Page 110 of Fire in You

“I think I’m dead,” I told him, sliding my hand along his back. “Dead in a good way.”

Brock chuckled, but the laugh sounded shaky. He kissed my forehead and then eased out of me. There was a slight burn. “Be right back.”

I rolled onto my side as he walked away from the bed, toward the bathroom, and I had a very nice view. Once he disposed of the condom, he came back to the bed.

“Do you need anything?” he asked. “Water?”

I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

He stood there for a moment, simply staring at me and then he got to tugging the blankets down, which was a feat since I was practically dead weight on them and not very helpful, but he managed. He climbed in, pulled them over us as he slipped one arm under me. He hugged me closer so I was resting against his side.

Several moments passed in silence and then he said, “This is going to sound corny as hell, but I have to say it.” He paused. “It’s never been like that for me. Usually it’s just about coming, you know? Getting off. I didn’t want to let go. Wanted it to last. Never wanted that before.”

Pleased and feeling so warm, I bit my lip and then admitted, “I never asked someone to fuck me before, so it’s a first for both of us.”

Brock’s entire body shook as he laughed. “Got to tell you, when you said that, I almost lost it right there. Fun would’ve been over before we got to the good part.”

“The whole thing was a good part.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, it was.”

We fell into silence again, and my eyelids drooped. Just as I was dozing off, Brock said to me, “I lied.”

“Lied about what?” I whispered, sliding my hand over the tight dips and planes of his stomach.

There was a pause and then he said, “The night I ruined your date with that guy wasn’t a coincidence.”

A small grin tugged at my lips and I turned my face into the side of his chest. “I figured that.”

“The first night—the first time I saw you at the restaurant wasn’t a coincidence either.” His fingers stilled along my upper arm. “Your mom had mentioned where you’d be. It was in passing. She probably doesn’t even remember. I went there knowing you would be there. I hadn’t planned on saying anything to you. I just wanted . . . I just wanted to see you, and I didn’t want to wait until Monday.”

I opened my eyes.

His chest rose with a deep breath. “And when I saw you, I had to talk to you. I was there because you were there.”

I should’ve probably been irritated at Mom and him for that, but I decided I didn’t care. “Creeper,” I murmured.

Brock’s arm tightened around me. “No regrets.”

In the flickering light of the candle, I smiled and closed my eyes.

Chapter 30

Everything and nothing changed between Brock and me in the days and weeks following Thanksgiving and the night at his place.

As corny as it sounded, it was like a fairytale come true, but my girlish fantasies of Brock and me being together was nothing like the real thing. Back then I had no experience in, well, anything, and what limited knowledge I’d gained from Ben had been repeatedly and amazingly blown out of the water each time Brock touched me—kissed me and took me to bed . . . or on the couch, the kitchen counter—against the wall. Brock was never sated, and neither was I. I’d never been like that before, where I spent a good portion of the day lost in thoughts about our time spent alone. My heart was in the clouds and my head was quickly following.

He spent many nights at my apartment, because I had a functioning kitchen, and I think he was growing attached to Rhage, even if he didn’t necessarily admit it. Over the weekends, I’d gather up Rhage and we’d end up at Brock’s, eating carryout and helping him the best I could with stripping the cabinets, which involved a whole lot of elbow grease and sanding off the old finish.

We exchanged keys and he knew I was on the pill even, but we still used condoms. At work he made it pretty obvious we were involved. He made no move to hide it whenever he kissed me before leaving for out of office meetings or whenever he would give me that smug, secretive smile during a conference if a quickie was stolen during our lunch break. The staff seemed to have no problem with it. Well, all except Paul. Unsurprisingly, his smirky face got even more smirky once he realized Brock and I were seeing each other. During one of the meetings when we announced that my father was considering converting the two rooms on the second floor into dance studios, his eyes rolled so far back I feared they’d roll out of his head. Whatever.

Things went beyond the physical with Brock—how everything changed.

I relaxed around him. When I smiled, I didn’t think about how it looked and I worried less about what people thought. Instead of hoping people ended up on my left side during important meetings, I made sure that they were.

I added to the books I’d brought back with me, and it wouldn’t be too long before I needed a new bookcase. I hoped Brock would offer to put that one together and I hoped it ended the way it had last time.

Everything had changed, but still, things remained the same in little ways. We didn’t dwell on the night our lives changed. It wasn’t exactly laid to rest. I think both of us acknowledged it was there, that it would always be there. It was a part of us, but it would no longer be between us, and Brock still didn’t talk about his relationship with Kristen, not even when I poked around the subject. I couldn’t help it. I was curious about why they stayed together. Why they really broke up.

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