Boom - Sabrina Stark Page 0,40

crew, who were busy setting up big standalone lights powered by lots of extension cords.

In passing, I learned that the two new guys were named Mitch and Jerry. Mitch was a sound technician, and Jerry was a backup cameraman and general gopher – or at least, that's how he described himself. Unlike Waverly, they both seemed pretty nice.

As far as Waverly herself, I saw no sign of her – not that I was complaining.

Still, as I wandered through the house, I saw plenty of things to concern me – scuffed floors, cracks in the plaster, and water stains around several windows. As far as things that needed fixing, the more I looked, the more I saw.

But it wasn't until I ventured up to the third floor – a big converted attic – that I saw the worst of it.

It was bad. Really bad.

From floor to ceiling, it looked like a disaster zone, with gaping holes in the slanted ceiling and dark water-stains running down the walls.

My stomach sank. Was this even fixable?

As I stood on the top step of the secluded stairway, I silently surveyed the damage. It was then that I spotted Brody standing near the rear window – the one that overlooked the beach and endless waters beyond.

His back was turned, and his silhouette looked very fine, especially in contrast with the destruction all around him. His waist was narrow, and his shoulders were broad. His jeans fit to perfection, showing off long legs and a tight ass. Even his work boots made him look sexy.

How was that even possible?

With a pang, I decided that Brody was the only beautiful thing in the whole attic. Everything else literally hurt to look at. But looking at Brody? Well, it made me feel something, but it wasn't pain.

So was it any wonder that I couldn’t stop staring?

I was still staring when he turned to face me. When he saw me standing on the top step, he frowned across the distance. "So you came to collect, huh?"

"On what?" And then it hit me. "Oh. You mean about the hoses." I cleared the top step and began moving toward him. "Now that you mention it, you did promise to tell me."

He held up a hand. "Don't."

I stopped in mid-step. "Don't what?"

"Don't come any closer."

Now, I was the one frowning. What did he think? That I'd come to molest him or something?

Talk about arrogant.

I mean, sure, he looked entirely molestable, but he wasn't my type, and his attitude grated.

I was just about to set him straight when he pointed to the vast expanse of floor between us. "Rotten floorboards."

"Oh." Great. Now I felt stupid again. With an awkward laugh, I said, "So that's all?"

But Brody wasn't laughing. "Hey, it's enough. Trust me, you don't want to fall through."

He was right about that. Still, I had to ask, "But aren't you worried?"

"Me? Nah. I know where to step." And then, as if to prove his point, he strode toward me, sidestepping several areas along his path.

When he finally reached me, he did the strangest thing. He held out his hand as if offering a handshake.

I glanced down. What was this? A truce?

To my surprise, I discovered that I was willing to go along if he was. So, with a decisive nod, I reached out and shook his hand with enough gusto to prove that I wasn't afraid to set our differences aside – at least for now, while we worked toward a common goal.

I was still shaking it when Brody laughed.

I paused in mid-shake. "What's so funny?"

"You." He glanced down at our hands, still joined. "I was gonna guide you to the window."

"Oh." My face burned with new embarrassment. And yet, for some reason, I was still holding onto his hand. And he was still holding onto mine.

His hand felt big and warm, and so very strong, even if his touch was surprisingly gentle. Suddenly, I was finding it just a little hard to breathe.

Why was that?

Maybe it was the attic. I glanced around. Probably we had a mold problem.

Yeah. Spores – that had to be it.

When I looked back to Brody, his lips twitched as he said, "Unless you want me to carry you?"

My breath caught. Actually, I'd love to be carried by him.

What?

No, I reminded myself. Not him. But someone like him. Or rather, someone who looked like him, and maybe acted like him just a little, but didn't have all the baggage between us.

And yet, to my infinite annoyance, I was