Page 8 of Brick

“I’m Brick,” he rumbled.

Her brow furrowed. “Rick?”

“Brick.”

Liv’s forehead relaxed as she gave a slow nod. “Oh, I get it. Cause you’re built like a brick shithouse.”

He gaped. Most people thought it had something to do with him hitting like a ton of bricks. Only he knew it was because his dad used to call him “thick as a brick.”

She covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry. My mouth gets away from me sometimes when I start drinking. I swear it sounds downright charming in my head and when it comes out of my mouth…blech.” Her hand dropped dramatically to the bar.

His head spun. Words failed him. Why would she care what she sounded like? Why was she even talking to him? Maybe she was only being friendly.

He could be friendly…or at least pretend to be. A half smile lifted one corner of his mouth. It felt weird. “You sound charming enough to me.”

“Yeah?” Her eyes lit, and she leaned her body against the bar. “What’s your pleasure tonight?”

He blinked. She couldn’t be asking what it sounded like.

“From the bar, Dirty Mind.” She smirked. “What are you drinking tonight?”

“Beer.”

“I’ve always been partial to wine, myself.”

He scowled. “Nasty.”

“Hush. The only thing better is champagne. Though I love an Asti too. The bubbles put it over the top.” She smiled so easily, he could almost forget a girl like her would probably cross a crowded street if she saw him coming.

Olivia raised her hand to the bartender and ordered two glasses of Asti. “C’mon. Try a glass with me.”

The twenty-something college guy served them with a smile, and Olivia pushed one of the glasses toward Brick.

He eyed it suspiciously. It looked like wine.

“Sip it.” She took a small drink, and pleasure lit her face. “Let it roll over your tongue.”

He followed her lead. “Not bad.” Not at all like the shit he’d tried the one and only time he took a date to Olive Garden. The only thing good about that night had been the breadsticks.

“In high school, I had a friend who managed to score us bottles of this stuff from her big sister. We’d go up in her old tree house and drink while we listened to The Killers and My Chemical Romance.” She chuckled. “We thought we were so badass.”

He grunted. “The Killers are still badass.”

“Damn right. What else do you listen to?”

He shrugged. No one had ever cared what kind of music he liked. “Some of the older Linkin Park stuff. Avenged Sevenfold.”

She wiggled onto a barstool. ‘“Bat Country’ is my favorite.”

“No way,” he deadpanned. “You seem more like a Top Forty kind of girl.”

She tapped him lightly on the shoulder. “See what you get for judging a book by its cover? I shudder to think what else you thought when you first saw me.”

He didn’t skip a beat. “I thought you were beautiful. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.” Fuck. Was he writing a high school love letter?

She ran her finger around the rim of her glass. A pink blush stained her cheeks. “I couldn’t take mine off you either. I’ve been thinking about you ever since.” Her eyes widened at her own words.

Every molecule of oxygen left the room. For one second, he allowed himself to imagine how it would be to have a woman like this one as his own. Someone clean. Unexpected. Lovely. His heart raced.

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