by C. M. Owens
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.”
Poor Wren. He’s in for a night of hell.
“Your date’s here,” I grumble while moving over and slapping Wren on the arm, my eyes still on the girl I’d like to throw in the pool.
That’s not good enough. I need something epic after what she did to me earlier.
He turns around and looks at her, smiling as he says, “She looks like the only one here that came to relax.”
I frown as I try to understand his meaning. Is he complimenting her or putting her down?
“What do you—”
“Wren,” Ash interrupts, smiling as she guides Brin over. “This is the girl I’ve been telling you about.”
Brin looks down, acting as though she’s a little shy or awkward. That’s sure as hell not the girl I know.
“Hey,” she says bashfully when she finally peers back up.
“Hey,” Wren says back, giving her a smile he barely uses.
I still don’t know what’s going on with him, but I can tell he’s not really at this party. Well, physically he is, but his mind is a million miles away. He’s going to hurt her feelings if he doesn’t act right.
“Hey,” I mock, rolling my eyes before glaring at her.
Her smile morphs into a real one and grows as she looks at me, and then she bites back the taunting grin. “You smell... odd,” she says coyly, and I narrow my eyes at her.
“Wonder why?” I growl, and her laughter breaks free.
I don’t care how cute her damn laugh is, she’s still going to have one hell of a reckoning the second I find the perfect revenge.
“You two are still warring, I see,” Tria says, chuckling as she walks up.
Kode comes to rest a possessive hand on her hip, staking his claim as though I’m interested.
“She broke into my house and baby-oiled my floor, and then bombed me with air freshener,” I gripe, and everyone starts laughing, including Wren.
Her smile is aimed at me as she says, “We’re even. Truce for the night?”
Even? Ha! “We’re not even close to even, but yes—truce for the night. We need some boundaries.”
She nods, agreeing with me. I’ll regret that if I see something I could get back at her with. But for now, I’ll give her a damn temporary truce.
“Hey,” Ingrid says, sidling up beside me as she tries to interfere with our conversation.
Apparently hey is all anyone else wants to say tonight. At least this girl is completely normal, unlike some of the others Ash has introduced me to.
Brin’s eyes scan the long legs of the blonde attached to my arm, and she appraises the skin-tight dress that is glued to the body of the bomb-shell. I almost release a smug smile when she tugs at the ends of her shorts, obviously feeling uncomfortable. At least her shorts fit for a change.
That ass better not looks as good as it did the other night.
“Sorry,” Brin says, looking at Wren and away from me. “Ash said a barbeque, and, well, I didn’t realize it was a dress-to-kill barbeque.”
Everyone snickers as Wren moves closer, shrugging. “You look good to me. We can take a walk later, and you can tell me all about your future plans to torment Rye.”
I glare at the traitor who only sniggers at my expense. Brin forces a smile that doesn’t come close to reaching her eyes. Now I feel like an ass because I realize she feels really uncomfortable.
In all actuality, shorts and a tank top do make sense for a barbeque.
“Care to help me find a drink?” Ingrid asks, tugging at my arm.
“They’re at the bar,” I say, motioning toward Tag’s big ass setup he has on his pool patio.
I should hang out at my beach home more often, but I love my suburb house during the off season. Even though it never really gets cold here, the wind at night this time of year is pretty chilly. All of these girls will be regretting their clothing soon.
Ingrid frowns as Wren offers Brin his arm. What is he? Eighty?
“Need a drink?” he asks her.
“A beer would be nice.”
She grins up at him, fooling him with that sweet smile that masks the devil’s wicked grin underneath. She could fool the CIA, but she can’t fool me.
“You know her?” Ingrid asks as she returns with a glass of some fruity concoction.
“Yeah,” I mutter vaguely, not enjoying the way Wren is resting his arm around her waist. He doesn’t know her well enough for that. He might pull back a nub if he accidentally crosses some arbitrary line the way I did.
I’m not sure he can handle her.
“You going to stare at the girl wearing shorts all night?” Ingrid asks, sounding a little annoyed.
I suppose I’d be offended if she was staring at a guy while on a date with me, but she’s taking this out of context.
“Would you rather I gave you all my attention?” I ask, giving her my most charming smile, which she quickly dissolves under.
Predictable.
Her grin splits her face as she takes a sexy-strutted step toward me and puts her hands on my chest, running her fingers down to the tops of my abs.
“Yes. I would,” she says, trying to sound as provocative as one can.
“Rye,” Tag calls, looking over his shoulder as he mans the bar in the absence of his bartender.
“Yeah,” I say, walking away from my ready-to-please date.
“Grab the salt, and come do shots with us. It’s in the kitchen. Top right cabinet.”
What am I? The fetch-it bitch?
“Sure,” I mumble, feeling a little distracted when a small, reserved giggle comes out of Brin.
That’s not her laugh. Her laugh is either maniacal or carefree. That’s the most forced laugh I’ve ever heard.
Why the fuck do I care?
Wren’s a good guy. She’ll be fine. It’s not my damn place to worry about whether or not she’s fine.
I make my way inside the house and roll my eyes. Tag’s directions suck. There are at least ten top right cabinets. Dick. It’s not like I’ve never been in his kitchen before, but I’ve never had any reason to dig through his damn cabinets.
After opening and closing several, I finally find the one that hosts the salt, but something else catches my eye. Red food coloring.
Reflexively, my eyes dart to the French doors and land on Brin. I could so get her with that dark beer and this red food coloring.
Ah, hell. I can’t. We called a truce for the day.
Sulking, I start to close the cabinet, but then I swipe both bottles of red food coloring instead. I’ll just play with Ingrid. One person is just as good as another and this opportunity is too good to pass up.
As soon as I make it outside, Ingrid is waiting and I’m handing Tag the salt.
“Can I do shots with you?” she purrs, back to being all over me.
I grin as I take her red, fruity drink. Perfect. “Sure. You do the first one.”
She giggles like a fool hands me her drink. When she looks away, I pour a whole tube of the stuff in what little bit of drink she has left. The red blends in with the differently shaded red drink—enough to pass a drunk girl’s inspection.
She chugs the shot, and I happily hand her back her drink to chase the tequila with. She takes large sips, finishing it off, and I grin in anticipation.
“Was the shot good?” I ask, reaching for one of my own.
When she smiles, I can’t help but burst out laughing. Her teeth, tongue, lips... her whole damn mouth is blood red. Girl could pass for a freshly fed vampire right now.
“What?” she asks, but I can’t speak because I’m laughing too hard.
I look around for Brin, hoping she sees it too, but she’s down on the beach with Wren. Really? She’s missing the fun stuff.
When my laughter continues to be belted out, Ingrid turns and looks at Tag who leans back, cringing.
“Damn, girl,” Tag says, just as Dane sees her and chokes on his shot, laughing as soon as he coughs his drink down.
She jerks her head toward the windows of the house, and a shrill scream of horror escapes her before she starts spitting the red out—well, trying to spit it out. Damn, this shit is awesome.
She’s almost crying, so to relieve her panic, I manage to form words. “Relax,” I say through my laughter. “It’s just food dye.”
Her eyes widen as she looks up, a long, red spit string still clinging to her lips. That’s gross.
“You did this?” she almost yells.
Yes. A little fun is about to begin.
I just nod, proud of my little prank. Her face turns a furious red that rivals the stains in her mouth, and she twirls around angrily to stomp out.
That’s no fun.
“Way to lose a date,” Dane chuckles, acknowledging me without any hint of distaste.
At least he’s warming up.
Hmmm. Ingrid’s reaction was not the result I expected. In fact, that’s the opposite of what I wanted. I think I’ve laughed more in the past few days than I ever have in my life. I really should have started doing this sooner.
“I wish Brin hadn’t made me call a temporary truce,” I grumble, now feeling bored as Wren and she slowly make their way back toward us.
“You can hold off on torturing her for one more day,” Tag snickers.
It’s Saturday. I had a lot of shit planned for our war.
“They won’t work,” I say mildly, tossing back a shot of my own before gesturing toward the beach.
“Why?” Tag asks, sipping his beer now.
“Wren and Brin? How dorky is it to have rhyming names?” I ask incredulously.
I thought that would be obvious.
Dane growls for some weird reason, and Tag turns his head to snicker. Oh. Shit. Rain and Dane. Oops.
“My bad,” I mutter as Dane walks off.
And we were just starting to make progress. Oh well.
Brin and Wren walk up the steps together, and I notice her beer is low. It’s just low enough for this little bottle of red to do some damage.
I glance down, weighing my options, and shrug. Fuck it.
***
BRIN
Wren is sweet, but he seems so distracted. I feel like I’m boring him to death, and every time I think he’s telling a joke, I try to laugh. But I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. I haven’t tried dating since high school.
