My jaw dropped.
Crazy?
Chicks?
At this, I think I might've growled. "If I'm crazy – and that's a huuuuuge 'if' – it's only because of you. You ever think of that?"
He paused as if thinking. "No. I can't say that I have."
"Right," I shot back. "Because you never think about anything. Nooooo. Not you. You just waltz through life, and everything turns out all peachy-keen."
I lowered my voice an octave and continued. "Oh, look at me. I'm Brody Blast, and I'm a billionaire. And I'm hot, too. And everyone wants to sleep with me, even though I smash historic houses for no good reason."
He stared down at me.
I stared up at him.
We were still staring when a sudden gush of water poured down between us. With a yelp of surprise, I jumped back. What the heck?
But then, I slowly looked up. As I did, my stomach sank. Oh, no. That dark spot in the ceiling was now officially a hole. Not a dent. Not a ding. But a real undisputed hole about the size of a dinner plate.
And through that hole, a steady stream of water was pouring down between us, splashing onto the faded wooden floor of the hallway. As my gaze bounced from the ceiling to the floor and back again, I literally groaned.
Brody said, "Told ya."
Asshole.
I wanted to lunge for him. But I didn't. Because I was too horrified to move. The wet floor between us was littered not only with bits of busted plaster, but also with scattered clothes – my clothes, the ones I'd tucked under my arm on my way out of the bathroom.
They weren't tucked anymore.
No. They were lying there, all spread out, like someone had gotten naked in a hurry. I saw rumpled jeans, a ratty sweater, plain white panties, and the pink bra that Brody had nearly stomped on earlier.
How totally humiliating.
Especially the panties.
They were old, ugly, and decidedly unsexy – even more so now that they were nestled in clumps of soggy plaster.
Brody said, "If you're waiting for me to pick those up, forget it."
"Oh, for God's sake," I snapped. "I wouldn’t let you near my panties."
He laughed. "I meant your keys."
"What?"
He pointed. "Your keys."
I looked to where he was pointing. Sure enough, my small ring of keys was lying near my left foot. Crap. They must've fallen out of my pocket – maybe even out of the pocket of my discarded jeans.
As far as the specifics, I didn't know, and I didn't care.
With a muttered curse, I squatted down and gathered up the keys and the clothes. I shoved the keys into my front pocket and then wadded up the now wet and grubby clothing.
I tucked the clothing back under my arm and stood to give Brody a long, withering look, which only made him smile like he knew something I didn't.
Fine. Whatever.
I returned my attention to the ceiling.
From somewhere above us, rainwater was still coming down – now more a trickle than a gush.
Still, with ever-growing concern, I looked once again to the floor. Already, water was pooling at my feet and seeping into my cheap red sneakers.
I didn't care about the shoes. But I did care about the house.
A lot.
It was in that awful moment that I realized something. Even if I could've purchased the house on my own, I still would've been totally screwed, because the place was obviously falling apart.
To repair it would cost a fortune – a huge fortune, at least by my standards. Nobody I knew had that kind of money – nobody except, well, the guy standing in front of me.
The realization hit so hard, I nearly staggered under the weight of it. Brody – he was good at repairing things. Really good. And he already owned the place.
Sure, the thought of him living here was a little hard to stomach – okay, really hard to stomach – but it was a lot better than the alternative.
Some might say this was just a house. And maybe it was. But my parents had divorced when I'd been just a toddler. Over the years, I'd moved way too often. Different cities. Different houses. Different schools. Different boyfriends and girlfriends, too – not mine, my parents'.
They'd shared custody – probably because neither one of them had wanted to be a full-time parent. But through it all, one thing had remained constant – this place, where my grandparents had lived.
Thanks to them, it always felt like I had a home, a real home.
In high school, I'd actually lived here for four blissful years when both of my parents had decided that even part-time parenting was more trouble than it was worth. Turns out, it was blessing in disguise, because in the end, those were some of the happiest years of my life.
As far as the house itself, I knew for a fact that my grandparents had always planned for it to stay in the family. They'd told me so personally.
But now, I had to face facts. Obviously, that wasn't going to happen.
I'd failed.
Not keeping it in the family was bad enough. But to think of the house not being here at all, of it being razed to the ground to build some McMansion in its place – it made me want to cry.
But I refused to cry, especially in front of him – the guy who'd been ruining my plans for years
I was still looking down to the floor. By now, my shoes were utterly soaked, and the rain was seeping into my socks. Softly, I heard myself say, "You could save it, you know."
When Brody said nothing in reply, I looked up.
He wasn't smiling anymore. His eyes were dark and intense, like a storm of his own was brewing somewhere beneath the surface.
In a tone that wasn't encouraging, he said, "Save what?"
"The house." I gave him a pleading look. "This house, I mean."
His mouth tightened. "Why?"
"Because it's the smart thing to do. You know it is."
He crossed his
