. During any charity event, kids loved to explore and take turns pretending to use the equipment. Jake enjoyed this, but it meant an extra twenty minutes back at the station checking twice to make sure everything was ready for the next shift.

  Making his way back around to the cab, he straightened the headsets and closed all the compartments. His eyelids continued their descent, a
nd he fought the urge to fall asleep right where he stood. The engine door would make a fantastic pillow.

  After a normal shift, he’d pass out for a good eight hours, but he was needed for a final tux fitting at two. Compared to provoking the beast better known as his Bridezilla sister, sleep deprivation and potentially getting stuck with pins while he tried on the monkey suit seemed like the safer option. His future brother-in-law, Tom, had achieved saint status this past week when Josie pulled Exorcist-level scary shit when the florist had to back out at the last minute. Tom was most likely the only reason Josie’s head hadn’t made a full revolution.

  He hoisted himself into the passenger seat as Reece climbed into the driver side of the apparatus. They both threw on their headsets, flipping them to transmit.

  His eyelids fought to snap shut again. Just seven hours earlier, he’d been called to an apartment fire. Carried a woman and her child over his shoulders as his crew raced to get the family dog stuck in a back bedroom, blocked by flames. With the lifting he’d done yesterday, paired with carrying two people sixteen flights of stairs, he was long overdue for a massage.

  He stretched his neck from side to side again and glanced around to the back of the cab. “Where’s Hollywood?”

  Reece shrugged. “Knowing him, he’s convincing the women roaming the riverfront to throw the deeds to their houses in his boot. He’d better hurry up, because I need to jet once we get back to the station.”

  Their rookie, Cole Gibson, always managed to raise the most money during these events. It wasn’t an accident they’d nicknamed him Hollywood when he transferred to Station 11.

  “What’s your hurry?” Jake said.

  “Mom’s in meltdown mode because Erin is home,” Reece said. “She wants everything to be perfect, which means I am needed to, and I quote, ‘woo my sister into staying.’”

  Jake noted the grimace on Reece’s face. Reece and Erin had always had a rocky relationship—at least they had ever since Jake had moved in two blocks away in the fourth grade. Most would chalk it up to good old sibling rivalry, but it’d become more strained since Erin had moved to California. That’d been over a decade ago, when she’d started college.