Breaking Even (7 page)

I once thought I found a guy who loved me the way I was. And then he decided he wanted a life full of the glamorous things. He didn’t cheat on me, but he sure as hell made me feel like an idiot for ever trusting him. I guess people change.

Donut. I need a donut.

Using more energy than I care to admit, I heave myself off the couch and wearily strut to the kitchen counter that is holding the tasty promise.

“When did you get these?” I ask, opening the box.

Oh, heaven has found me. Cream filled.

“Last night. Not too long after you left,” she says mildly. “Did you ever catch the monster spider?”

Stupid, big, scary spider.

“No, but at least I found out that it’s not poisonous. I looked it up. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep if I hadn’t.”

I pick up the first donut as I walk back to the chair, ready to unwind and eat the delicious morsel in my hand without any guilt.

“So was he good as a date?” she asks, sounding all too eager for details I don’t have.

“He was nice enough. We danced, drank, and enjoyed the fact that it’s a damn small world. But other than that, nothing special. He probably went after another girl that did have the sparkle after I left, but he was polite enough to pretend to be my date for the night. He’s apparently not as big of a dick as I thought,” I say, and then I bite down into the glazed heaven that—

I start gagging and coughing as something gross ruptures and coats my mouth. What disgusting hell is this?

Maggie starts laughing as I dive off the chair and rush to the sink, spitting out a glob of the white nastiness that is mingling with bile. Then I turn the sink on and put my mouth straight under the faucet, praying for a reprieve from the offensive substance.

Is that... mayonnaise?

Maggie’s cackles are only growing louder as I continue to rinse, spit, and repeat. Once most of the grossness is gone, I grab a banana from the bar and start chomping on it, praying it hurries and gets rid of the lingering taste before I vomit.

I glare at the traitor who is rolling off the couch, heaving for air as her body writhes from the riotous laughter.

“You did this?” I ask through another mouthful of banana.

“Of... course... not,” she says through her chuckles.

Then I glare at my front door, contemplating doing something foul right now. I was too busy to do anything to him today. Damn. Next time I’ll make time.

“That’s it. If you want to be a part of this war, then I’m about to start including you,” I growl.

She stands and shakes her head, still laughing. “Oh no. I’m Switzerland. I don’t want to be involved.”

“Being Switzerland means you’re neutral. You’re not frigging neutral. You’re a traitor—Benedict Arnold.”

She only laughs harder while sitting back down on the couch, clutching her side as though it hurts.

I’ll pay him back. I just need to think of something good. His mayonnaise donut prank was actually lame compared to my glitter prank. I’m still out in front. I think. Well, his blue dye trap did make me go to the hair stylist before my
date
.

“I’m going to take a shower. Then I’m kicking your ass,” I mumble, ignoring her snickers as I head to my room.

It takes less than two minutes to strip down and get in the shower. Stepping under the warm water after a terrible day is always comforting. I’ve been in a stiff skirt, an itchy jacket, and a ruffled blouse all day. I look drabber than a ninety-year-old librarian when I go to work.

After washing the day away, I step out, wrap a towel around me and my wet hair, and set to work finding something comfortable to wear. As soon as I open my panty drawer, a scream bubbles out as a hairy beast stares at me.

Perverted spider!

“Shoo!” I urge, acting like the damn thing has a clue what I’m saying.

It runs toward me, and I leap backwards, stumbling and falling onto my grounded bed. This guy is going to be the death of me. But I’ll be the death of him first. Game on.

With cautious and careful maneuvers, I grab a glass from my dresser and time my attack just right. With a quick slam, I’ve got the monster pinned under the glass, and a sigh of triumph graces my lips. Now I just have to get him out of my room.

How the hell do I do that? When it jumps under the glass, forcing me to squeal, I consider giving it the damn room and moving out.

“You okay?” Maggie asks, sounding so damn entertained.

“Just caught Killer,” I announce, keeping a wary eye on the spider that could just be pretending to be captured.

“The spider?” she squeaks.

I should transport this thing to her panty drawer and let it terrorize her. But I don’t need two wars going on at once, so I refrain.

“Yep.”

I’ll deal with the spider later. Right now I just want to dry my hair, collapse onto my broken bed, and then maybe read or rest.

Nah. I’ll be scheming. That’s what I want to do.

My smile grows as I head to the bathroom and unwind my hair from the towel. I grab the hairdryer and turn it on, but another stupid scream leaves my lips, forcing me to inhale the vicious white powder that sprays me and the rest of the bathroom.

I’m going to kill him!

“What’d he do?” Maggie cackles, relishing every second of her spectator’s seat.

The distinct smell tells me it’s baby powder that just attacked me. Asshole. I hate baby powder. How did he get it into my hairdryer?

Maggie’s laughter grows louder when she’s suddenly in the room with me, looking over my tragic state. My hair is spattered, and with it being wet, the powder is matting against it. That’s going to be a bitch to get out.

My eyes are barely squinted slits that are surrounded by the white hell that is covering my face, and only a thin line of my lips is visible.

I really wish I had dried off better. The water just made it stick to me too well. I hate him. Hate him. Hate him. Hate him.

“Are you growling?” Maggie asks, and I glare at her.

“Maybe.” A puff of powder blows away from my lips with the word.

She turns away, her snickering lingering in her wake, and I reach under my counter for supplies. Tomorrow is Saturday. I don’t have to work, which means the ultimate revenge will be mine. And I won’t stop at one prank. Nope. Not tomorrow.

Tomorrow I’ll show him what war really looks like.

***

BRIN

The shower is steaming up the bathroom, and only a small amount is escaping through the crack left by the window. I finish pouring out the last of the baby oil on the tile floor. The off-key humming is annoying, but I ignore it as I go on about my task, making sure every last drop of the second bottle comes out.

My phone buzzes as I slowly shut the door, quietly letting it click into place, and then I tie the rope to the doorknob, checking that it’s securely attached to the bed at the other end. I make my way toward the front as my phone starts buzzing again.

Seeing no reason to leave the way I came in, I unlock the front door and stroll out without a problem. Then I head to the cracked window as I answer the buzzing phone in my pocket.

My supplies are waiting, and I start assembling my arsenal as I talk.

“Yeah,” I say without looking at the phone.

“So, we’re having a party tonight,” Ash says, surprising me. “We were supposed to have it last night, but it was cancelled because of the possibility of rain. But Wren’s going to be here. Can you come? He really does want to meet you. Especially now that he knows you’re the one tormenting the hell out of Rye.”

I start pulling the zip ties on all the bottles of trigger-pull air fresheners—making sure they don’t start spraying just yet—and I answer, “Ah. So knowing I’m a little crazy turns him on?”

She laughs as the humming continues, and I prop against the side of the house, waiting patiently.

“No. He wanted to meet you the other night, but he had someone call him. He’s a little bummed, but I know seeing you will snap him out of it. I think it has to do with Erica. Tag won’t give me details. He’s loyal like that.”

It’s been a year since my divorce and I’m just now ready to start dating. It’s just been a short period of time since he and his ex split up. Even less time has passed since the actual divorce. Is he even ready to date? Or is Ash pushing me on him?

“Um... I don’t—”

“Please,” she interrupts.

I sigh hard as the humming changes, and I smile when I recognize the song. Base Masters sung that song the other night—while we danced.

“Sure,” I say finally.

She rattles on about the time and place, and I nod as though she can see me... until the water shuts off.

“I’ve got to go,” I whisper. “But I’ll call you back later.”

I hang up before she can grill me, and I wait until I hear the sound of a yelp and a crash before I toss in the first air-freshener grenade. I grab the second, pulling the zip-tie until the spray comes out continuously, and toss it in.

Yells and threats ensue from inside the bathroom as my laughter bubbles out, and I continue throwing them, one right after another.

“Fucking stop!” he yells, as though I’m going to listen. “What’d you do to my fucking floor?”

The baby oil keeps his feet from finding traction, and I hear him crashing and thudding as he yelps in agony with each fall.

“This is for the baby powder,” I gloat, tossing in two more cans. “Now we’re even!”

Several things crash to the ground, and he curses more as the cans continue spraying.

“Damn you!”

I cackle while running away, ignoring the numerous curious looks from the neighbors as I make my great escape. I made sure he didn’t have any scissors or knives to cut the ties, and that’s the only way to shut them off once those things are tightened.

He can take as many showers as he wants, but he’ll still smell like seven different fragrances for a while. I love revenge. It’s not bittersweet; it’s fucking delicious.

I shut and lock the front door, still laughing as I go to the window.

“What’d you do?” Maggie asks, joining me and acting just as excited as I am.

“Febreeze grenades,” I say through my laughter, almost dancing from side to side as I watch his bathroom window. I’m so glad it’s on the front of the house.

We both watch in anticipation, and then the moment I’ve been waiting for happens. The bathroom window goes up, and a body with a towel drops out.

Hey! That’s my pink—

“Why does he have a pink towel?” Maggie asks, laughing.

“That’s my towel,” I pout. Damn. Now it’s going to stink like too much air freshener. He can keep it.

“Pink’s really his color,” Maggie muses, and I tilt my head, appreciating his failed attempt to keep the towel around him as he tries to get up, his body glistening from the baby oil bath. But he does get it reattached before I can get a full frontal.

His back has just as many tattoos as his front, and when he faces us again, the sun glimmers against the piercing in his nipple.

Oh damn. This wasn’t supposed to be sexy.

“
Drooling
,” Maggie says in a singsong voice, grinning at me, and I clap my mouth shut.

Rye looks around, his eyes glaring in my direction. Mrs. Patterson smiles and waves at him as she walks her dog, taking small, slow, very hesitant steps as she openly gawks.

Rye shakes his head and walks back toward his front door where he pushes against it, only to stumble backwards. Yep. I locked it on my way out.

I’m a genius. Or a maniacal fiend. Depending on what kind of mind frame you have.

When his head drops back in exhausted defeat, I might giggle a little. His only option is another window, which he moves to. I left it unlocked. I’m very considerate like that.

After shoving it up and drawing more attention from the neighbors, he hoists himself in. One problem... the pink towel falls off, and I get a very mouthwatering, heart-stopping, incredible view of his perfectly sculpted ass as he throws himself inside.

Mrs. Patterson loses the hold on her dog’s leash, and Skip runs off, barking at nothing as he rejoices his freedom.

I’m still staring just like the perverted lady on the street, both of us gawking at a window he’s long since abandoned.

“After a show like that, Mrs. Patterson is going to need a new pacemaker,” Maggie jokes, eliciting a small snicker from me. “You know there will be hell to pay,” she adds.

I narrow my eyes, glaring at her with as much menace as I can muster.

“And you’d better not help him.”

She shrugs, putting her hand behind her back. “I won’t.”

Juvenile as it is, I swear her fingers are crossed behind her back.

He’ll come for me. But it’ll be worth it. I just set the bar a little higher.

***

RYE

“Why the hell do you smell like you just left a bridge party at the retirement home?” Wren asks, swatting at the air around me as his nose wrinkles.

I mutter a few curses while taking a sip of the dark beer. Why are there only dark beers here? I prefer Corona. I should have brought my own.

Twelve damn showers couldn’t get that smell off me—and I had to shower in my guest bathroom. My throat still burns from inhaling that shit, my bathroom floor is still slimy, and my eyes are bloodshot. I so owe her, and I’ll have my revenge. Just as soon as I think of something that is just as good.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I mumble, prompting him to laugh.

“She got you again, eh? Damn. You’re getting your ass kicked.”

“I’ve done some ass kicking, too,” I defend, pissed that he thinks I’m just taking it and not dishing it out.

He rolls his eyes as he walks over to join Rain and Tria, taking part in whatever conversation they’re having.

I look up just as the devil steps out, wearing a casual pair of white shorts and a red tank top. The other girls here are all in sexy, tight dresses, including the girl Ash has set me up with, yet my tormentor is here looking like she’s ready for a day at the beach.

She takes in everyone, and frowns, apparently noticing the same thing. Ash waves her over, smiling happily as she turns to me and mouths, “Get Wren.”