Page 45 of Presley's Christmas Catch
People continue coming up to Brock in the few minutes we have to wait for the announcement about who’s getting the extra ticket. He hovers close to me, his arm brushing mine every so often as he reaches for a book or paper and a couple jerseys in some cases to sign for fans. I want to lean in every time, andnotbecause he’s warm despite the cold day. We were on such strange footing this morning—no longer the comfy, close friends we were before I admitted my feelings. Both of us trying hard to be that and failing because my admission is a big fat elephant in the room that’s hard to get around.
And then the mayhem happened inside the tiny bookstore, and Brock went a little bit caveman, picking me up and hauling me to safety. The way he stared at me once we were out, checking over every inch of me—something changed again, and I don’t know what to make of it.
Is it possible Brock feels the same way about me as I do about him … and he doesn’t realize it?
I shake the thought away. It’s silly, and probably my heart’s way to grasp at straws and hope. Except for how he was clueless that the Booktok influencer was flirting with him. How she asked if I was his girlfriend? Classic. Could he have been clueless about my crush before and needs some time to catch up? It’s too much to hope for, but I can’t help myself.
“Okay, everyone!” The bookstore owner, Sapphira, claps her hands. “It’s time to announce our special winner. Once we’ve done that, sales forVeil of the Queenwill officially begin. You can purchase a copy up front, here”—she points to the counter and the iPad—“along with any other books you wish to purchase today. And of course, we will be handing out tickets to the first twenty-five people.” She turns to look at the other woman, handing her a piece of paper. “Alexis? Would you like to do the honors?” Sapphira’s eyes twinkle and she looks out the open door to Brock, then her gaze slides to me.
My heart jumps, and I turn to Brock, but he’s leaning against the door frame opposite me all cool and casual. He grins at me again and my heart does another thump.
The sensible thing right now would be to cut off my friendship with Brock, even if it means losing the first person since Aunt Shannon to get me and my love for TOK. I can’t just be his friend, and every moment that I stand here, knowing I won’t ever be anything more to him, is pure torture.
But I can’t walk away. The idea of not being around him twists in my stomach. I would rather have these bits and pieces for as long as I can and deal with the hurt later than give him up now.
“The winner …” Alexis says, holding up the paper with pomp. “Is Presley Tatum and a guest, if she would like.”
“Yes!” I look to Brock and don’t think twice before throwing myself into his arms. Almost as quickly, I realize I should pull away, but his arms tighten around my waist, and he lifts me up.
“Told you to trust me,” he murmurs into my hair.
When he sets me back down, I give him the eye, but I can’task him outright what he set up with those women. They’ve clearly framed it as me being the spontaneous winner of a contest. I have no desire to cause a riot in this tiny bookstore.
Unless I end up in Brock’s arms again…
“Thank you,” I say quietly. I put my hands on his arms and squeeze, knowing that going in for another hug would be pressing my luck.
Brock just smirks.
CHAPTER 19
PRESLEY
Once we have our brand-new copies ofVeil of the Queenin hand, and my tickets for the gathering with Gideon Thornridge, Sapphira instructs us to return to the bookstore at four p.m. to meet the author. “There’s a meeting room in the back,” she says, pointing to a door.
We don’t have time to leave the area and sightsee in New York City, so we wander around the neighborhood and find some lunch. We have to take our food to a nearby park because Brock is so huge the tiny spaces in the restaurants can’t accommodate him without them taking away tables nearby us. The temperature is in the forties, so not exactly warm. Brock acts like forty-five is shorts and t-shirts weather, and then hands me his jacket.
I hold out a hand. “Despite your claim, this isnott-shirt weather.” I point to his thin t-shirt and then gesture to the park around us, the trees decked out in Christmas lights and wreathes with red bows hanging from lamp posts. “It’sChristmastime.”
Brock takes one of my hands and puts it on his bicep. “Do I feel cold to you?”
I swallow. “No,” I squeak. His muscles are impressive. This isn’t new to me. The fact that his bicep is the size of my thigh issomething I’ve noticed before, but having my fingers on his warm skin, feeling the breadth of his arm—yes, Lyra, I see you. I’m feeling a bit swoony.
Brock takes the jacket and drapes it over me, on top of the hoodie and jacket I’m wearing. The smell of his deodorant, something musky with pine in it, envelops me. I will never be the same again.
“So. Tell me how you got the ticket,” I ask him, hoping he won’t notice how disoriented he’s made me by giving me his jacket. (And the bicep. That played a part too.)
He explains about the deal he made with Alexis Sterling, Gideon Thornridge’s agent, and my mouth falls open. “You agreed to do anything on social media or an ad campaign? Brock. That wasn’t smart. Let me give the ticket back.”
“No way,” he says immediately. “This is important to you. You want to see if he remembers signing the book for your aunt.” He holds up a hand when I start to protest. “It’s a win-win for me. Loving some obscure fantasy series and looking like a nerd? It’s great for my rep. The media can’t just see me as the angry guy who can’t keep his mouth shut. If this is all over the internet, the fans, the commentators, everyone has to admit there’s more than the clips that pop up when a team gets rid of me.”
“Okay.” I set down the slice of pizza I’m eating. “But that agent could hold you to anything now…”
He waves his hand. “She looks like a shark, and I have no doubt she gets what she wants when she needs to, but she’s been representing Thornridge for years and just now got him to finish the last book? And why would she be representing a series that barely got off the ground unless it’s because she loves them too. She’s a softie—I’m willing to bet on it.”
I study him for a long moment, guilt that he offered up something so valuable to him—his reputation—all for me. “Lincoln says it’s all over social media that you’re a TOK fan.”
He chuckles. “I know. My social media manager has beentexting me all afternoon. She says to warn her next time I pull something like this. But she’s loving it.”
