Page 62 of Fire in You

A smug half-grin appeared on his face, and I wanted to smack it off. “Yeah, I’m going to have to call bullshit on that.”

“You can call bullshit on your face for all I care,” I fired back, and his brows flew up. That sounded lame to my own ears. “The point is, I didn’t mean for that to happen last night and it shouldn’t have.”

A muscle flexed along Brock’s jaw as he eyed me. “I know you didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. And maybe it shouldn’t have happened like that, but itdid.”

I inhaled sharply as I blinked. Tears threatened to erupt, and with this headache, without coffee, and considering what had happened last night, it was going to be an epic meltdown. “Please,” I asked, begged really. “Please, can we just forget this? Can you just leave?”

For a moment, I didn’t think Brock was going to leave. I thought he was going to stay there, standing in the doorway of the hallway bathroom forever, but then something crossed his features. His jaw softened, as did those dark eyes of his. “Okay,” he said, pushing off the door and unfolding his arms.

“For now, I’ll let this go, but I don’t want you acting fucking weird over this. What happened out there, on the couch, isn’t something I’m ashamed about. You shouldn’t be either.” He stopped, drawing in a breath. “Don’t let this screw up what we’ve got happening here. Okay?”

I wanted to ask what exactly he thought was happening here, but all I could force out was a weak, “Okay.”

Chapter 18

Somewhere between the weekend and Monday morning, I realized that something I’d fantasied and dreamt about since I was old enough to know what those sex scenes in the books I read were really describing had actually happened.

Brock had kissed me.

Well, I had kissed him and he’d kissed me back. It wasn’t a long and passionate kiss. When I was younger, I’d dreamt of the kind of kisses that curled the toes and stole your breath. This kiss had been brutal and fast, and not only that, but he’d touched me—a part of him had actually beeninme.

I couldn’t even wrap my head around it, because it didn’t . . . it didn’t count. It wasn’t real. I’d been out of it and he’d been half-asleep when he woke up, discovering me rubbing all over him like a cat in heat, and Brock . . . Brock responded like most men would’ve. And he hadn’t even gotten anything out of it. I’d fallen back asleep almost immediately.

What happened had meant nothing.

It couldn’t have, because we ending up being a disaster once before and we’d be a total catastrophe now. I had to guard my heart and I had to listen to my head. There was too much at risk for me to travel down that path again with Brock—my job, what I was hoping to accomplish for Avery and Teresa, and most importantly, my happiness.

I needed to keep my distance, so when my phone rang Sunday night, and it was Grady, not only was I surprised he was calling, I wasalmosteager to answer.

“You busy?” he asked when I answered.

“No. I was just reading,” I told him, glancing at the Kindle on the couch next to me. The screen had long since faded out and Rhage currently had one paw resting on the black edge as if he were daring me to try to pick it up.

“So, I’m going to be home this Saturday,” he said, and I couldn’t help think that even Brock would’ve asked what I was reading. The moment that thought popped into my head, I wanted to smack myself with the Kindle. “And I was hoping you’d be free and we could finally catch that dinner.”

“Really?” Surprised, I winced.

Grady laughed. “Yeah. You sound shocked. Did you think I wasn’t going to keep my promise?”

Yeah, I really hadn’t thought he would. He hadn’t texted since last Wednesday, and that had just been a generic “hey, how you doing” kind of thing. “I just thought that maybe you were just really busy.”

“I am, but I’ll be free Saturday night. So what do you think?”

An acidic taste coated the inside of my mouth—the same mouth that had been locked on Brock’s a little over twenty-four hours ago. Going out with Grady afterward seemed gross and wrong, like I should—

Wait.

Wait a freaking second.

I was not dating Brock. There was nothing between us, and it wasn’t like he had professed any sort of feelings for me. What had happened between us was . . . was amistake. He’d known how I felt about him back when we were younger and that hadn’t stopped him from being the Academy bicycle.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with going out with Grady. Nothing at all, and actually, it was probably the best thing I could do.

So, I took a deep breath and said, “I would love to go out with you on Saturday.”

* * *

Come Monday morning, I did my best to act as normal as humanly possible when I saw Brock, having decided I wouldn’t think about it for one more second. We were grown adults—two sexually active, grown adults. Okay. I wasn’t really sexually active, but I was sure he was. Either way, we were adults. These things sometimes happened, and it had nothing to do with our past or even our present.

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