Irreparably Broken (Irreparable 1)

Before I answer Tug, her beautiful laugh flits down the staircase, stirring my emotions as well as my male anatomy. Wound tightly, my heart begins beating furiously as though it wants to leap through the front of my chest, like a jack-in-the-box just before the final turn of the handle. The annoying music plays in my head, increasing my anxiety. Ha! The monkey chased the weasel. That’s fucking irony. I’m home to chase Tori. Hopefully, our song will end differently and my eagerness won’t carelessly hurt her.

Tug elbows me, interrupting my thoughts. “You want a beer or what?”

I snap my head back to him. “Oh, no thanks, Tug. I’m going to unpack a few things and take a shower. Maybe later, though.”

“All right, bro. ’Night.” Tug smiles.

After Tug goes into the kitchen, I pick my bag up from the floor, and inhale long and slow. As I remind myself to breathe – so I don’t suffocate on my angst – I follow the familiar stairs up to my lonely room.

I should go back to L.A… Nothing good can come from this. It’s going to be a disaster.

Chapter 2

Tori

After shutting off the water, I poke my head out from behind the shower curtain to see that the white fluffy towel I’d brought in with me is neatly folded on top of the toilet seat, right where I left it. I think it might be laughing at me from the other side of the bathroom. Ordinarily this wouldn’t be a problem – today it is. Yesterday, the lock on the bathroom door mysteriously stopped working. I’m positive Tug did something to it in hopes of catching me in this very predicament. When I confronted him, he denied it, of course, right before he asked if I wanted to go out with him. I’d rather eat the Tootsie Rolls out of the litter box.

When I don’t hear noises on the other side of the door, I decide it’s safe, and slowly step out of the tub. I tiptoe across the squishy bath mat toward my towel, which is now smirking at me. The exact moment I stand in front of the door, it flies open. I grab my girls with my right hand and my hoo-hoo with my left, for all the good it does me. Instantly, my body is on fire as embarrassment crawls all over my skin.

“Whoa, shit! Sorry, Tor.”

Okay, he said he’s sorry. Now, please tell me why the hell he’s still standing there, staring at me, wearing a look of pure enjoyment? If I wasn’t standing in my fresh-from-birth attire, I’d punch him right in his provocatively grinning face.

I immediately turn sideways, hoping to keep some of my dignity intact. “Jesus Christ, Brady. What the hell? Get out!”

With his hands over his eyes, he backs out of the room, peeking through his fingers the whole time like the pervert he is. I rip a tissue from the box on the counter, and hurl it at him angrily before slamming the door. A small laugh escapes my throat when I realize I just chose Kleenex as my weapon of choice. Then I fume. He is probably just as amused by the thought. Asshole!

Brady is Liv’s older brother by nearly four years. Both of Liv’s brothers are annoying – the difference is that I love Tug to pieces. Brady, on the other hand, I want to rip to pieces. What the hell is he doing here? Brady is the asshat I hold personally responsible for my breakup with Jake. Why isn't he in L.A., instead of here, ogling me in the bathroom?

My shoulders slump in defeat and I sigh. His green eyes twinkling, and his flawless smile when he laughs, are bringing on a rush of familiar feelings. Feelings that make my body tingle all over with illicit emotions I’ve stored away for far too long to let them out now. No matter what my traitorous body suggests, I will not let Brady Hunter back into my heart.

I dry off and start to put my PJs on, then decide if Brady is home, I’m definitely going out with Liv. Still red with humiliation, I wrap the towel around my body and cautiously open the bathroom door. It creaks as it opens, and I freeze. I glance down the hall to make sure Brady isn’t hanging around like a peeping Tom, carry my things out of the bathroom, and intentionally stomp down the hall like a rebellious teenager.

When I swing open the door to our room, Liv is sitting on her bed, texting with someone.

She grins triumphantly. “Told you you’d cave.”

I storm into the room, drop my dirty clothes in the wicker hamper, and shove my unworn PJs back in the dresser drawer without folding them. “You bitch. You knew he was here, didn’t you?”

When I look at Liv, she lifts her eyebrows and tilts her head. “Correction, I knew he would be here.”

Traitor! I exhale a noise which sounds something like a growl, and throw my hands in the air. This makes my towel slip, and I quickly catch it before it falls. I’ve already flashed one person this evening. “Shit, Liv. This sucks. He just walked in the bathroom and got himself an eyeful of all my pink parts.”

She grins, a big toothy smile, one I despise because it means something absurd is going to come out of her mouth. “Not like Brady hasn’t seen a naked girl before.”

She’s attempting to ease the humiliation stewing inside me. Instead, it increases my disgust with her womanizing, sperm-ejector of a brother. Does she think just because Brady’s a walking STD I’d be fine with him knowing what I look like with my clothes off?

I roll my eyes at her and sit on the bed next to her. “I so don’t need to be reminded what a filthy man-whore your brother is.”

Her superior smile fades away. “He can’t help it. I mean, when he won the state championship and got into USC to play football, the girls started falling all over him.”

Liv’s always ready with an excuse when it comes to Brady.

Girls do flock to him like lambs to the slaughter. That’s how they usually end up, too – with a slaughtered heart. The term use ’em and lose ’em is one I've heard come out of Brady’s mouth more often than I can count.

“He doesn’t have to say yes to all of them.” I flash a sour smile her way. “Besides, you think all that would have stopped when that 300-pound monster from Mission put him on his ass. These girls have to know if his football career is over, they aren’t going to end up married to some NFL player.” Then I remember that he attends USC because, despite the injury, his stellar grades got him in. He’s studying law. I guess girls envision just as many dollar signs marrying a lawyer as they do a pro football player.

Liv frowns, twiddling her thumbs in her lap. “That’s cold.”