Waverly gasped. "You wouldn't!"
Arden smiled. "Oh, wouldn't I?"
From the looks of things, Arden had done plenty of mowing already. But there was still a good chunk to go. In the front yard alone, maybe a quarter of the grass – the spot closest to the street – was still nearly knee-high.
As Arden fired up the mower, Waverly whirled to face me and said, "You've got to stop her!"
Shit.
She was right. I did – not because Waverly was flipping out, but because the last thing I needed now was more work. The house had been a last-minute addition to our season, and we were a month behind filming already.
As it was, we'd be busting ass to get the project done in time, which meant that another delay wasn't gonna cut it.
I told Waverly, "Wait here." And with that, I began striding toward Arden, even as she shoved the mower into the nearest patch of tall grass.
As I moved toward her, she yanked the mower back again, maybe a foot or two, before shoving it forward into the patch of overgrown lawn.
The process was ugly, but effective.
Grass that high – it couldn't be cut in a single pass – which made me marvel all over again that Arden had finished as much as she had.
From the sidelines, Roy was watching with a goofy grin, like Arden was the sweetest thing he'd seen all year.
Obviously, the guy didn't get it.Arden wasn't sweet.
Sure, shelookedsweet, with those big brown eyes and tight curves.
But she was something else – trouble – the kind that kept on giving, as I soon rediscovered for myself.
Chapter 13
Arden
I was just gearing up for another push into the tall grass when Brody appeared directly in my path.
His eyes were dark, and his jaw was set. He was wearing faded jeans and a black T-shirt. The jeans hugged his hips, accenting his narrow waist and muscular torso. Even his biceps looked annoyingly perfect, bulging in a way that was stupidly distracting.
From head to toe, he looked too good by half.
And he knew it, too.
After all, he wasn't stupid – even in spite of his reckless disregard for his own safety.
Whether he realized it or not, the guy was playing with fire.I had a mower. He didn't.And he was dangerously close to becoming human mulch.
My flingers flexed around the mower's handle. One good push, and well, you get the idea.
But mowing him down wasn't part of the plan, so I focused all of my energy on glaring.
Over the sounds of the mower's engine, Brody called out, "Turn it off."
I called back, "Forget it."
His jaw clenched. "Turn it off," he repeated. "Or I'll do it for you."
"Why?" I shot back. "Because you're sooooo helpful?"
"No, because if you mow any further, it'll bemyass on the line."
