Breaking Even (The Sterling Shore Series #5)

  Breaking Even

  Book 5 of The Sterling Shore Series

  Copyright 2015 by C.M. Owens

  Edited by Tonya Houle

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without express written permission of the author. This eBook is licensed for your enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

  The story in this book is the property of the author, in all media both physical and digital. No one, except the owner of this property, may reproduce, copy or publish in any medium any individual story or part of this novel without the expressed permission of the author of this work.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Breaking Even (The Sterling Shore Series #5)

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

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  And get a glimpse of A Redo, Wren Prize’s story, once you’ve finished Breaking Even.

  Chapter 1

  BRIN

  No, no, no, no! Not today! I'm so sick of this!

  He has his side of the street, and I have mine. All he has to do is park on his side of the damn street.

  Our subdivision doesn’t allow driveways—a stupid rule that I don't understand—but the streets are very wide and made for curbside parking. Everyone parks directly in front of their house. It only makes sense. Maggie and I park in front of our house.

  But this jerk, for some reason, refuses to park his car on his side of the road—in front of his house.

  The end of the cul-de-sac has a family with three teenagers, so they take up the entire arch for parking. Maggie and I already have to squeeze in. I have to park close to her so that our next-door neighbors have plenty of parking room in front of their smaller house. The jerk across the road has a wide open space directly in front of his large house, but he's a dick.

  Every night he gets here after my neighbor, Mr. Morgan, goes to work for his twelve hour shift. He takes his spot and parks right on my bumper in case Mr. Morgan comes back and needs room. I could park across the street—in his spot—but that would be admitting defeat. And I refuse to be defeated.

  Today he has really screwed up.

  I'm not going to spend twenty minutes backing up and pulling forward numerous times in an effort to get out. Not happening. If he insists on parking on our side of the street, the least he could do is leave a respectable gap. It's a common courtesy. Apparently he’d rather piss us off as opposed to pissing Mr. Morgan off.

  I have to work. His lazy ass sleeps half the day. He revs his engine at all hours—when he leaves and gets back. He doesn't show the slightest ounce of concern for anyone else. Enough is enough, and I've had e-fucking-nough.

  Before I lose my courage, I stalk across the street and bang on the door. A gentle rap might have been polite, but I'm not worried about manners right now. This bastard loves blocking me in. Today he'll move his car or... or... I'll do something, dammit.

  Silence.

  I almost lose my nerve, but I pull out my best big-girl guts, and I pound on the door again, longer this time. I hear a string of curse words being spewed as someone stumbles inside the house, bumping into walls and crashing into things.

  I steel myself, ready for a fight. I'm anything but confrontational, but this dick has pushed me to my limit.

  “What the fuck?” he gripes, swinging the door open to reveal something I wasn't expecting.

  I knew he was gorgeous—I have eyes. Hell, Maggie and I call him Mr. Sexy for a reason, but... um... wow. I hate him for being wow right now.

  His dirty blonde hair is still messy from the bed, but in the sexiest way possible. His perfectly golden skin is almost hypnotic, and his numerous tattoos might as well all say bad boy. And don't even get me started on the piercings—one in his eyebrow and one in his nipple.

  I've ogled him from across the road before. He loves going out shirtless, so I've had plenty of opportunities to drool.

  After numerous stolen gawks, I was fully prepared to be met by the Mr. Sexy that lives here. I thought I was, anyhow. What I wasn't prepared for was for him to be in his boxers—only his boxers—and standing at full attention like a good little morning soldier.

  My eyes dart straight down, taking in the ungodly bulge. Thank God it's hidden by the thin fabric.

  That does very little to my ever-wavering confidence. What happened to my fury? Why was I even furious? Why did I come here?

  As my mouth flops agape, he raises his brow, seeming amused.

  “Gotten your fill yet? I was trying to sleep,” he says through a sexy drawl that floods me with numerous conflicting emotions.

  Hunger, excitement, humiliation, then anger. Anger. Yes. Finally. Bring on the crazy bitch.

  My eyes snap up when my brain decides to start functioning again. “Move your damn car!” I bark, letting my rage run over my skin with an almost tangible glow.

  His eyes widen, as if he's shocked by my early morning intrusion. Well, he can get over it. After a breath, his confused expression turns bored.

  “No,” he says simply, leaning against the doorframe.

  Really? That's all I get? Are you kidding me?

  “Move your damn car now! I have work, and I'm not going to spend twenty minutes trying to get out of the small space you left me with.”

  “Then you shouldn't have parked so close to the other car,” he says with a shrug, crossing his arms over his expansive, defined chest as he gives me his best I'm-too-fucking-cool-for-this-shit smirk.

  I glance at Maggie's red BMW just in front of my car. She stays up late, pounding away on her laptop to finish all her numerous projects for impatient clients. I can't go wake her up to move her car or find her keys. I refuse. Besides, those are our spots. I have to park close to her so that Mr. Morgan has room enough to leave for work. This jerk just steals the gap every night—to hell with everyone else.

  If this is the way he wants to play, then let's play.

  “Fine,” I hiss, making his eyes darken and his triumphant grin spread before I turn to stalk back toward my car.

  “Knew you'd see things my way,” he calls out from behind me, sounding so damn smug.

  He mutters something about me being crazy, oh, but he hasn't seen crazy yet. He has no idea just how crazy I can be. I'm sick of stupid men, heinous egos, and insatiable desires to piss me off. Well, mission accomplished. I'm very thoroughly pissed.

  He starts to close the door right as I hop in my car. I smirk when I see him watching, possibly planning to mock me in my sad attempt to break free from the tiny space he's left me with.

  Without hesitation, I crank the car, throw it in reverse, and slam on my gas. My head jolts forward before I even hear the sickening impact of my rear crashing into the front of his Porsche. The alarm on his car wails, sounding as though it's crying after my very provoked attack.

  I hear him yelling loudly, probably calling me every name in the book, but I don't give a damn.

  Take that, asshole.

  Serves him right. Now his pretty
little black Porsche has been kissed by my white Camry. Well, I suppose it’s more than a mere kiss. His car has officially been fucked by mine.

  My car lurches forward when I toss it in drive, slamming on my brakes inches away from Maggie’s BMW, and then I slam it in reverse again, smashing his front end even more. My neck pops this time from the jolt.

  His car continues to bellow, agonizing over the damage I've caused, and a wild, hysterical giggle bubbles through my lips.

  “You crazy bitch!” he roars, gripping his head in disbelief while standing in the middle of the street with nothing on but his boxers.

  All of our neighbors have come out to play spectators for the psychotic scene, but I don't care. I've been run over, tossed aside, and walked on for too long. This morning something has snapped. I'm sick of being a doormat.

  “Fucking shit!” Maggie says loudly, laughing wildly from the front porch of our home, wearing her robe and a look of fascinated horror.

  I hadn't gotten her keys because I didn't want to wake her up. Sure, it made a lot more sense to simply wreck my car and his.

  Now that my adrenaline high is coming down, I suddenly feel a little mortified, but I refuse to show that to him. So, with a daring glint in my eyes, I act unaffected.

  I offer him a wave and speed out of the larger gap I've made, heading toward work, while the rest of the neighborhood trips over themselves to go see what craziness just erupted.

  ***

  RYE

  “What the hell happened?” Wren asks, walking up with two coffees in his hands.

  His eyes are pained as they stare at the crumbled hood of my car. I had to have the damn thing towed here after that lunatic smashed into it. Over a parking spot? Really? So over the top.

  “My neighbor went psycho,” I growl, bending down to examine just how bad this really is. Fortunately it seems to be limited to cosmetic damage.

  “What the hell did you do to her?” he asks.

  Craning my neck, I narrow my eyes at him. “I never said it was a girl.”

  He gives me an incredulous look that I happen to find a little offensive.

  “If you pissed someone off bad enough to destroy their car against yours, it was a chick. A guy would have just punched you.”

  Again, I'm offended. “You really think a guy is stupid enough to try to punch me?” I challenge, making damn sure my muscles are flexed.

  Wren rolls his eyes as he walks over and hands me the second cup of coffee. “Down, Cujo,” he jokes, and I glare at him as he circles the car, taking it all in.

  “When's the insurance company coming out?”

  “They're not coming,” I mutter, cursing my easy-to-piss-off neighbor when my hood refuses to open.

  “You didn't call her insurance company?” he asks, sounding confused.

  Crazy girl ran off without waiting for the cops. I could be a dick and get her arrested for a hit-and-run, but I won't. Even though she deserves to be scared out of her fucking mind.

  But I'll do something to get even. I may not want her in jail, but I sure as hell want revenge.

  When I saw my short, somewhat nerdy little neighbor standing at my door in her long skirt, oversized white button-up shirt, and ugly-as-hell shoes, I just assumed she was trying to find an excuse to talk to me. Then she had rolled her shoulders back, stood as tall as she could, and barked at me while her light, brown hair sat in disarray on her head.

  Would it kill her to try and look a little appealing?

  I might have lost my cool and acted like a dick during the heat of the moment, but she woke me up too early. This isn’t... this is ridiculous. You don’t bash in a guy’s car—his pride and fucking joy—over a parking spot. Especially not before coffee.

  “Hello,” Wren prompts. “Insurance company? When are they coming?”

  Obviously he's not going to drop this.

  “Nah. Insurance companies piss me off. Besides, I just bought a few new tools to play with. Might as well experiment on my own car,” I say mildly, pretending as though it's no big deal while secretly plotting my badass revenge.

  Wren looks around my massive garage as all my guys work their asses off. It's a busy week with all the new clients. It'll be a pain in the ass to try and work my own car in.

  “When's the magazine coming?” Wren asks.

  “They're doing their article in a few months, so it might be a while.”

  “Is it on just this one shop, or the entire franchise?”

  “This one is the main focus of the article. The franchise will get some attention. They had the columnist come out and take a look at the place. She was impressed,” I say with a suggestive tone, and he rolls his eyes.

  “Figures.”

  Leaning back and ignoring my poor baby, I stare at him. “Didn’t fuck her, if that’s what you’re insinuating. She’s doing an article, so that would mean drama. But you shouldn’t act so appalled by the thought. In fact, you should be mixing things up by now. You're single. Erica isn't sitting around mourning the loss of your marriage.”

  He grimaces, and I frown. Maybe that was too harsh.

  “I know,” he says through a slow exhale. Then he sips his coffee while trying not to get lost in thought. “So what'd you do to piss her off?” he asks, looking back up while lazily gesturing to my car.

  I guess we're not allowed to talk about the fact he's not doing anything besides sitting around. I don't want to tell him I took her parking spot. He’ll ask why, and then there will be a hellacious amount mockery that follows.

  “Nothing, really. She's just bat-shit crazy.” At least that's the truth.

  And I'll make sure the punishment is fitting.

  ***

  BRIN

  Maggie whistles low, chuckling as she shakes her head in disbelief. I groan as I stare at the rear of my car that I'll have to spend a fortune to get fixed.

  Maggie came to meet me at work, curious about what happened to set me off this morning. I've spent the morning in knots, unable to face work after my little breakdown. The museum can wait. I have a big-ass mess to sift through.

  My boss will just have to do his own job today, because I'm taking a personal day. I don't care if he's already seen me standing in front of the museum for the past two hours just staring blankly at the mutilated rear end of my car. I'll have to work overtime to pay for my rampage.

  “Was it worth it?” Maggie asks, still smiling as a piece of one of my taillights falls to the ground, shattering a little more to punctuate the tragedy it has suffered.

  My crumpled Camry's rear still looks better than the front of his destroyed Porsche. I dread going home. Maybe I'll get lucky and he'll stick to his side of the street. I never see him outside of the subdivision. We barely even see each other outside in the yards.

  Shit! I can’t believe I stood there and drooled over him this morning—then went crazy and smashed his car. Now that the anger has fled, the humiliation and dread are ruling me.

  “I just... snapped. I don't know. Maybe it's because of hormones or whatever. I'm almost twenty-six, so it could be an early midlife crisis or something.”

  She snickers while shaking her head. “Girl, I'm twenty-nine, and I've never mowed down a Porsche.”

  I decide not to remind her what today is. I've talked about it enough this past year.

  “I'll start calling around to get some price quotes on fixing this. I hope he doesn't expect you to fix his Porsche or sue you,” she sighs, slapping me in the face with reality.

  Ah, hell. It was a hit-and-run. “Or call the cops,” I add, exasperated as I flop my head into my hands.

  Why was I so stupid? I should have just called in and stayed in bed this morning. I've destroyed a car, and now I could quite possibly be going to jail. Great. I don't take good selfies, so I can only imagine how I'll look in a mug shot.

  Chapter 2

  BRIN

  I made it through the night without seeing Mr. Sexy or enduring his wrath. Thank goodness. His Porsche was
gone when I got home, per the usual. He usually comes and goes during the late hours, and he almost always wakes me up with his obnoxious returns and departures.

  If he came and went last night, he didn't rev his horrible engine like normal. I'm lying in my bed instead of a cot in a jail cell, so he apparently never called the cops. No mug shots just yet. I pray this isn't just the calm before the storm.

  Rising slowly, I head to the kitchen, ready to make some coffee. I groan inwardly when I think about all my nosy neighbors. Why did I cause a scene?

  Maggie's door is shut tight, her music is still softly playing, and there's no crazy lady crashing into cars this morning to disturb her. I'm sure she pulled another late night.

  I tiptoe through the house—my morning routine—and finish getting ready for work. When I walk out, my jaw drops. My car is blocked in—again. It's not the fragile Porsche behind me this time, though.

  There's a large, black Range Rover with a black-painted brush-guard that is almost touching my falling-apart bumper.

  Un-frigging-believable. That ass did it again! I don't know where he keeps his vehicles, but I know he has several. I've seen him drive this one before.

  As I stalk to my car, I glance at his house, willing it to burn to the ground with him in it. My mind doesn't grant me the pyrotechnic show I crave, though.

  I gauge the few inches he has left me with, and I scowl. I'll have to get Maggie's keys, move her car, then move mine, then move hers back, then get in mine and leave. All because he's a jerk who can't stay on his side of the street.

  A string of profanities leave my mouth too loudly, and Ms. Morgan looks over at me while weeding out her dead flowerbed, offering me a disappointed glare. If she wants to point that glare at someone, it should be the dick across the street—not me.

  He's so lucky Maggie is anti-gun. Otherwise... I won't go there. I need to get violence out of my head. I've pissed off my neighbor, who is now trying to piss me off for pissing him off.

  Headache.

  When I make it back inside the house, I see Maggie was wise enough to leave her keys out. She has better foresight than I do, because I sure as hell never saw this coming. Why provoke the crazy woman who bashed in your Porsche's brains? Does he not realize I've lost my mind? There's no telling what I might do in the heat of the moment.