"Working. What else?"
"Doing what?"
"I was ripping out some plaster."
Speaking of ripped, I could totally envision it, except in my visions, his shirt wasn't just damp. It was gone entirely, leaving him naked from the waist up. In my mind's eye, his muscles bulged, and his body glistened as he went to work on the house, hammering at something or other. I didn't even know what. I just knew he looked very good doing it.
As the image lingered in my brain, my tongue brushed my upper lip. Oh, boy. The vision was very thought-provoking.
Double damn it.
I shook my head and tried to focus on something that didn't involve my nemesis half-naked. "But wait," I said. "Does that mean you started working on the house already?"
"Some."
I felt my brow wrinkle in confusion. "But doesn't that ruin the 'before' footage?"
Broody shook his head. "They finished it today. Remember?"
"Oh." He was right. That was, after all, part of the reason they'd taken me through the house and filmed my reaction to the damage. It was to showcase how terrible the house looked now, before its upcoming restoration.
Still, there was something I didn't understand. "But don't you have crews to do the plaster ripping and stuff?"
"Sure," he said. "But I wanted to see what was under there."
"Under where?"
His eyes filled with amusement, although for the life of me I couldn't imagine why.
I asked, "What's so funny?"
"You said underwear."
I stared up at him as the urge to snicker warred with my better sensibilities. In the end, I decided to stick with the facts. "No. I said under and where – two different words."
He gave a slow nod. "Oh. Like hot stuff."
My gaze drifted to his pecs. Oh boy. He was hot, alright, as he damn well knew.
With renewed horror, I jerked my gaze upward. "No. Like hot and stuff, as I already explained." As I said it, I snuck a teeny glance at his mid-section. "And you're just trying to distract me."
"From what?"
Well, not from your amazing abs, that's for sure.
Oh, for God's sake.
Stiffly, I replied, "From that peep hole, that's what."
"If you want an apology," he said, "forget it."
I made a sound of protest. "But that was so intrusive!"
"No kidding," he said. "But hey, you can apologize any time."
"For what?"
"For breaking into my house."
"For the last time," I gritted out, "I didn't break in. I had a key."
"Not anymore," he said.
"What?"
"They're changing the locks tonight."
Crap. "Why tonight?"
"Because the real work starts tomorrow. So if I were you, I'd be ready."
Ready for what, I didn't know. And I never had the chance to ask, because just then, Waverly walked in through the side door and stopped short at the sight of Brody standing in the kitchen.
Her lips parted, and her eyes smoldered. She eyed him up and down like he was good enough to eat.
For some stupid reason, I didn't like it. Without thinking, I blurted out, "So, who wants dinner?"
Dinner? I hadn't been thinking of dinner. But hey, it was dinner time. And besides, if I flung Waverly a biscuit or something, maybe she wouldn’t start munching on Brody's ass, because she totally looked like she wanted to.
Waverly smiled like I'd just suggested a Brody butt-munching marathon. "That sounds like an excellent idea," she said, looking to Brody. "Dinner for two? Maybe something on the river?" Her voice grew husky. "Like last night?"
Last night?
I tensed, although heaven knows why. Yesterday evening, they'd both disappeared for several hours, and they hadn't returned until midnight. It was beyond easy to guess that they'd gone out for dinner, and possibly something more.
And Brody did have a condo on the river. For all I knew, they'd gone to his place for a nightcap of the naked variety.
The thought bothered me more than it should've. But it also posed an odd question. I looked to Brody and said, "There's something I don't get. If you live right here in the city, why wouldn't you just stay at your own place?"
Brody looked at me for a long moment before saying, "Good question."
Hey, I thought so. And yet, he still wasn't answering. I waited, refusing to let him off the hook.
Finally, it was Waverly who broke the silence. "It's not that good of a question," she said. "His condo's thirty minutes away. So of course he'd want to stay closer to the site to keep an eye on things." Her gaze slid to Brody. "Me too. We run a very tight ship."
It was a decent story. But I wasn't buying it.
And judging from Brody's continued silence, the story wasn't quite as simple as Waverly had made it sound.
I was still trying to figure it out when Waverly turned back to Brody and practically purred, "So, should we shower before we go?"
We?
Did that mean what I thought it meant?
I mean, sure, if they wanted to hop into the shower together, it was none of my business. And yet, an odd empty feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. It wasn't even hunger. It was something worse.
Disappointment.
What on Earth was wrong with me, anyway?
I didn't even like Brody. And besides, I wasn't the type to get naked with someone just because they were pretty – not that Brody had ever offered.
In the end, I turned away with some off-handed comment about ordering pizza for myself, only to turn back at the sound of Brody's voice.
"Sounds good," he said. "Make sure there's pepperoni. My treat."
Next to him, Waverly sputtered, "Pizza? Seriously?"
He gave her a look. "You got something against pizza?"
"No. Definitely not," she stammered. "I love pizza. It's just that…" She lowered her voice. "I was thinking of something more intimate."
He glanced in the general direction of the driveway. "You've got a car," he said. "So get whatever. I won't stop you."
I looked to Waverly. "Wait, you have a car?"
"Of course I do," she said. "Don't you?"
"Not at the moment," I admitted. "But even you didn't have a car yesterday."
"Well I do now," she said. "It was just delivered. So where's your car?"
I bit my lip. "Actually, I'm sort of between cars at the moment."
With a sly smile, she asked, "So how'd you get here?"
"I, um, got a ride, actually."
"Yeah," she said with a laugh. "In a Greyhound bus." She looked to Brody as if sharing a secret joke. "We saw the ticket, remember?"
Heat flooded my face. "When?"
Waverly was still laughing. "Last night, when you were hiding in the bathroom."
"I wasn't hiding," I said. "I was talking to my cousin." I turned and gave Brody an accusing look. "And you went through my stuff?"
He frowned. "That's what you think?"
Before I could answer, Waverly chimed in, "Oh, please. We didn't go through anything. The ticket was just sitting out there for anyone to see."
Damn it. She was right. I'd left that stupid bus ticket along with some other receipts on the dresser. Tonight, I vowed, I'd rip the ticket to shreds and burn the pieces.
But for now, I still felt violated – or maybe I was just embarrassed by the fact that I was twenty-four and had no car of my own.
Again, I looked to Brody, and it struck me all over again how different his life had turned out compared to mine. He probably had a dozen cars and a dozen houses. But me, I had zero of both.
When our gazes met, he gave me a look that I couldn’t quite decipher. Our gazes held, and the moment stretched out longer than it should've.
The moment – or whatever it was – might've lasted even longer, if not for Waverly practically jumping between us to announce, "On second thought, pizza sounds fabulous."
In the end, it was pretty fabulous.
At Brody's suggestion, I ordered it from a local place, not a national chain. By the time it arrived, Brody had already showered – alone, by the way – and had dressed in dark running pants, along with yet another T-shirt.
He looked amazing as usual, even while he paid the driver and gave him a tip so generous, the guy smiled like it was Christmas morning.
Afterward, all three of us ate together in the living room. There wasn't a ton of conversation, but there was more than enough to hold my interest. I was especially interested to learn that Brody and Waverly had dined last night not at Brody's condo, but at a sandwich place on the opposite side of the river. And, if Waverly's demeanor was any indicator, she'd seen his condo only from the outside.
In passing, I also learned that the film crew was staying at a local hotel, and that a full team of construction workers would be on-site the very next morning.
Apparently, this included Brody's two brothers – Chase and Mason.
By the time I crawled into bed, I was actually looking forward to the next day's activities. It would be interesting. And I'd get a sense of how quickly the house might be restored to its former glory.
But then, when the morning actually arrived, the experience proved to be anything but glorious.
Chapter 32
Arden
A male voice from somewhere behind me said, "What are you doing here?"
At the sound, I almost flinched. He'd said it like an accusation, not a question.
Slowly, I turned to look. And there he was, Mason Blastoviak – Brody's oldest brother. He wore jeans, a denim work shirt, and a scowl so ominous, I felt myself swallow.
I'd never met the guy in person, but I'd seen him plenty of times on TV.
On screen – and in real life – he looked a lot like Brody, with the same square jaw and the same muscular build. But there were plenty of differences, too. His hair was shorter, his eyes were darker, and his mouth was compressed so tight, I took an involuntary step backward.
I was standing out in the front yard of what used to my grandparent's place. Around us, construction workers were busy lugging around tools and supplies while Roy and Jerry wandered through the commotion, filming as they went.
It wasn't quite eight o'clock in the morning, and I'd been trying to stay out of the way until I was called to do otherwise.
The weather was brisk and windy – so windy that even out here in the front yard, the sounds of waves crashing against the beach behind the house was so loud that I hadn't heard Mason approach.
Still, I tried to smile as I said, "Sorry, I didn't hear you come up."
Without smiling back, he repeated his original question, more slowly this time. "What are you doing here?"
My smile faltered. "You don't know?"
"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking."
Okay, I definitely wasn't smiling now. "I was hired as a consultant."
From the look on his face, this wasn't what he wanted to hear. In a tight voice, he asked, "To consult about what?"
It was a good question, and the answer was confusing even to myself. "Well, you see…." I blew out a nervous breath. "My family used to own the house, so they wanted someone to help with the historical stuff, I guess."
His expression only darkened. "Who?"
By now, I was seriously rattled. "Sorry, what?"
"Who hired you?"
His hostility was a force to be reckoned with, and yet I tried not to take it personally. This was, after all, Mason Blastoviak, the least likeable of the three brothers.
From watching the show, I already knew that he wasn't a happy-go-lucky kind of guy. In fact, he could be a real bastard sometimes – like now, for example.
But of course, I reminded myself, this might not be so random as it seemed. Although we'd never actually met, he'd surely heard my name years earlier, and not in a good way, after I'd torched Brody's pickup.
Was he putting my face with that name?
But of course he was. Nothing else could explain his overt hostility. I sighed. "Let me guess. You're angry about that thing from high school. I mean, when I was in high school. Not you, of course." At the memory, I almost cringed. "You know, that thing with Brody's truck?"
Without bothering to reply, he said it again. "Who hired you?"
I had to give the guy at least some credit. He could definitely focus. "Alright, fine," I said. "It was Landon Tarrington. There. Are you happy?"
His only answer was a low curse.
By now I felt like cursing, too. "Is that a problem?"
"What do you think?"
Why lie? "I think you're being awfully rude."
"And I think you don't belong here."
"Hey! I belong here you just as much as you do."
He crossed his arms. "Do you?"
Too late, I realized the ridiculousness of my statement. "Okay, maybe I don't belong quite as much as you do. But I do have a contract."
"Not anymore, you don't." He flicked his head toward the street. "So pack your stuff and go. You're fired."
My jaw dropped. "You can't fire me."
"Yeah? Why not?"
Just then, I heard another male voice – this one a lot more familiar – say, "Because I say so, that's why."
I turned to look just in time to see Brody stride up from somewhere behind me. He looked to his brother and said, "So drop it, alright?"
Mason's jaw tightened. "You're not serious."
With growing concern, I looked from brother to brother. I felt like I should say something, but I had no idea what.
Brody told Mason, "I'm plenty serious. And you're forgetting something."
Looking anything but forgetful, Mason replied, "And what's that?'
"This is my job. Remember?"
"Yeah. And my company."
"Our company," Brody corrected. "And it's my fucking house."
Looking more pissed off than ever, Mason replied, "Yeah? So?"
Brody stepped forward until they were standing chest to chest. "So, do I tell you how to run your shit?"
But Mason still wasn't backing down. "Not if you're smart, you don't."
"Exactly," Brody said. "So leave her alone, alright?"
Hearing this, a wave of gratitude washed over me. And yet, I couldn't help but feel incredibly awkward for causing such tension between the brothers.
I looked to Mason and said, "Look, you're obviously angry. And I totally get it. Really, I do –"
"You're wrong," he said.
I frowned up at him. "What?"
"You get nothing." He turned back to Brody and said, "You want this? Go ahead. But don't come bitching to me when she torches the place."
Oh, for crying out loud. "Hey! I'm not the torching type!"
My claim hung there like a cloud in our midst, because all three of us knew that yes, at least some torching had happened in the past – specifically to Brody's truck. And me? I'd been the one holding the lighter.
After a long, awkward moment, I muttered, "Okay fine. But that was a total accident."
And it was, really.
Chapter 33
Arden – Six Years Earlier
Un-freaking-believable.
It was my last week of high school, and everyone was in a glorious mood. Everyone but me.
It was early Wednesday afternoon, and I'd just walked out of school with an advance printout of my final grades. They weren't good. Or at least, they weren't good enough.
In spite of blowing up the chemistry lab and being suspended for two whole weeks, by some miracle – not to mention a whole bunch of extra credit – I'd still managed to pull my grades out of the gutter.
I'd even managed to pass chemistry, but just barely. But barely wasn't good enough, and my scholarship was officially torched, just like my eyebrows.
I looked like a goblin, and I felt like one, too.
But Brody? He looked as amazing as ever. I knew because I still saw him in class – well, whenever he showed up, that is.
We never s
poke, not even to argue about what had happened.
After that senseless explosion, I'd called him every name in the book – not that he'd seemed to care, just like he hadn't cared that we'd both been suspended, or that I'd gotten half of the blame for his recklessness.
And why did I share in the blame? It was because although he'd held the lighter, I'd opened the door. The whole thing had been caught on camera, thanks to video surveillance in the hall, and there was no denying the fact that both of us had played a role in what had happened.
Still, it was all so incredibly unfair.
I hadn't done anything wrong. Not really.
But there was nothing I could do about it now. I'd argued and explained until I'd been blue in the face, but none of it had done any good, not even when my grandparents had argued on my behalf.
According to the school administrators, I was just lucky I hadn't been sued for damages or kicked out of school entirely.
Lucky? Not the way I saw it.
Goodbye scholarship. Hello…? Well, I didn't quite know yet.
But I'd have to think of something.
As I trudged along the lonely sidewalk, I reached into the pocket of my jeans and felt around for that godawful lighter. On that fateful day, I'd found it halfway down the hall just before ducking into the girls' restroom to wash my face and stare at my new reflection – the one with singed hair and missing eyebrows.
When I was done staring at the damage, I'd slipped the lighter into my pocket, intending to wave it in Brody's face, just like he'd done to me.
But I didn't – because by then, I was in more than enough trouble already.
And yet, for some inexplicable reason, I'd been carrying the lighter with me ever since. Why, I wasn't quite sure. Maybe I was superstitious. Or maybe I just figured that by holding onto it, I was keeping it away from Brody.
It was ridiculous, I know.
I mean, as if he couldn’t buy another cheap lighter any time he wanted.
As I walked aimlessly down the street, I pulled out the lighter and gave it a tentative flick. The flame flickered to life for only a moment before a sudden breeze snuffed it out – much like my scholarship had been snuffed out by Brody's carelessness.
I gave the lighter another flick, and this time, the flame held.
In my other hand was the printout of my grades. I looked from the lighter to the printout and back again.
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