Page 97 of Fire in You

Getting ready had reminded me of that night so long ago, but as I sat on this narrow bed that would barely fit two people and gazed around my room, I couldn’t help but think about how so much had changed since that night—how much I’d changed. Sometimes it felt like I was still that same girl who got dressed up one Saturday night, full of girlish hope, and other times I didn’t even recognize her.

Though as my gaze roamed over the hundreds of books lining my bookcase, I didn’t feel like I wanted to be far from this room. There was no slicing pain in my stomach or pressure in my chest. There were memories, but they didn’t haunt me.

One side of my lips tilted up as I thought about tonight. A flutter started in my belly and spread upward. I was nervous, but in a . . . a good way. I was going out tonight.

I was going to Mona’s.

I was going to see my friends.

That was a flutter ofexcitement.

A knock on my door drew me out of my thoughts. “Come in.”

The door cracked open and Brock popped his head in. “Is it safe, or is Rhage going to make a run for it?”

I glanced to the open closet door. “He’s hiding in the closet. Just shut the door in case he decides to make another run for it.”

Brock slipped in, quickly closing the door. As I got a good look at him, the flutter in my belly increased until it felt like a swarm of hummingbirds.

The beard was gone.

His jaw was bare and the hard, chiseled line was on full display. So was the faint scar on his lip. I wanted to touch it—kiss it. He wore a black Henley and a pair of jeans, and somehow he looked like he belonged in his own personal jet. He wore those clothes. They didn’t wear him, and he looked amazing.

“Really loving that top,” he said, and I blinked, drawing my gaze back to his. He’d been checking me out as I’d been doing the same thing. He walked over to me. His finger skimmed along the collar of my sweater, over the swells of my breasts. “I really love this shirt.”

“Perv,” I murmured as I reached up and placed a hand on his cheek. “You shaved.”

“Yeah, figured it was time. You like?”

“Like it either way.” Biting down on my lip, I dragged my hand along his jaw. The skin was impossibly smooth.

Brock dipped his head and my hand slid back to the nape of his neck. The kiss was sweet and felt different since the beard was gone. “You sure about tonight?”

A faint smile tugged at my lips as I lowered my cheek to his shoulder and inhaled deeply.

“I mean, we can stay in.” A hand slipped over my lower back and down the curve of my rear. “Wait until your parents go to bed, then I can creep into your bedroom like we’re both teens. Keep you to myself.”

I laughed. “I’m sure. I want to go.” I looked up, searching his face as a seed of doubt blossomed. Maybe he didn’t want to go . . . to go with me. “Do you want to go with—”

“Babe.” The grip on my ass tightened. “If you’re about to ask if I want to go with you, I might turn you over my knee.”

I raised my brow. “I really would like to see you try that.”

“I bet you would really like it.”

Maybe, but that wasn’t the point. I inhaled deeply. “If you want to go and so do I, then what are we waiting for?”

His grin was slow. “Then let’s go.”

* * *

My stomach churned as I climbed out of the car, the cute Coach wristlet dangling from my wrist. The parking lot was full. Not entirely surprising since it was the night before Thanksgiving and many would have the next day off, which meant many would spend Thanksgiving hung over.

But I wasn’t thinking about drinking and spending the next day with a massive headache. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward and without wanting to, without even trying, I found myself staring toward the side parking lot, where the Dumpsters were and where the staff usually parked. It wasn’t that well-lit back there.

It was where I parked the last time I’d been here.

Cold wind whipped through the parking lot, lifting strands of my hair and tossing them around my face.

---