Games of Fire by Airicka Phoenix Page B

hardware store and a floral boutique. It was a cramped little place with a spatter of round tables, worn booths and shelves with rows of gleaming trophies from Bill’s athlete days. They were his pride and joy. At first glance, the place was nothing special, but the food was to die for, literally. The Grease Pit wasn’t just a name, it was a way of life for Bill. But anyone under fifty who didn’t mind their arteries getting clogged loved it.
    Sophie was the last of her group to arrive. The others sat in their habitual spot at the back, binders and books already open in front of them. Bill looked up from the grease spot he’d been trying to scrub out with a worn rag and glowered.
    “Hey Bill!” She smiled at him. “The usual, please.”
    Bill Rouster, a six foot nine inch bear , with a head full of curly black hair and hands the size of thanksgiving hams, controlled the Grease Pit with an iron fist. He wasn’t afraid to bash skulls in if things got too rowdy. No one ever dared start anything in his joint. He was usually pretty cool about most things otherwise.
    He grumbled, using a sausage-sized finger to stab at the keys on the register. Sophie passed him a crumpled bill from her pocket then turned to leave, only to come up against a wall of muscle. The person behind her wasn’t expecting it either and they both stumbled a moment, doing an awkward little dance as they tried to regain their footing.
    “I’m sorry!” she said, shoving back her hair and pulling away to look into the person’s face.
    Brian Fisher smiled at her, drowning her in his perfect smile. “It’s all right. I shouldn’t have been standing so close.”
    Cotton-mouthed, Sophie shook her head. “Uh no, I’m pretty sure it was my fault.”
    Brian chuckled. “How about we split the blame? Fifty-fifty?”
    Nervous enough to start giggling like a first grader, Sophie just nodded.
    “You’re in my gym class,” Brian was saying, eyes narrowed as if trying to recall.
    “Biology,” she corrected. “And Church, which isn’t a class, not really. I mean, it kind of is, because it teaches you things, but it’s not the school kind of classes where you have to you know … learn.” She had absolutely no control over her mouth it seemed, much to her horror.
    He smiled. “I remember you.” His smile deepened. “You’re kind of hard to miss.”
    Her heart all but leapt from her chest. It took all of her resolve not to squeal and jump up and down with elation. Brian Fisher had noticed her!
    He reached out and lightly tugged on the end of a curl. “You kind of stand out with all those curls.”
    Her hair wasn’t a massive riot of fuzzy curls that looked like she’d been electrocuted, not the way her grandmother’s had when she was Sophie’s age. It used to be, when she’d been younger and her hair was shorter. But once it grew out, the weight had straightened the top, leaving the ends coiled, not corkscrews like Jessie, but nice curls that started at her shoulders and cascaded downwards like a cape. On humid days, which was just about every day, it was a nightmare and no amount of weight kept the curls from turning afro around her head. But the way Brian was eyeing her, it took all of her willpower not to flick a strand over her shoulder the way supermodels did, and giggle.
    “My mom’s Irish!” she blurted a little too loudly. “I mean, her grandparents were Irish. She’s Canadian. Well, I guess she’s still Irish, and Hispanic ‘cause my dad’s, you know, Hispanic. I mean, his family background is Hispanic, which I guess doesn’t make my mom’s Hispanic, but I got the Irish hair from my mom, ‘cause, you know, she’s Irish and … yeah!” She gulped, trying not to pant from having said all that in a single breath, not really sure why she did, but wishing someone had punched her in the mouth to stop her.
    Brian laughed, a beautiful sound that was accompanied by the back tilt of his head , exposing the beautiful column of