Page 110 of Burning Embers

I glance around the closet quickly, certain I didn’t see any during the initial tour. I push up on my tiptoes to see higher up, and…there! On the top shelf, I spot a yellow container of wipes.

I stand as tall as I can and extend my arms, but my fingers only graze the container.

Fuck.

Sometimes I hate being short.

Considering, I scan the room for something to step on.

My gaze snags on a tiny table.

Perfect.

I quickly climb onto the table—making sure my skirt is pressed down so I’m not flashing anyone who steps into the closet—and then reach for the wipes yet again. I tilt my body to the side, reaching, reaching, reaching?—

“What the fuck are you doing?” a strident voice demands.

A second later, hands grip my waist and heft me off the table.

Reid.

“You could’ve fallen and gotten hurt,” he scolds as he easily reaches for the wipes.

“From standing on that tiny table?” I ask incredulously.

He bares his teeth at me like a fucking animal and leans close—so close our noses almost touch.

“Next time, you ask for help,” he snaps, anger flaring in his eyes.

They’re a pretty color, I realize belatedly. A light shade of blue flecked here and there with darker spots.

“But I didn’t need your help,” I counter snarkily. “I had it handled.”

“What if you had fallen and hit your fucking head?”

“Then I’d say that would hurt like a bitch.”

His scowl deepens. “You just gottackledby a two-hundred-pound man. You’re concussed. You can’t be?—”

“How do you know I’m concussed?” Wait. Emery and Ethan. I swear guys gossip more often than women do. “But I’m fine.”

“You’re not fucking fine.”

“Are you a doctor now? Congratulations.” I give him a slow, sardonic clap. “I would’ve gotten you a graduation present if I’d known.”

“Are you always such a smart-ass?”

“Are you always such a hard-ass?”

The two of us continue to glare at each other. The tips of his shoes touch my own. This close, I can see the strands of gold in his tousled red hair and the acne dotting his crooked nose.

I remember Lissa telling me he had once been beautiful, and I can see it. There are hints of that beauty even now, in the sharp curve of his jaw and the plushness of his lips.

Wait…plush? Why the hell am I thinking of his lips?

Reid yanks the wipes out of my hands with a muttered curse and then stomps towards the theater.

“I thought you wanted me to clean it up!” I call to his retreating back.