Boom - Sabrina Stark Page 0,4

worry, I'm not interested."

"I don't care," she called back. "You were the one who opened it. You should shut it."

My guess? She still hadn't budged from the shower. Little Miss Modesty. She'd been like that in high school, too. Her clothes were never tight. Her shirts were never too low in the front or too high on her midriff. And her skirts – on the rare occasions she wore them – were never short enough to be interesting.

She'd been a good girl all the way through – until she wasn't.

When I made no reply, she said, "Alright fine. But promise me you won't look."

I was still scrolling through her phone. "Don't worry. I couldn’t if I wanted to."

"Why not?"

"Because I'd have to move," I told her. "And trust me, you're not worth it."

Was I being an asshole?

Hell yeah.

But this was Arden Weathers, and the way I saw it, she was just lucky I hadn't tossed her naked out into the rain.

She said nothing in reply, but soon, I heard the soft creak of the floorboards, followed by quick footsteps and the sudden slamming of the bathroom door.

I didn't look up or flinch. Hell, I'd been expecting it.

A moment later, Arden groaned, "Oh, my God. Did you see this hole?"

Now that was a dangerous question. If I were twelve, I might've snickered. The shit-lord in me had to ask, "Which one? Front or back?"

She was silent for a long moment before saying, "If you mean what I think you mean, I don't appreciate it."

I smiled, but made no reply.

A few seconds later, she spoke again. "And just so you know, I meant the hole in the wall."

"Yeah," I laughed. "Front or back?"

"What?"

My gaze strayed to the nearby hole in the plaster – the one I'd made just fifteen minutes ago while trying to figure out who was in my bathroom. The hole was big on my side, and very small on hers.

Probably, she hadn't even noticed it.

From the other side of the door, she muttered, "You know what? Forget it."

"Done."

She sighed. "I'm just saying, there's no need to trash the place."

Right. My place. Not hers. I replied, "Nice of you to care."

"Yeah, well maybe you should care, too," she said. "They don't build them like this anymore, you know."

I knew. In fact, I knew a lot more about construction than Arden Weathers – or any other person who wasn't in the trade. I was damn good at what I did, and I'd gotten filthy rich doing it too, along with my older brothers.

If Arden were a person worth telling, I might've assured her that she didn't need to worry about the house. It was in very good hands. Mine. And when I was done with it, there'd be no holes anywhere they didn't belong.

And there'd be no Arden Weathers. That was for damned sure.

Chapter 4

Arden

As I hurriedly dried myself off, I kept glancing at the perfectly round dent in the plaster. Yes, I'd called it a hole, but the jackass in the hallway might disagree, considering that the hole didn't go all the way through.

Still, it was ugly.

The dent was the exact size and shape of a doorknob. No coincidence there. The doorknob was, after all, what had made the dent in the first place – thanks to the maniac who'd busted in.

As I surveyed the damage, I felt myself frown. In addition to the hole, there were new cracks in the door itself. And don't get me started on the casing around the door. To my amateur eyes, it looked utterly ruined.

The whole thing was incredibly depressing. My grandparents had loved this place. Sure, maybe the upkeep had gotten harder as they'd gotten older, but unlike the maniac, they'd done the best they could.

And I would've, too, if only I'd had the chance.

But this was a problem for another time. Now what I needed was some quick inspiration, a way to talk myself out of whatever trouble I'd gotten myself into.

Unfortunately, I was seriously short of ideas. Even that stupid name I'd given, Clara Cooper, had come straight from a high school English project – a junior assignment where I'd had to write a short story starring a character like myself.

At the memory, a bitter laugh escaped my lips. High school – now that had ended with a bang, or more accurately a boom – a flaming boom, to be exact, even if that hadn't been my intention.

But forget high school. Now, I had to face the music with whoever