"Why?" I scoffed. "So you can shoot me?"
"If I wanted to shoot you," he said, "I would've done it already."
Well, that was comforting. Sort of.
I called back, "And why do you have a gun in the first place?"
"Listen," he said, "gun or no gun, we both know I could come in any time I want. So cut the crap and open up already."
Damn it. He was right. The bathroom had no windows, and it's not like I could call anyone to rescue me. And even if I could, who would come?
In the end, I decided I might as well get it over with. Bracing myself, I sucked in a deep breath, reached for the knob, and yanked open the door.
And there he was – looking even better, now that we were standing face-to-face.
His dark hair was a damp, tousled mess, and his T-shirt was still wet. The thin white cotton clung to his chest and abs, showing off muscular pecs and a perfect six-pack just above his tattered jeans.
As for his face, it was pure perfection, with nice cheekbones, a rugged jaw, and dark, brooding eyes.
At the sight of him, my pulse jumped, and my spine grew twitchy. I could hardly breathe, but not because he was so stupidly gorgeous.
It was because – son-of-a bitch – I knew him.
Now, it was my turn to say it, even if only in my own head. Fuck.
Chapter 5
Arden
To my infinite horror, I was staring into the hard gaze of Broderick Blastoviak – aka Brody Blast, a guy I'd known back in high school.
We had a history, and it wasn't terrific.
In school, he'd been a total trouble-maker through-and-through. Cocky. Obnoxiously brilliant. And too dangerous by half.
Unlike me, he never, ever followed the rules – and yet, he never seemed to pay for it.
That dickweed had cost me a full-ride scholarship. He was the reason I'd been working two jobs to pay for college, even while taking on far too many student loans.
In a roundabout way, this also meant that he was the reason I hadn't been able to purchase this house on my own, back when I'd had the chance three years ago.
I freaking hated him.
And boy, did he hate me, too.
Even if I hadn't known this already, the look in his eyes would've been proof enough.
I sputtered, "What are you doing here?"
He gave me a look. "You mean in my house?"
"Oh come on!" I said. "It can't be your house. There's no furniture. And besides, why would you want to live here? Don't you have houses all over the place already?"
This wasn't as far-fetched as you'd think. Brilliant or not, Brody hadn't gone to college. Instead, he'd founded a tool-and-die company with his two older brothers and then proceeded to take the market by storm.
These days, Blast Tools – that was the name of their company – was famously successful, just like the company's three founders.
And I meant "famous" quite literally.
A few years ago, by some miracle, the brothers had gotten themselves a weekly cable show on the Home Network, where they used their own tools to remodel older homes or sometimes build new ones.
And just for the record, they looked very good doing it.
By now, they were total celebrities, not just here in Michigan, but all over the world. Of course, it didn't hurt that all three of them were obnoxiously hot.
Damn it.
I was still pondering the unfairness of it all when Brody said, "Yeah? So what if I do?"
It took me a moment to realize that he was responding to my question – the one about him having plenty of homes already.
As usual, he was missing the point.
I tried again. "I'm just saying, if you have houses all over the place, why do you need another?"
My heart clenched. And why, oh why, do you need this one?
His only reply was a tight shrug, which – adding to my frustration – made his wet T-shirt slide enticingly over his abs.
But forget the abs.
With growing concern, I asked, "Are you actually going to live here?" The thought was literally painful – a hard ache deep in my stomach. While I'd been growing up, this house had been filled with love and laughter.
And now, it would be filled with him. Oh sure, Brody liked a good laugh as much as anyone. I recalled that well enough from high school. And as far as love, he would never be short of offers.
But he was still my enemy. And besides, the kind of love he'd bring into the house was temporary at best.
He was a total horn-dog.
I almost shuddered at the thought of him screwing some bimbo in my grandparent's bed. Okay, yes, the actual bed was no longer there, but you get the point.
In reply to my question, he said, "That's my business, not yours."
I stiffened. "But—"
"And I've got questions of my own."
Oh.
Yeah. I guess he might have a question or two.
When I made no reply, he said, "So what are you doing here?" He smirked like he knew something I didn't. "Looking for Jason?"
And just like that, so many pieces slid into place. Obviously, my rat-fink of a cousin had sold the house out from under me – and to my arch-enemy no less. Was it any wonder that Jason wasn't returning my messages?
Under my breath, I said, "Un-freaking-believable."
"You're telling me."
Back in high school, Brody had vowed to get revenge on me, one way or another – because, well, the thing is, I'd sort of torched his pickup.
I hadn't meant to. Still, some might say I had every reason in the world to get all torchy – and not only because he'd cost me a scholarship.
In high school, he'd torched my eyebrows. And my bangs. Sure, they weren't completely torched, but they were a whole lot shorter after that stupid incident with the chemistry lab.
His fault, not mine.
The jackass.
And now here we were, six years later. He was rich
