Page 2 of The Pretender

I turn from the door lock where I’m squatted. “No, it isn’t. He gave us a key.” I hold up the two lock picks as evidence of said key and blow a wayward strand of hair from my face. “Besides, it’s only B&E if we break something when we enter.”

I know that’s not true. I’m not an idiot. But I need my roommate to not chicken out, since someone has to hold the flashlight while I pick this lock.

“Sebastian—” who I like to call ‘Bash-hole’— “practically begged me to break into his house this morning when he stole my chair, Aspen. We can’t let him get away with it, it’ll set a bad precedence for the other neighbors.”

Aspen chokes on a laugh. “You mean to tell me that we’re only doing this to set an example?”

I don’t even care that it sounds ridiculous. “Yes, exactly. An eye for an eye and all that.” I wave away her silly grin. I’m doing this. I don’t care how crazy it makes me look. Sebastian Carrington will not get away with stealing my chair and then acting like I was high this afternoon when I asked him about it.

Those frosty blue eyes were cold enough to chill a drink when he narrowed them in my direction and laughed. “Good afternoon to you, too, Valentina. You’re looking rather handsome today.”

Of course I didn’t hit him, but I really wanted to. Instead I flipped him off and asked, “Where’s my chair?”

“Why would I have your rickety old chair?”

I popped a hip and tried really hard not to let my eyes wander down the length of his body. “Uhh, I don’t know, because you hate me?”

That stupid dimple, the one that makes smart girls take a trip down regret lane, pops when he grins down at me. “That’s one way to describe it.” He touches the bow of my lips with his finger. “Have a good one, neighbor.” And then he slammed the door in my face.

Now, I don’t know about you, but no one slams the door in my face, especially not my nemesis. Sebastian Carrington may be the face of MyView, the social media site made specifically for amateur reality stars, but to me, he’s just the shitty neighbor next door who I may or may not have kissed a couple months ago.

Everyone has thoseshoulda, woulda, couldastories.

Sebastian is mine.

Ishouldatold him the truth and not played that last prank.

Itwouldachanged everything between us.

If Icouldadone it over… well, I still probably would have played the prank. If I hadn’t, we would have never become friends—even if it was short-lived.

The point is, Sebastian wants me to break into his house because that’s what we do to each other. Sure, he hasn’t played a prank on me since I won the last one, but it was only a matter of time. I knew he would come around and start the prank battles up again. He might have pouted about losing, but there’s no way he’d let me be the winner for long. His pride wasn’tthatwounded.

“Earth to Vee.” Aspen’s voice is a harsh whisper that pulls me out of my head. “Hurry up before we’re caught.”

I ease the picks back in. “We’re not going to get caught. Besides, I’ve never known you to be scared of breaking the rules.”

Aspen fidgets next to me. “I’m not, but I’m on thin ice with my dad right now, so if we get caught, we’ll need to call Aunt Bianca. She won’t ask questions.”

I nod, still focused on the lock in front of me. “Agreed.” I’m not on thin ice with my parents, but something tells me they wouldn’t be very happy if they had to bail me out of jail in the middle of the night.

Twisting the metal, I hear something click. “I almost have it,” I tell Aspen.

“Good, just hurry. Sebastian’s neighbor just turned on her porch light.”

I’m literally going as fast as I can. The last thing I want is for Bash-hole to come home and catch me pilfering through his shit like some kind of broke pirate.

“That’s just Pam. She’s harmless,” I assure Aspen. She’s also a stripper, but I keep that tidbit to myself. “She’s just getting ready for work.”

“How do you know this?” I don’t know why Aspen seems so shocked that I actually know things about our neighbors. Well, never mind, I do know. I’m not a people person nor as outgoing as Aspen. Quite frankly, I prefer dogs over humans.

“Hold the flashlight steady,” I demand, ignoring her question and moving the picks around. My tongue is sticking out, but I don’t care. Aspen knows this is how I concentrate.

“I thought you and Sebastian were done messing with each other anyway?”

I almost groan and tell her to hush. My history with Sebastian is not something I like talking about. Okay, fine. I’ll admit, I might have a teensy, itty bitty, minuscule amount of guilt that I’d rather no one know about. Questions about our history will lead to answers, and answers will lead to his and my embarrassment.

Hence the reason it will always be referred to as the incident we never discuss.

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