Breaking Even (2 page)

I guess we're not allowed to talk about the fact he's not doing anything besides sitting around. I don't want to tell him I took her parking spot. He’ll ask why, and then there will be a hellacious amount mockery that follows.

“Nothing, really. She's just bat-shit crazy.” At least that's the truth.

And I'll make sure the punishment is fitting.

***

BRIN

Maggie whistles low, chuckling as she shakes her head in disbelief. I groan as I stare at the rear of my car that I'll have to spend a fortune to get fixed.

Maggie came to meet me at work, curious about what happened to set me off this morning. I've spent the morning in knots, unable to face work after my
little
breakdown. The museum can wait. I have a big-ass mess to sift through.

My boss will just have to do his own job today, because I'm taking a personal day. I don't care if he's already seen me standing in front of the museum for the past two hours just staring blankly at the mutilated rear end of my car. I'll have to work overtime to pay for my rampage.

“Was it worth it?” Maggie asks, still smiling as a piece of one of my taillights falls to the ground, shattering a little more to punctuate the tragedy it has suffered.

My crumpled Camry's rear still looks better than the front of his destroyed Porsche. I dread going home. Maybe I'll get lucky and he'll stick to his side of the street. I never see him outside of the subdivision. We barely even see each other outside in the yards.

Shit! I can’t believe I stood there and drooled over him this morning—then went crazy and smashed his car. Now that the anger has fled, the humiliation and dread are ruling me.

“I just... snapped. I don't know. Maybe it's because of hormones or whatever. I'm almost twenty-six, so it could be an early midlife crisis or something.”

She snickers while shaking her head. “Girl, I'm twenty-nine, and I've never mowed down a Porsche.”

I decide not to remind her what today is. I've talked about it enough this past year.

“I'll start calling around to get some price quotes on fixing this. I hope he doesn't expect you to fix his Porsche or sue you,” she sighs, slapping me in the face with reality.

Ah, hell. It was a hit-and-run. “Or call the cops,” I add, exasperated as I flop my head into my hands.

Why was I so stupid? I should have just called in and stayed in bed this morning. I've destroyed a car, and now I could quite possibly be going to jail. Great. I don't take good selfies, so I can only imagine how I'll look in a mug shot.

Chapter 2

BRIN

I made it through the night without seeing Mr. Sexy or enduring his wrath. Thank goodness. His Porsche was gone when I got home, per the usual. He usually comes and goes during the late hours, and he almost always wakes me up with his obnoxious returns and departures.

If he came and went last night, he didn't rev his horrible engine like normal. I'm lying in my bed instead of a cot in a jail cell, so he apparently never called the cops. No mug shots just yet. I pray this isn't just the calm before the storm.

Rising slowly, I head to the kitchen, ready to make some coffee. I groan inwardly when I think about all my nosy neighbors. Why did I cause a scene?

Maggie's door is shut tight, her music is still softly playing, and there's no crazy lady crashing into cars this morning to disturb her. I'm sure she pulled another late night.

I tiptoe through the house—my morning routine—and finish getting ready for work. When I walk out, my jaw drops. My car is blocked in—again. It's not the fragile Porsche behind me this time, though.

There's a large, black Range Rover with a black-painted brush-guard that is almost touching my falling-apart bumper.

Un-frigging-believable. That ass did it again! I don't know where he keeps his vehicles, but I know he has several. I've seen him drive this one before.

As I stalk to my car, I glance at his house, willing it to burn to the ground with him in it. My mind doesn't grant me the pyrotechnic show I crave, though.

I gauge the few inches he has left me with, and I scowl. I'll have to get Maggie's keys, move her car, then move mine, then move hers back, then get in mine and leave. All because he's a jerk who can't stay on his side of the street.

A string of profanities leave my mouth too loudly, and Ms. Morgan looks over at me while weeding out her dead flowerbed, offering me a disappointed glare. If she wants to point that glare at someone, it should be the dick across the street—not me.

He's so lucky Maggie is anti-gun. Otherwise... I won't go there. I need to get violence out of my head. I've pissed off my neighbor, who is now trying to piss me off for pissing him off.

Headache.

When I make it back inside the house, I see Maggie was wise enough to leave her keys out. She has better foresight than I do, because I sure as hell never saw this coming. Why provoke the crazy woman who bashed in your Porsche's brains? Does he not realize I've lost my mind? There's no telling what I might do in the heat of the moment.

I rush back out to move Maggie's car, but I'm frozen to the ground when I see a smirking devil propped against his doorjamb. I'll no longer refer to him as Mr. Sexy. From now on, he's Mr. Dead Meat.

He idly sips his coffee, his twisted, wicked grin growing ever so slightly as he watches me, waiting for me to show my ass again. Today he's wearing dark denim jeans and a black T-shirt that says “Nirvana” on the front.

I offer him my best I-want-you-dead glower, and he raises his coffee cup in a toasting motion, proving he's proud of his little payback. I hate him. Mr. Dead Meat can go to hell. I'll not be driving into his car today. Mostly because it wouldn't do a damn bit of good, and because my car might fall apart this time.

After playing musical vehicles, I head off to work, praying I don't file anything wrong. I'm sure my boss is going to make me work over just to make up for yesterday.

Just as I park at the museum, something familiar catches my eyes. Then a sickening feeling consumes me as the scene registers in front of me. My heart stops when I see the only man in the world I wish would disappear off the face of the planet.

It's him. John Abbott. The son of a bitch who made me a divorcee just after I turned twenty-five is here, and he's not here alone. A gooey-eyed blonde is draped on his arm, staring happily up at him as he walks out of the museum—where I work.

What's he doing here?

I watch as he unfolds something, and my heart constricts. It's then I realize he's sliding a ring on her finger. He's proposing here? At my work? What... the... hell is going on?

Not that I've been keeping tabs, but I know for a fact they've only been dating for three months. Everyone who knows us always fills me in on his life, even though it should be obvious that I don’t want to hear it.

This is too soon. Has he lost his mind? Or is she just as stupid as I was to think the creep is capable of truly caring about her?

I scan the parking lot for his truck, hoping I'm not parked anywhere close to him. God must be busy, because he doesn't answer my prayer. I’m parked two cars down from him.

I try slumping down in my seat, but it's too late. His eyes lock with mine, and then he tilts his head. At first I think he's going to pass by, pretend as though we're two acquaintances who barely knew each other once upon a time, but then he stops just as he reaches the back of my car, his eyes locked on the rear. Horror spreads over his face, and he drops Barbie's arm to rush over.

“Brin! What the hell happened?” he demands, his eyes pinned toward the back, and I huff loudly when I realize what kept him from just walking on.

He’s
what happened. I was too pissed to think straight because of what yesterday was. The ignorant, selfish, stupid asshole. Now I have to face him and only humiliate myself further.

I slowly climb out of the car, wishing I had gone to church more. Maybe then God would have helped me out. Why does it feel like I'm being punished?

***

BRIN

“So he was there getting her ring appraised?” Maggie asks in disbelief, referring to my son of a bitch ex-husband and his shiny new toy that has the Sterling sparkle.

“Yep. And I showed up just as they were leaving. He actually used my name to call in a favor and rush the process along, and they did it for free because he and I are
friends
. Can you believe the nerve? My life sucks,” I groan, cursing as I drop to my bed.

His fiancée must know what a prick he is if she’s forcing him to get the ring appraised. It wasn’t a flashy diamond, so it can’t possibly be worth more than a thousand dollars. Pointless appraisal if you ask me.

Maggie starts to speak, when we hear a loud, terrifying cracking noise, and I squeal loudly as my bed shifts and breaks. A stupid girly scream passes through my lips as the right side collapses, slanting my bed at a terrible, unforgiving angle that drops my ass in a rolling motion to the hard floor.

I land awkwardly and a grunt is forced out of me. After peeling myself up, I look around, still a little stunned.

“What the hell?” I groan, looking at my large bed in disbelief. My poor, poor bed. The ache from my pummeled rear reminds me the bed wasn’t the only one injured. My poor, poor ass.

Maggie is wide-mouthed as she comes to gape at the crazy damn thing that has just happened. “How did your bed just fall apart?” she asks, and I look at her as if she's joking.

“Sorry,” she mutters, realizing that was a stupid question. But as she examines the bed closer, she gasps. “These legs have been sawed through. And the other two are completely intact. Someone did this on purpose.”

Shocked and completely bewildered, I try to process that. Who would break in and saw my bed down? No. That’s preposterous.

“How could anyone even get in the house? Maybe we've got beetles or something.”

That's when she turns pale and takes a step back. But within seconds, her horror turns to fits of laughter. Um... What's going on?

“Oh damn. It appears you've started a war,” Maggie says, not making a damn bit of sense.

“What?” I ask slowly, suddenly questioning her sanity.

Her laughter tapers off as she slides down the wall until she's sitting and leaning against it, putting her eye-level with me.

“Mr. Sexy came over earlier today because our pipes burst outside. I never saw it. I should have possibly questioned that, but hell, he had tools, and I know nothing about pipes or tools—no pun intended. Anyway, my days are always busy with client calls, and I had to leave him alone numerous times. I heard noises, but I didn't really think much about it. You're so fucked if you've started a war with him.”

Her laughter resumes while my mouth remains unhinged, dumbfounded by this turn of events. That asshole is paying me back? Why? He frigging sawed down my bed?

“I only ran over his car because he had our spot. Again! That was us breaking even. This... this is him getting back up by one shot.”

Maggie tilts her head as an amused smile crosses her lips. “What are you going to do about it?” she dares.

I scowl as I finally climb back up to my feet, and I grab my phone and keys from the nightstand. Is there a hardware store nearby?

“First I'm going to find a saw so I can knock down the other two legs of my bed to make it level, and then I'm going to google revenge.”

Her laughter returns just as I walk out, and I glare at the neighbor's house across the street. When I see his Range Rover behind my sad little car, I stalk through the darkness.

The second I reach the door, the bastard swings it open before I can even knock. “Yes?” he drawls, having the audacity to seem bored.

How dare he answer shirtless and attempt to distract me! Those tattoos aren't intimidating me right now, though. He lives in a subdivision, so he can't be too dangerous. I don't think. Maybe, anyway.

“I need your saw,” I growl.

He tries not to grin, but fails miserably as he reaches beside the door and pulls out a hacksaw, as though he was waiting on this. How did he know I’d come over here when I only decided it seconds ago?

“I'd give you the electric one I used, but you might cut one of your fingers off. Looks like you'll have to do it the hard way,” he gloats.

I narrow my eyes at him while snatching the saw away. “Thank you,” I hiss, and then I turn to walk away.

You really told him off, Brin.

“Oh, and now we're even,” he calls through the darkness, humor and triumph lacing his every word.

“No. We were even when I screwed up your car,” I growl, never slowing down. “This means war.”

His throaty chuckle puts unwelcome tingles throughout my entire body, but I shrug them off as my speed quickens.

“Bring it on, Darlin’,” he says to my back.

Famous last words.

***

RYE

“You're kidding,” Wren says just as I lock the door to my office.

He follows me out to my car, and takes the passenger seat. I’ve finally succeeded in talking him into going to Silk, but I have to swing by my house and change first. I refuse to let him back out, and he will if I don’t drive him there myself.

“Nope. And now she's threatening war.”

I can't help but laugh. What's she going to do? Try to run over my car again? I'm not driving anything but this beast for a while. Besides, her car wouldn't survive another attack.

“Did you just laugh?” he asks, his eyes wide in disbelief.

“Don’t look at me like that. I do laugh on occasion.”

He snorts derisively. “On a very rare occasion, and nowhere nearly that loud.”

Grinning, I shrug. “Must be the adrenaline high.”

It's later than I meant for it to be, but we finally finished this week's ungodly load. Maybe I can start on my car tomorrow. And with us being caught up, the guys can handle taking care of the grunt work alone.

As I crank the car and pull out onto the road, Wren sinks back in the seat.

“You're fucking crazy, dude. The girl could be one of those chicks that cuts a guy's balls off in his sleep or something.”