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I would’ve done her right there in the elevator — just like in books and movies. But I knew for a fact that the elevator had an alarm. An ear-piercingly loud, ringing alarm that would be wholly distracting from what I wanted to do to her.
“I don’t know who’s home,” I murmured, “but maybe I can get them to leave.”
Holly kissed her way down, to nibble at my neck. As she dragged her wet tongue sensually over my most sensitive spots, the entire right side of my body had the shivers.
“Fuck it,” I groaned. “I’ll pay them to leave. I’ll—”
The elevator stopped. I pushed Holly giggling down the hall, hands on her hips, fumbling for the keys in my front pocket. But as I reached the door to my shared loft, it opened automatically.
“Oh… hey!”
My smile faded quickly. Sayid’s face told me instantly that something was wrong.
“Brody…”
“What is it?” I asked, shifting my eyes beyond him. The apartment’s big common area looked empty. “Is she here?”
“No,” my roommate said. “But she was.”
I pushed past him, dragging Holly behind me. Sweeping through our living room and through the doorway to my bedroom, which for some reason was wide open.
The place was a total wreck. Broken glass littered the floor. Clothes were strewn everywhere. And my bed…
Shit.
“We tried to stop her,” Sayid muttered apologetically. “But she was doing it before we got here.”
My bed had several long gashes down the middle, like a tiger had raked its claws across it. Memory foam was all over the surface, pulled out and shredded.
“What the hell, Brody?” Holly gasped from behind me. Her voice was all shock and concern. “Who in the world would do this to you?”
I let go of her hand as my arms fell limply to my sides.
“Andrea,” I sighed miserably.
Thirty-One
HOLLY
”Andrea…” I didn’t know who the bitch was, but her name already made me angry. “Who’s Andrea?”
“Our fourth roommate,” Sayid offered. “And…” His eyes shifted expectantly to Brody.
“And my ex-girlfriend,” Brody admitted.
I watched as he walked the tiny bedroom, picking up pieces of things and dropping them again. She’d broken furniture, punched holes in walls. Shattered anything that could be shattered. In a way, I almost admired her commitment.
“You still live with your ex girlfriend?” I asked.
Brody nodded. My heart sank.
“When exactly did you break up?”
I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer to that question. It had happened before; guys picking me up during the tail end of a bad relationship. Even dating me while they were still technically dating their “ex” girlfriends, which was a lie of course, because they still hadn’t let go of—
“Nine months ago,” Brody answered solidly. “Sometime before the summer.”
Whew.
