“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!”