Page 7 of The Masks We Wear

Chapter 5

Brody

I fell asleep inone of the guest bedrooms and woke up to the sound of drilling and hammering. I leap out of bed, startled. What could that asshole babysitter be up to now? Knowing him he’s probably installing some kind of prison system in my house to keep me locked up and miserable. I swing the door open and hurry towards the cause of the noise. I stop in my tracks when I find a man there, repairing my door. He looks up at me, his gaze roving over my bare legs and up my body to my frowning face. He gives me a slimy smile and I take a step back in response.

A figure appears before me, blocking the man from my view. I look up to find Harvey fucking Taylor himself standing between the man and I. He looks over his shoulder at the man and when they make eye contact, the man suddenly stops staring at me like I’m some kind of meal and continues installing a brand-new door to my bedroom. Harvey looks down at me and smirks, “Good morning.”

“You got my door fixed?” I ask, my voice puzzled.

He shakes his head, “Selene did. I just told her what happened.”

I sigh. Of course, he doesn’t feel guilty at all for destroying my door. What a scumbag. I’m so angry at the memory of finding him in my room yesterday. I’m more angry about the door being broken than I am about him being in my room, in my personal space, when I was so lost in my music. The thought concerns me. I’m angry about the door but even angrier that I’m not more angry at him for watching. I’m just so fucking angry! Ateverything! Fuck!

I’m losing my shit here. I have a live-in babysitter I didn’t ask for who happens to be a gigantic tool and he’s cruel. He tries to tell me what to do in my own home and then breaks my door and strips me of my basic human right to privacy? I’m so fucking livid and being trapped with him in this house isn’t helping. I need out, alone, and without him.

The hammering noise stops abruptly, pulling me from my thoughts. “It’s finished.” The man says.

“Great.” I step around Harvey and towards my newly installed door. The man stands outside my room and the heat of his eyes on me makes my skin crawl because he wears his thoughts on his face and they aren’t PG-13. I grab the knob and speak to the man. “You can give him the bill since he’s the one that broke the door.” I enter my room and slam the door behind me, locking it.

I hear Harvey’s muffled voice from outside as he talks to the man, but I ignore him. I walk to my en-suite bathroom and lock that door behind me as well for some added security. I pull my phone out of my shorts pocket and dial Ivory. She doesn’t answer, most likely sleeping so instead I dial Aria who answers on the fourth ring. “Hello?” Her voice comes out scratchy like she just woke up.

“R, I need help.” I sigh into the phone.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, her voice now alert.

I squeeze the phone tighter to my ear. “This fucking babysitter is the worst. He came in here, took all my drugs, dumped all my liquor, and then destroyed my bedroom door after giving me his stupid rules and telling me I’m not allowed to leave my house unless it’s to go to the studio. And he’s a giant douche!” I add as if my explanation didn’t already say as much.

“Is he hot?” She asks, amused.

“No, pay attention! I’m complaining!”

“I am paying attention. The guy sounds like a total dick.Especially the part with the drugs. That sucks, Dude. I’m so sorry.” Her voice is empathetic. “But is he hot?” She asks again and I can practically hear the smile in her voice.

I grunt. “Not the point here, Aria.”

“Why are you avoiding answering? It’s because he’s hot, isn’t it? Oh my God he’s hot for sure. Tell me how hot we’re talking, Timothee Chalamet hot or Channing Tatum hot?” She asks.

I furrow my brows, “Timothee Chalamet isn’t hot.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” She protests.

“How are you gonna put Timothee Chalamet on a hot scale with Channing Tatum? That makes no sense.”

She sighs on the other end, “Because they’re two types of hot.”

“But Timothee isn’t hot.” I argue.

“Which is your shitty opinion even though it’s wrong.” She argues back.

I roll my eyes, “An opinion can’t be wrong. That’s literally the definition of an opinion. Mine is going to be different from yours and mine says he isn’t hot.”

“And mine says he is.”

“We’re gonna have to agree to disagree on that.” I shake my head in irritation.

She chuckles, “But for real, how hot are we talking?”

I look around the room even though I know I’m alone and Harvey can’t hear me. I decide to be honest. He may be a complete and total douche but there’s no denying the guy is good looking. “Chris Hemswoth’s height on Michael B. Jordan’s body but his skin tone is more James Franco. His face is like if Henry Cavill and Sebastian Stan had a love child.” I admit in her language, sighing.

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