Page 5 of Sticky Situationship

Not that he’s complaining. Rather than tapering off over time, the number of times I pay him a visit has only increased over the months. But a session with Brock is always the best medicine. From a physical standpoint, the endorphins, the release of oxytocin and prolactin, and the reduced levels of cortisol that result from sexual intercourse are all good for patients. And for me.

I sit up to search for my bra. “I guess you’re not the only one who uses quaint phrases.”

“Quaint phrases?” He scrubs a hand across his chin. “Can’t say I’ve ever been accused of that.”

“Maybe, your friends are too nice to point it out.” I grab my panties off the floor and slip them on.

A full-on laugh accompanies the vigorous shake of his head. “My friends have no trouble giving me shit. In fact,” he adds, “they’re the first to call me on it.”

I smile and clasp my bra, pulling the straps up over my shoulders. “They sound like my kind of people.”

He meets my gaze, his expression no longer lighthearted. “They would be.”

What?

I snatch up my joggers and shrug off the comment, determined not to read too much into it. “Too bad, I barely have time for this, let alone friends.”

“Right.”

Rare silence between us fills the apartment as we finish dressing. As usual, he follows when I head toward the door. I grab my keys and phone from the kitchen counter, where I always drop them.

“Thanks,” I say, same as I do every time.

“Anytime.”

Although, his reply is the same one I’ve heard a few dozen times, there’s something about his response that catches my ear. But I must be hallucinating. Nothing has changed between us. Things are the same as they’ve always been. Thank goodness, because I couldn’t handle losing the great sex that’s kept me sane for the past few months. At least, not right now.

I reach for the doorknob, only to realize my feet are bare. I spin around and knock directly into Brock’s rock-hard bare chest with an, “Oomph.”

His hands steady me. “Alright there?”

“Yeah, I just forgot my shoes. Wouldn’t be good if I left those behind now, would it?” I offer with a half laugh, slipping past him back over to the bed and sliding them on.

“Sure wouldn’t.”

My gaze snaps to his face at the unfamiliar tone of his voice. He doesn’t meet my eyes, but a muscle in his jaw works as he looks off, out the window. I open my mouth, but then close it again and grip my keys tight.

“See you soon?” Maybe, it’s the sudden chill in the room or the uncertainty in the air, but the phrase comes out more like a question than the statement it usually is.

His lips curve into his customary lopsided grin, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, blowing out a long breath. “See you soon.”

Brock

“That good?” I callout, rubbing my hands together to keep them warm in the frigid air of the empty engine bay. Behind me, the bay door is wide open to the weekday morning rush hour on Columbus Avenue.

“Yeah.” My best friend, Jake, slow jogs back toward me, along the fifty-foot section of hose extended between us, putting on a show and donning that famous half smile. The one that shows off his trademark dimples. I glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, there’s a tall blonde eyeing him as she saunters past the station.

But she can join the crowd. The woman is one of thousands of female pedestrians who parade across our patch of sidewalk every day, half of whom I swear go out of their way for a regular dose of Jake, AKA Mr. March, from theNYC’s Bravestannual charity calendar.

Libby would never.

Sure, a romance novel usually rests on her nightstand, but I’d bet my last dollar it wouldn’t occur to her in a million years to track down a man in real life. Or stalk him at his work. She’s too busy saving lives to bother.

Although, now that I think about it, that particular skill would come in handy. Because if, by some miracle, Libby was to show up here one day looking for me, I’d likely die of a heart attack.

When Jake is done showboating and finally turns his attention from the woman’s designer jeans-covered ass to the task at hand, I roll my eyes and thrust a tablet in his direction. “All done there?”

“The ladies would eye you, too, if you paid them any attention, you know,” he replies, tapping the passcode on the touchscreen.

---