Spitfire in Love Read online

  Also by Isabelle Ronin

  Chasing Red

  Always Red

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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2019 by Isabelle Ronin

  Cover and internal design © 2019 by Sourcebooks

  Cover design by Dawn Adams/Sourcebooks

  Cover image © Vasyl Dolmatov/Getty Images

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  sourcebooks.com

  The author is represented by Wattpad.

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Excerpt from Chasing Red

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  To Adam, my love

  Chapter 1

  Kara

  I was about to make a huge mistake.

  This wouldn’t be the first time it happened, nor would it be the last. I knew all the reasons why I shouldn’t—the painful consequences were so familiar to me. But that didn’t stop me.

  I closed my eyes, silently counted to three, and took a long, deep breath.

  Then I took a giant bite of the cheesiest veggie lasagna they served once a week in the campus cafeteria.

  “Ungghh…” I sighed lustily, savoring the creamy, salty, addicting flavor of cheese in my mouth. The softness of the noodles. It was my reward for being such a good citizen this week, and I deserved—

  “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

  My eyes snapped open. My best friend Tala, all four feet eleven inches of her, stood in front of me with a look of disappointment but no surprise on her pretty face. She placed her books on the table, dumped her bag on the floor, pulled out a chair, and sat.

  I shot her a mischievous grin and took another bite.

  “You’re lactose intolerant,” she pointed out uselessly, watching me chew in ecstasy.

  I licked the warm cheese on my lips, took another bite, and moaned. “I had a crappy morning at work today. I owe myself this cheesy perfection.”

  “I know you’re happy now,” she continued. She opened her bag and fished out a pink square Tupperware with pictures of cute cats all over it. The scent of spices filled the air as she opened her lunch box. “But remember what happened in Professor Balajadia’s seminar last time?”

  I made a face. “I took the pills.”

  She shook her head, pulled out a folded paper towel from her bag, and unwrapped it. It was her spoon and fork. Even though she had immigrated to Canada ten years ago, she’d grown up in the Philippines, where they usually use both utensils. “You know they don’t work on you.”

  I glared at her. “You’re ruining my moment here. And aren’t you going to microwave that?” I pointed at her lunch with my fork. It was rice and adobo today.

  She gave me an embarrassed look. “And get sued? No thanks.”

  I rolled my eyes. To show how much I loved her, I hit pause on my romantic date with the lasagna and grabbed her lunch box, heading straight to the microwave. Bonus: there were only three people in line.

  Tala’s mom always prepared lunches for her, and it was usually rice and meat. When heated up in the microwave, the smell was so pungent it filled the room. The first time she used the microwave in the campus cafeteria, people complained about the smell of her food clinging to their clothes, so she never did it again.

  Well, this was the cafeteria. Where else would she heat up her food? Under the sun? People would just have to deal.

  I met Tala our freshman year in college. We were in the same accounting class. One of the girls in the class said something nasty about Tala being overweight, and I reacted accordingly. Two years later, we’re still friends, so the friendship must be real. She’s one of the best people on planet Earth.

  When it was my turn, I put her food in the microwave for two minutes. Thirty seconds later, the overpowering smell of spices and meat filled the air. I could hear grumbles from people behind me, and I glared at them defiantly, daring them to say something.

  When they didn’t, I turned around and stared at the microwave’s timer screen. When it hit two seconds, I jerked it open like my life depended on it. I hated the beep it made when it hit zero.

  Why couldn’t they make it a single beep? Or a nice catchy song?

  I hit Clear to reset the timer, pulled down my sleeves to cover my hands so the Tupperware wouldn’t burn my skin, and went back to my table.

  “It’s not your Gaspard Ulliel,” I teased. She was obsessed with him. “But enjoy.” I shoveled another sinful bite of lasagna into my mouth.

  She giggled. “It’s all right. You’re forgiven. You know that cute archi student I told you about? We had a moment in the library this morning. He looked at me,” she gushed. “I think he can have my babies.”

  “Oh really?” I raised a brow. “Like the nursing student you want to marry in Vegas? You cheater.”

  She laughed and flicked a piece of rice at me.

  The cafeteria was filling up quickly now. People eyed our table, gauging how long we’d be staying to eat our food, so they could take over our spot. I made eye contact with one of them and flashed a sympathetic smile that said, I feel you.

  “Don’t you think, with the ungodly tuition we pay, they could afford to build us a skyscraper for a cafeteria? Dusted in gold,” I said, sneering at the wobbly table and orange plastic chairs.

  “Seriously. Do
n’t forget the sexy servers.” She ate a spoonful of her food. She used to offer to share her food with me, until I told her I didn’t eat meat. “Anyway, how do you like being back in college?”

  “It’s good,” I answered, scraping the last bite of cheesy goodness from the plate and sucking the fork clean.

  Money was and continued to be a problem in our household, so I had taken a little over a year off from college to help my dad with expenses. It didn’t help that I had a deep and lasting love affair with clothes and makeup, but I knew my priorities.

  I had been working two part-time jobs and one full-time: I worked full-time at a personal care home, and on weekdays, when my schedule allowed, I worked part-time as a clerk at our auto repair garage, where my dad and younger brother worked. On weekends, I worked as a cashier at a coffee shop. When I went back to school, I had to quit the full-time job.

  “It’s a little bit of an adjustment,” I added truthfully, debating whether I should lick my plate clean. “But I’ll get used to it. I’m taking one of the advanced elective classes they’re offering for second- and third-year students.”

  The semester had just started, and I already felt like I had so much catching up to do. I didn’t mind college, but it wasn’t exactly my favorite. Some people knew from the start what they wanted in life. I’d say to them, Congratulations! I don’t like you.

  I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life…yet. So just like any practical college student who couldn’t decide what they wanted, I majored in business. Hopefully, I’d have a lot of options when I graduated.

  “That’s great, that’s great,” Tala said, chewing on her lip.

  I watched her for a few seconds. I knew what was coming.

  Tala was a self-proclaimed psychic. I didn’t believe in that sort of thing, but I also didn’t not believe it. What I believed was that I was not a very patient human being, so I asked, “What is it?”

  She put her spoon and fork down. Huh. Must be serious. “Have you…met anyone new today?”

  “Like someone not stupid?” Screw it. I licked my plate. “Nope.”

  “Kar!” she admonished, but she was smiling.

  Satisfied, I wiped my mouth with a napkin as gracefully as possible, leaned back in my chair, and patted my food baby. “Am I going to win the lottery?” I asked dryly.

  “Hmm,” she said absently.

  Whether or not I believed in her psychic abilities, I couldn’t resist the possibility of something exciting. So far, my life had been as exciting as a rock on a deserted island.

  I’d never even had a boyfriend. I was a lifetime member of the Single Since Birth Club. Yay.

  “He’ll find you,” Tala said after a moment.

  “You’re being creepy right now. Who will find me?”

  She had a faraway look in her eyes, like she was watching a movie in her head. “You’ll find him. Or he’ll find you. I’m not sure.”

  “The guy I owe money to?” I was being flippant, but the hairs on my neck stood up…and inside my chest, my traitorous heart skipped a beat.

  “You’ll see” was all she said before she gathered her things and left for her next class.

  I couldn’t really put stock in what she said. Sometimes she’d predict things correctly, and other times she was dead wrong. It was the same thing as asking a random person on the street if it was going to rain next week or not. Their guess was as good as mine.

  Deciding to forget what she said, I quickly wiped our table before snatching my backpack to leave. Sure enough, two girls quickly snagged our seats. I gave them a thumbs-up.

  I had another hour or so to spare before my next class started, so I decided to head over to my department’s lounge area to pass the time.

  The hallways had lockers on one side and floor-to-ceiling glass windows on the other, flooding the interior with rich sunlight. Students sat on the floor or stood, leaning against their red lockers, chatting with each other. I’d once heard from a transfer student that they didn’t have lockers in college in their country. In Esther Falls College in Manitoba, Canada, we had lockers. I counted myself very lucky.

  I stopped in my tracks when I remembered that I needed an ID card to get into my department’s lounge. I pulled my backpack in front of me, rummaging for my ID card when I was suddenly compelled, for some reason I couldn’t identify, to look up at that precise moment—and saw him.

  His face belonged to a dark archangel, and his hair was as dark as Lucifer’s soul. It curled below his jaw, flirting with the collar of his shirt.

  My brain stopped working. All I could think was Are they shooting a movie on campus? Who is he?

  He continued walking, unaware of everything—that or he didn’t really care. His stride was confident, as if he owned the damned place. Broad shoulders, long legs.

  Everything on him was black: black shirt, black jeans, black combat boots, black backpack. So much so that when I looked up in his eyes, the impact was like a punch to the stomach.

  His eyes were piercing blue.

  It was only a moment—a very brief moment—when our eyes met.

  But I knew.

  The lasagna wasn’t the biggest mistake of my life.

  He was.

  Chapter 2

  Cameron

  “Shit.”

  I stood in the street in front of my house and looked up at the bright morning sky. Closing my eyes as the heat of the sun pounded against my lids, I tried to find my calm. Counted to five.

  One. Two. Three—

  Didn’t work. I lowered my head and took a deep breath before I opened my eyes.

  There was a deep gouge on the fender of my motorcycle.

  Curling my hand into a fist, I bit my knuckle.

  A quick inspection found more scratches all over the side fairing and the engine cover was completely busted. Hit-and-run, I thought, grinding my teeth. Someone had crashed into my bike, and whoever hit it took the time to put it upright before fleeing the scene.

  Thank you very much, motherfucker.

  I crouched in front of it, stroking the once-smooth surface, now all banged up—the metal felt ridged and sharp under my fingertips. I’d had this ride for so long it felt like a piece of me.

  Someone was going to pay.

  I stood up slowly. When my phone rang, I didn’t even look to see who it was and grabbed it like a lifeline.

  “Yeah?”

  “Hey, Cam.”

  It was Caleb.

  I probably should have said something nicer, but all I could grit out was another sharp “Yeah.”

  I tamped down the anger and tried to concentrate on what he was saying.

  “You know, it completely slipped my mind,” he began. He sounded like he just woke up. “It’s not Saturday today, is it?”

  I kept rubbing the scratches, hoping they’d disappear. “You’re such a genius.”

  “I hear that all the time.” He paused. “Give me a ride to school?”

  “You dying?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  I blew out a breath when I spotted a rip on the leather seat. “Then no. I’m not giving you a ride.”

  “My bike’s at the shop.”

  Where mine was going to be very soon.

  He cleared his throat. “And I left my car at the club last night. Took a cab this morning.”

  He sounded guilty. That meant he had slept at some girl’s house again, took a cab to get back to his place, and hadn’t bothered picking up his car.

  “Actually, I changed my mind,” he drawled. “I am dying and—”

  Whatever he was saying was drowned out by a series of horn honks blaring behind me. I turned around just in time to see a beat-up Honda Civic speeding toward me like a bat out of hell.

  It happened so fast. I yelled, jumping back to avoid getting clipp
ed, and bumped into my bike in the process. I could only watch in horror as my motorcycle fell over with a loud crash.

  There was a sound of metal bouncing against pavement. I looked to my right. It was my side mirror.

  My mouth opened in shock, but nothing came out.

  I stood dumbly and watched as the Civic came to a full stop, brakes screeching like a banshee, two houses down, across from my place. It idled for a few seconds before it reversed like a jet to the house across the street from mine.

  I could feel my body bracing for a fight, my anger so close I could taste the bitterness of it.

  What came out of it was a tall, willowy brunette ready for war. She wore some sort of uniform—a green dress shirt and slacks, her long honey-brown hair down her back—and she marched to the front door like she was going to give someone a come-to-Jesus talk.

  She rang the doorbell incessantly, and when that wasn’t answered after ten seconds, she started banging on the door with her fists.

  Spitfire was the first word that came to mind. What a spitfire.

  I had been living in my place for a couple of years now, but I kept to myself and especially stayed away from my neighbors. I’d only ruin their lives if I let them too close. It was easier this way.

  I had no idea who lived there, but this girl clearly was going to eat that poor person for breakfast.

  The door finally opened to reveal a frail old man with a cane. He looked like he’d be toppled over by a gust of wind. He wore a checkered shirt with suspenders and boxers, like he had forgotten to put on his pants before answering the door. Not surprising, since it was way too early in the morning.

  What in the hell could her business be with the poor old-timer?

  I could tell she wasn’t expecting him to open the door. She stepped back, hesitant. I couldn’t hear their words, but she seemed to be apologizing. When she finished, the old man pointed at the house next door.

  She must have gotten the wrong house.

  I couldn’t help but laugh.

  Looking contrite, she walked away with her head bowed low. When she raised it, the look in her eyes had transformed from penitent to billowing fire. Interesting.