Breaking Even (The Sterling Shore Series #5)(2)

By: C.M. Owens

“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.



“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?”

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