Hot As Sin

15

I give her shoulders a final squeeze before releasing her into Nico’s arms. She wraps her arms around his waist and nestles against his chest, closing her eyes and sighing in contentment.

“I’m keeping her from getting hit on.”

I narrow my eyes at a guy strolling by who’s leering a little too hard at Kat’s ass. She’s got a classic hourglass figure, so this happens a lot, but I still can’t stand how obvious some jerks are about it.

When he notices me glaring, he takes the hint and averts his gaze, moving along quickly before my fist becomes acquainted with his face.

All of a sudden, Nico notices the haze in the air. He stiffens. “Oh hell no. Baby, you shouldn’t be breathin’ all this smoke! And you shouldn’t be up so late, either, you need your rest! We’re gettin’ you into bed.”

She starts to protest, which, as all three of us know, is futile. Once Nico goes into protective male mode, that’s it.

He proves it by saying, “No lip, woman. Zip it up and say goodbye to Barney.”

Naturally, Kat has to sass him before he gets his way. “How am I supposed to say goodbye and zip it up at the same time, superstar?”

Chuckling, he playfully swats her behind. He drawls, “Now you’re just askin’ for a spanking, aren’t you?”

She turns to me, rolling her eyes but smiling, and gives me a great big hug. “Not goodbye,” she says close to my ear. “Just good night. And don’t forget, you promised to come visit us at Christmas. New York in December is too cold for your creaky old bones.”

I laugh, hugging her back. “Don’t worry, you haven’t seen the last of me. I’m like a bad rash. I keep coming back.”

Then I hear a sound I’d recognize anywhere on earth, because I’ve heard it so many times before:

Kenji screaming.

Even above the thump of the music, his high-pitched screech is as distinct as an air raid siren. Kat and I break apart, looking around in concern.

Nico, however, is totally calm. He takes a swig of his scotch and says, “Uh-oh. Somebody stole Kenji’s favorite lip gloss.”

“I’d agree with you, brother,” I say, looking out through the patio doors into the yard. “Except I’m guessing that tent going up in flames isn’t part of the show.”

He whips his head around and follows my gaze. “f**k. Kat, call the fire department!”

Nico and I bolt at the same time, shoving through the crowd and shouting at people to get out of the way. Panicked guests stream from the large peaked tent, but thankfully no one is on fire, or appears hurt.

Then Kenji emerges, wearing nothing but a hot pink feather boa around his neck and his sparkly red Dorothy heels. Right behind him is London, his beautiful, petite Asian girlfriend.

Well, boyfriend, judging by the look of things.

London is naked, too.

Both of them are screaming.

Meanwhile, the DJ keeps right on spinning his tunes.

Kenji shrieks something unintelligible as Nico and I fly past, headed toward the opening of the tent, our arms and legs pumping hard as our shoes dig divots in the grass. The entire right flank of the tent is now engulfed in flames. Whatever material it’s made of is going up fast.

Orange flames leap into the night sky. Smoke billows up in acrid gray plumes. Small flakes of ash are starting to rain down on my head, drifting gently through the air like falling snow.

Inhaling a lungful of warm night air, I follow Nico through the entrance, then skid to a stop, peering through the smoke with my heart pounding.

Except for three abandoned bars, black leather lounge furniture, and Kenji’s rolling clothing wardrobe, the tent is empty. Rave music pulses from speakers and lights spin crazy colored pinwheels through the smoke, but no one is left inside.

We run back out into fresh air, coughing and shouting at stragglers to get back. The heat from the fire is intense, rolling off my back in waves. Nico and I start to corral people off the lawn and toward the house. It isn’t difficult. Everyone is running in that direction, anyway.

Except for Kenji and London, who’ve decided the best thing for their safety is to be submerged in water. They’re clinging to each other in the shallow end of the pool.

Within minutes, a mass exodus to the front yard begins. Everyone is on their cell phones. Even the DJ is on his phone, but he’s filming the flames from his elevated booth, bobbing his head in time to the beat of the music. He’s so calm, he’s probably stoned out of his mind.

I grab him from the booth and give him a shove toward the open patio doors, then pull the plug on the music.

Meanwhile, the dancing girls in the feather headdresses are being escorted through the living room by the bare chested flame throwers in grass skirts. The men—oiled muscles rippling as they move—have formed a protective phalanx around the girls and are fending off the advances of the six talent agents from CAA, who are following behind them like a bunch of drunk puppy dogs, bumping into each other and catcalling.

Faster than I would’ve thought possible, the fire department arrives. I hear them coming and head to the front door to meet them while Nico keeps ushering people safely out of the backyard.