Playing With Fire

Chapter 15-17

Chapter 15

The sun peeking through my crappy blinds wakes me the next morning. My beautiful dress lay in a crumpled heap on my floor. I'd been so exhausted when I got home I barely had the energy to pull it off before climbing into bed. Thinking back on the night, and on the intense make out session at the pavilion, I smile, chewing the corner of my blanket as I squeal a little.

Getting up, I carefully hang the dress in my closet, running my hand over the fabric just once before slipping it into the plastic garment bag and moving it to its place on the black side. My therapist once suggested that my need to organize my clothing by color helped me bring order to chaos. I told him living with a Marine could make anyone neurotic.

My face is flushed when I make my way to the kitchen for coffee, I can feel it just like I can feel the wide, happy grin on my face. I feel lighter, one less thing on my shit to stress about list.

Dad makes pancakes in a clever attempt to avoid conversation. Not that I mind. I have no intention of having a heart-to-heart with my father about my new boyfriend. Besides, there isn't much to tell. Always a gentleman, Oliver had given me a short, chaste kiss when he dropped me off, right before curfew. Though I was sure dad was awake, he at least had the decency to not be waiting for me at the door, so I'd just slipped in and went to my room. Even now, just thinking about last night is enough to get my heart racing.

He loves me.

He'd as good as said so.

I stuff another forkful of pancakes into my mouth.

We are still eating when the sirens go off.

Our heads snap up simultaneously. Dad grabs his phone the instant it rings. I can't make out the other end of the conversation, but from the look on his face, I know it's serious. Moments later my cell, still set to vibrate from the dance, went off, buzzing across the table lake an angry wasp. I pick it up, sliding it to answer. It's Reid's voice on the other end.

"Looks like you called it," he says, sounding tired. "Someone has stepped up their game."

"I'll call you back," I say quickly and disconnect.

"Dad?" I begin as he hangs up his phone.

He holds up his hand to stop me before I can say anything else.

"There's been an explosion. It doesn't look like anyone was hurt. It was confined to the paint room, and there wasn't anyone up there this weekend. I have to go down and talk to the MPs."

He heads for his room to change and I follow.

"Do you think it's the same person who sent the email?" I ask through his closed door.

"Kid, these things can happen in a place with so many hazardous materials. It's probably just an accident."

I lean my back against the door, rolling my eyes.

"I doubt it," I mumble and head for my bedroom.

We finish dressing at almost the same time, him in his khaki and green dress alphas, and me in my vintage Guns N' Roses T-shirt and black jeans.

"I'm going with you," I say flatly.

"Not this time, kid."

"Dad—"

"No. No discussion. I'll call you as soon as I know anything."

He gives me a peck on the forehead and leaves. I grab my flash drive off my desk and stuff it and my wallet in my messenger bag. Snatching my keys off the dining room table, I head for the door, making a call on my way out.