Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
I run back to my door and peek inside, but it’s still contained for now, sizzling in the can.
Knocking again, I add a yell. “Julia! Come quick!”
I hear a groan and a grumble, followed by quick footsteps and paw steps as both she and Yoko jog toward the door. When she pulls it open, there’s a wax strip on her leg and a tongue depressor in her hand and Yoko is bouncing around excitedly on all four legs.
“What? What is it that’s so urgent?” she questions. “As you can see, I’m in the middle of something.”
“I need your fire extinguisher,” I say quickly, gently moving her out of the way and running for the cabinet under the kitchen sink. Yoko takes my hurried movements as excitement, following along with me and nipping at my ankles because I’m giving off playtime vibes. But all I can do is shoo him away as the expediency of the whole fire issue in my apartment is getting realer now.
You know, the real fucking fire that I set and that I’m now thinking might not have been the best idea.
“What? Where’s yours?” she asks, running after me now, Yoko bouncing between the two of us as I head back across the hall, apparatus in hand. “What’s on fire?”
“I checked that you had yours but didn’t check that I had mine!” I explain quickly, knocking my pulled door open with a knee and running inside. My eyes bulge when I catch sight of the flames, and Julia outright screams her head off.
“Holy shit, Ace! There’s a fire!”
Oh, trust me. I fucking know.
The fire has spread out of the trash can now and burns unchecked on both my rug and my curtains, climbing the wall toward the ceiling. If I don’t get this thing out quick, it’s going to be a hell of a lot more than a prank to move in with Lia—it’s going to be a prison sentence for arson.
“Grab Yoko!” I instruct as I pull the pin on the extinguisher and spray wildly.
“The curtains!” Julia shouts the fire’s progress from behind me, cuddling a now-barking Yoko to her chest. “Oh no! The rug now! Back on the curtains! Oh my God, your poster of Chris Evans!”
I foam and foam, coating the shit out of my entire living room until all that’s left is the sound of sizzling, extinguished heat and sloughing fire retardant.
My heart races and sweat falls off every inch of my face as I drop to my knees and take in the damage. The entire back half of my living room is cooked.
Julia, still holding Yoko with one arm, wraps her other arm around my shoulders and squeezes, trying to reassure me. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Ace. You got it out.” A startled laugh bubbles up, but she cuts it off before it can even finish rolling out. “I’m…sorry. I’ll never doubt your urgency again.”
“I…” I take a breath. I mean, the plan to have a reason for moving in with Julia is going strong. The damage, though? A touch more extensive. “Fuck, this isn’t good.”
“How in the hell did this happen?” she asks, her eyes still wide as she scans the charred living room.
It happened because I’m so in love with you that it’s turned me into a moron, Julia.
“I think it’s safe to say I spent too much on fire safety in your apartment and kind of forgot to do the same in mine,” I mutter by way of an excuse. “Julia?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I…stay with you for a bit? I’m pretty sure they’re going to need to do some repairs.”
“Of course,” she agrees easily. “Of course.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “But what are you gonna say to your dad?”
A good question I didn’t consider, and a reason nineteen-year-olds shouldn’t be allowed to fall in love.
“Fire?” my dad barks out in question, his dark eyebrows melding with his hairline in a comedy sketch of expression via Zoom. Julia’s out getting dinner takeout, and I’m mentally recovering by calling my dad from her bed. I guess I should just be thankful my mom is out to dinner with the girls, or I’d be getting the fat end of the stick from both of them at the same time. “You set an actual fire?”
“Yeah!” I snap, horrified and unentertained by this whole trip down memory lane.
“Did the fire department come?”
“Who the hell else puts out fires?” I ask with a groan. “Of course they came. I did have it out with a fire extinguisher, but it reignited, and I didn’t have a choice.”
“Oh, oh Jesus,” Thatcher chokes out, his whole body rolling into a laugh that sends him careening off the couch and onto the rug. “Fire! You set fire to the fucking place!” his voice taunts from the floor, his entire being out of camera shot.