***
BRIN
“Shit!” I yell as the blue dye drips from my body.
Maggie's laughter rolls out, and I turn to glare at her as the blue continues to soak through my clothes.
“Damn,” she chuckles as I close the refrigerator door.
“It's everywhere,” I groan when I look at my body, the kitchen floor, and the wall behind me. Oh, and my poor, pitiful hair.
Maggie's laughter only grows. How did he rig my refrigerator to explode blue dye packs the second I opened it? And when the hell did he do it?
“Did you let him in again?” I growl, giving my murderous glare to the possible traitor.
“No,” she chuckles, shaking her head. “He must have found a way in.”
“And disarmed the alarm?” I ask skeptically.
“Must have,” she says, lying her ass off.
“How could you?”
She only laughs harder, grabbing her side as though she’s in pain. I glare at my ex-best friend, and she leans back, trying to catch her breath.
“He's dead,” I hiss, doing all I can to come up with something as equally destructive to do to him. “Right after I get this damn blue off me. It had so better not be permanent, or you'll be the next one to suffer my wrath.”
Instead of cowering in fear—as she should—she only continues to laugh, and I storm into my bedroom to shower and plot my revenge.
***
BRIN
“It's not so bad,” Maggie lies, biting back her grin as she looks at the remnants of blue that are still staining my hair.
“It looks like I have a lot of graying hair.” I could cry—if I knew how to cry. The blue faded to be a duller, lighter color, but it didn't all wash out. My clothes are ruined, and my hair... I'll kill him.
“It's really not so bad. Besides, I can make you a hair appointment with my girl. She'll have this fixed up in no time.”
She gives me an apologetic smile that I don't particularly find sincere. She's helping the enemy. How could she?
“Well, I have a date to get ready for,” she says when my scowl loses its effect. I suppose it can't lose its effect if it didn't have one to begin with. “So you're on your own with Mr. Sexy for the rest of the day.”
She turns to walk away just as I say, “You have an early morning date? So this is getting really serious?”
She grins as she walks into her room, not bothering to answer. It's barely six in the morning. But I have more important things to worry about than her breakfast date.
I quickly rummage the cabinets and see the baking soda. Genius strikes.
When I hear Maggie slip into the shower, I quickly make my way out the front door and across the lawn. Hopefully he’s not up yet. As long as he’s not waking up to gloat about my new dye job, I should be able to get in without detection.
He doesn't have an alarm on his house—I don't think. He swung the door open as soon as his footsteps made it there the other morning when I banged on his door. And I know I've seen him climb through the window before when he apparently locked his keys in the house.
Geez, I sound like a stalker.
Moving to the window I've seen him climb through three times, I push up, smiling when the window lifts without sounding an alarm. It's a little high, but fortunately I'm able to hoist myself up and fall in like the worst covert operative ever.
Staying still, I listen for any rustle of movement to say I'm busted. I look around at the living room I'm in. Damn. It's twice the size of ours. And it's really, really clean. So not what I was expecting.
I wish I had more time to snoop, but I don't. I have to hurry before he finds me.
His massive kitchen is easy to locate, and I take a second to marvel at all the marble surfaces. It looks like a picture Tuscany would envy.
Surprisingly, the copper accents and fixtures actually look good alongside the sleek stainless steel appliances. Guys don't deserve kitchens like this. I would love it, take care of it, and treat it with so much respect. It does smell good in here, so maybe he's utilizing it at least a little.
With a wistful sigh, I open the fridge, and that's when I melt a little more. It's something people should sing about. Crisp vegetables along with numerous other things are perfectly organized within the fridge. I want to move in and move him out.
Grabbing the ketchup, I offer one last look to the fridge, and then I sneak back out. This is going to be good.
After managing to get out the window with more grace than I entered, I sprint across the yard and head inside. It takes the ketchup a while to run to the top, but I wait patiently, never moving my eyes until the last drop has slid down. Then I flip it back up. Just as I grab the baking soda, Maggie walks in wearing nothing but her towel.
I ignore her as I focus on the task at hand.
“Why are you pouring baking soda into our ketchup bottle?”