Sparks of Love Read online

  Sparks of Love

  McKenna Rogue

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Also by McKenna Rogue

  1

  Blaze

  The birthday cake wobbled in my hands as I tried to shut the car door with my hip.

  The rust-bucket door whined as I finally managed to get it closed, and I headed for the front door of my childhood home.

  The American flag my mom used to put out Memorial Day weekend wasn’t out, the 4th of July welcome mat was replaced with a regular “Welcome” mat with no flourishes, and the Meadowlarks baseball team flag was gone now too. My dad’s second wife didn’t like to decorate for holidays aside from Christmas, but even then, it was interior only. Whatever. I didn’t have to live there anymore and didn’t expect my stepmom to uphold my mother’s traditions.

  I rang the doorbell and waited in the late May heat. It was only ten o’clock in the morning and the sun was already sweltering, but this was the only time I could celebrate my father’s birthday. I was grateful they worked around my schedule, but at the same time, I was completely dreading going inside. Sylvia, my stepmom, opened the door and beamed at me.

  “Hi, Blaze, how are you?” She pushed open the screen door. “Look at that cake, it’s so homemade. But you didn’t have to do that. Jill wanted to try out her baking skills. Didn’t she call you?” Her smile barely cracked, but her eyes said everything her lips weren’t. “You can take it home with you. I know how much you like cake.” Her eyes traced over my figure with her usual judgement of my plus-size curves as she took half a step back so I could enter.

  I stepped inside carefully, making sure I didn’t bump her or the door frame with the cake or my wideset hips. I managed my expression, trying not to show irritation. He was my father, and I wanted to make his cake. I’d asked to bring the cake a couple of weeks ago, but Sylvia and her perfect two daughters always did everything, leaving me to show up, smile, and feel completely left out. Like I was some stray, distant cousin they allowed over for special occasions because it was the right thing to do.

  I headed for the kitchen, trying to outrun Sylvia. Maybe I could drop the cake and keep walking out the back door, back to my car.

  I set my one tier chocolate cake down next to Jill’s two-tier fondant-decorated cake. A perfect recreation of the Meadowlarks’ baseball field. I was the poor man’s version of Owen Whitfield’s daughter, bringing the poor man’s version of a chocolate cake. Of course, no one except Dad would know it was Mom’s recipe. She always made it for his birthday. He claimed he missed it not so long ago.

  I frowned. I should’ve just declined the invitation. Showing up at the house always left me feeling empty and depressed. My life was not depressing—I had a great job and great friends—but I never felt good after visiting Dad.

  Sylvia bustled around the kitchen, finishing up brunch. I opened my mouth to say something, but I had nothing to say. I let out a puff of air and went in search of my dad.

  I found him in front of the television, watching ESPN.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  He looked over at me and smiled. “Hey, stranger. How are you?”

  I smiled back. “I’m good. Happy birthday.”

  “Thank you, sweetie. It was good of you to come. Sylvia’s been excited for days about today. Jill and Kaitlyn too. I asked my friend, Larry, to stop by too. He’ll be happy to see you.”

  Oh no. Not Larry. My dad had been dropping anvils for hints; he’d be thrilled if Larry and I became a couple.

  Except I couldn’t stand Larry.

  “I bet.” I forced the smile to stay plastered on my face. “Where are Jill and Kaitlyn?” Jill was Sylvia’s daughter, and Kaitlyn was my six-year-old half-sister. I didn’t know if they had a child together on purpose, if she was a surprise, or even the reason they got married. All I knew was my dad had remarried almost a year after my mother died, and nearly six months after that Kaitlyn was born.

  The thunderous footsteps from above announced Kaitlyn’s impending arrival. She was constantly tromping around like an elephant.

  “Blaze!” The little terror came barging around the corner and threw herself at me. She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed like she was trying to pop my head off. I couldn’t help but smile. She was a bundle of energy. I didn’t resent her being born; I was just jealous of a six-year-old who had her mother and father. I needed therapy… and probably a drink.

  “Hey, kid.” I ruffled her mop-top of strawberry blonde waves. The blonde hair I’d inherited from my mother had none of Kaitlyn’s reddish tint.

  Kaitlyn pushed my hands away from her hair. “Will you show me how to throw a curveball?”

  “I, uh, sure. I can do that.” I’d worked with enough of the minor league baseball players, I’d picked up a skill or two. Especially when they learned my little sister wanted to play baseball.

  It was a small bit of smug delight that Kaitlyn always tried to emulate me. I’d taken her to an Omaha Meadowlarks game in April, and she hadn’t stopped talking about baseball since.

  “You know, Kaity, your sister learned everything about baseball from me.”

  “And mom,” I said a little too fast. Mom was the reason why I’d gone into sports rehabilitation in the first place. I wasn’t an athlete, but I was built well enough to massage and rehabilitate them.

  “Momma plays baseball?” Kaitlyn’s eyes widened.

  “Not your mom,” I said probably too hastily, “my mom.”

  My dad’s grey eyes met mine. “Kaitlyn, your mom is a woman’s woman, very feminine, and doesn’t like to get dirty. Blaze is a tomboy, much more built for hard work.”

  Why didn’t he just call me a cow? I looked directly at my little sister. “If you want to learn to play baseball, I’ll make sure you learn how.”

  “No, Kaitlyn,” he shook his head. “Girls can’t play baseball, only boys can. You can play softball, but wouldn’t you like something a little more girly? What about volleyball or dance?”

  Kaitlyn stuck out her tongue in disgust, then turned back to me. “Girls can’t play baseball?”

  “Actually, there are women’s baseball teams. You can do whatever you set out to do, Kaitlyn.”

  My dad scowled at me. I’d probably get a lecture later, but I didn’t really care. I was like Kaitlyn. I’d wanted to play baseball too, but I was cursed with my mother’s curves, which meant no lean body like Kaitlyn, Sylvia, and Jill. I was all hips, boobs, and ass.

  “Kaitlyn, you’re never going to get anywhere trying to emulate men. Men don’t want to date women who are butch and athletic. They want soft, feminine curves… but not too many curves. Maybe you can show her something else, Blaze? She doesn’t need to be hanging out in a men’s locker room like you do.”

  Sylvia came out before I could respond, followed by Jill. They were almost bookends, they looked so much alike. They were tall and willowy with blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Kaitlyn had our dad’s paler skin with freckles, much like me.

  “Look who’s here,” Sylvia announced, grinning at me almost maniacally.

  Larry Jones lumbered into the living room, his round face bright red, grinning like a used car salesman. Larry wasn’t unattractive. He was a big man, but he had a handsome face and good hair, blond, kept short and tidy. He kept a nice beard in the winter—he looked better w
ith the beard, less baby-faced. The problem wasn’t Larry’s looks.

  He moved to stand right next to me.

  “Owen, happy birthday.” He shook my dad’s hand.

  “Thank you, son. I’m glad you could make it.”

  “Brunch is ready,” Sylvia bellowed.

  Dad stood up and rubbed his belly. “That’s my cue.”

  Dad and Sylvia headed to the dining room together. I noticed he took her hand and kissed her palm. He was always so affectionate with her. I didn’t remember that with him and my mom.

  “Hi, Blaze. You’re lookin’ good, baby.”

  Gag me. “Hi, Larry. Would you mind not calling me ‘baby,’ please?” I stood, and he pulled me into a hug, his hand landing on my ass.

  I pushed out of his grasp. “Seriously, you need to stop that.”

  “You like it. I bet it gets you all hot.” Larry waggled his tongue at me.

  “It doesn’t.”

  “Oh, come on, Blaze, just smile. You’re such a Debbie Downer.”

  As I moved past him, he smacked my ass. I just kept moving; the last thing I wanted to do was engage with him any further. I made it into the dining room without further assault. Jill stepped up next to me as we grabbed our seats.

  “Your cake is nice.” Jill’s voice was as completely insincere as always with me.

  I glanced over at her. “Thanks. Yours is beautiful.”

  “Really? She beamed at me. “I worked really hard on it. Mom said I had to ask you, but are you okay if we served it today? You could come back over in a couple of days, and we’ll share yours.”

  I waved her off, not really wanting to argue about cake. “We should definitely eat yours. Mine isn’t anything fancy. We can even throw it away.”

  “Don’t be silly!” Jill’s eyes widened, and her mouth fell open. “I bet it’s really good. It’s your mom’s recipe, right?” She smiled, and I wondered if maybe I was reading her wrong. Even if I was, I didn’t care enough about the stupid cake or my father’s birthday. They could eat the cake, throw it away, or throw it in the street for all I cared. I didn’t want to be compared to the cake architect or be looked down upon for not being tall and willowy with flawless olive skin. All I really wanted in that moment was to get away from Larry and the awkward family brunch. I should’ve just asked to celebrate Dad’s birthday with just him.

  Larry sat next to me, of course. He kept touching me. I spent the entire time batting his hands away. I couldn’t seem to get it through his thick skull I wasn’t interested.

  The first time I’d met Larry, I was curious and didn’t think my dad was completely oblivious. He seemed nice enough and wasn’t too hard on the eyes until he started talking and moving. Larry asked me out every time I saw him, and I said “no” every time, but he just seemed to think I was playing hard to get.

  “How are things going with your little business, Blaze?” Sylvia asked.

  “Really great. I actually hired a third therapist.”

  “Is your massage parlor a full-service place?” Larry asked as he slid his meaty hand up my thigh. “I could really use a stress reliever.”

  Sylvia gasped. “That’s a great idea. You should give Larry a rub down or whatever you call it.”

  My mouth fell open. Did she really just say that? Larry’s hand cupped my pussy, and I jumped to my feet, knocking over my chair.

  “Blaze!” my father scolded. “What are you doing?”

  Larry’s smug grin sent me over the edge.

  “I have to go. I completely forgot about an appointment.”

  “An appointment? But it’s your father’s birthday, Blaze. We scheduled this party for this obscene time because of your schedule.” Sylvia’s annoyance dripped through her voice like an oil stain.

  “You’re right. I’m so sorry. It’s completely rude of me. Next time, you can just leave me out of the party plans, and I’ll make it if I can.” I picked the chair up and hustled out of the dining room as fast as I could. Grabbing my purse off the floor in the living room, I charged out of the house as fast as I could.

  I needed a shower, possibly one of those sanitizing ones they used to clean off fatal viruses. I couldn’t believe that guy. I wished I’d had the gall to punch him or at least call him on his bullshit in front of everyone.

  I would make sure my schedule was full to the brim from now on. Maybe I could fill it so much, I’d get an offer from the Omaha Meadowlarks. I’d be able to get out of Jubilee Falls and away from this place. It had always been my dream to be a team trainer where I could work with athletes exclusively. The Jubilee Falls Coyotes didn’t have the funds to put me on staff full time, and not everyone loved the idea of a female trainer. They hired me when they needed me. Today, I was going to be working with Gladys, helping her with her new hip.

  I hated the idea of moving away from my dad, but at the same time, I didn’t feel close to him anymore. I’m not sure I ever was. Maybe I reminded him of Mom, but somehow, I doubted it. Sylvia didn’t like me—and maybe now, he didn’t like me either.

  I missed my mom.

  After work, a shower, something to eat, and a small nap, I found myself standing in front of my completely inadequate closet. I worked so much, I spent most of my time in comfortable yoga pants and short-sleeved shirts made of breathable material, which made it easy for me to move while I helped people. I didn’t feel comfortable all dressed up.

  I’d never been a fashionista. I’d been a tomboy growing up and found a profession that kept me comfortable. But there were times, like getting ready for my best friend’s bachelorette party, which I wished I’d learned some of the girly things to get by in life.

  Allison would be here any second, and if I didn’t have something picked out, she would take over. As if on cue, a knock at the door tore me from my closet. I opened my door, still wrapped in a towel. Allison pushed past me, a blur of Pleasures perfume and garment bags, and went straight into my bedroom.

  My best friend since elementary school hadn’t changed much in all the years I’d known her. She was a bombshell: curves, legs for days, and the perkiest person I’d ever met. There wasn’t a storm that could darken her mood. She was the prime example for making lemonade out of lemons. I, on the other hand, did nothing but sprout lemons.

  “Dean had the audacity to tell me to go to a stripper because it would be the last naked man I’d ever see.”

  I snorted. “Is he going to a stripper?”

  “No. He finds the concept of sitting in a room with other men, staring at naked women, awkward. That’s what God created the internet for. Really, I don’t know what the hell is wrong with him. What kind of guy turns down the opportunity to see naked women?”

  I gaped at the pile of bags on my bed.

  “It’s not too late, I could call you a stripper.”

  “Only if you promise it’s going to be hilarious and not sad.”

  “Well, this is Jubilee Falls, not Las Vegas; it’s only going to be sad,” I replied.

  She clapped her hands together. “Why are you wearing a towel?” She didn’t even try to conceal her scrutiny.

  “Would you prefer a robe? Or what about a muumuu? I was deciding what to wear when you showed up annoyingly early, as always.”

  “Pull out the baseball shirt and jeans you know you want to wear.”

  That was me, the boring, predictable, comfortable girl. Oh, well. It wasn’t like this night was about anything but Allison anyway. It was her celebration.

  “Come on, I’ll throw your hair up in some victory rolls, and we’ll put some red lipstick on those full lips of yours. You’ll look perfect.”

  I did as I was told, grateful she didn’t feel the need to dress me up more than I was. I liked to wear dresses and stuff every now and again, but they weren’t comfortable—and I was the girl who always got caught in the Marilyn Monroe moments. Plus, this night was a marathon, not a sprint. If I wore heels and a dress, I’d be ready to quit an hour in.

  I pulled on my favori
te jeans and Coyote baseball shirt. The arms were red; the rest was white with the Coyote emblem on it.

  “All right, come sit.” Allison patted the back of the chair she’d set up in my bathroom.

  I sat down, and she started twirling my hair.

  “How was your dad’s party today?”

  I grunted.

  “That good, huh?”

  “Larry was there.”

  “Oh God. What did that prick do now?”

  “He grabbed me while we were eating brunch.”

  Allison’s hand stilled on my hair. “Grabbed you where?”

  I sighed. “Exactly where you think. He grabbed my crotch.”

  “What the hell is wrong with that man? And what is wrong with your father that he doesn’t see what a letch he is?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I don’t want to talk about Larry. Let’s talk about Dean and how dreamy you think he is.” I watched her in the mirror as a goofy smile curved her lips.

  “He is all kinds of dreamy.”

  The truth was I was afraid Larry was going to be the last guy who would want me. And what if he wasn’t so bad? So, he came onto me. Wasn’t that what guys who liked you were supposed to do? My body just didn’t respond to him. I didn’t feel anything but indifference or disgust around him.

  Allison pulled my blonde hair into victory rolls and a red scarf, then painted my lips red. I had a pair of red Doc Martens to top off the entire look. I actually felt pretty. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad.

  Allison put on a slinky black dress that fell perfectly over her curves. She pulled her hair up into a messy updo and painted her own lips magenta. Her black heels accented her long legs.

  “You ready?” she asked.

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  The limousine stretched out in front of us on the street. The driver got out and opened the door for us. I noticed his eyes dropping to check out Allison. I smiled politely when he barely acknowledged me and dipped down to get into the vehicle. Tonight wasn’t about me. Allison deserved a great night out, and I planned to give it to her.