“No.” Then hope sprung alive, because maybe, just maybe, I could get him to leave. “I’ll be fine. You can go ahead and leave.”

“What?”

Sliding my hands over my hair, I tugged on the ends. “Thank you for driving me home last night and making sure I got in okay. I really appreciate it. I’ll—I’ll see you on Monday.”

There was another patch of silence, and I strained to hear what he was doing out in the hall. I thought I heard Rhage meow pitifully somewhere.

“Jillian,” he said my name, and this time there was no lightness or teasing to his tone. “Come out here.”

I scrunched up my nose. “No, thanks.”

“Jillian.”

“Seriously, I’ll see you on Monday—”

“You are not going to hide in the damn bathroom,” he cut in. “You’re going to open this door and come out here and talk to me.”

Yeah, that was not going to happen, and when I didn’t respond, I saw the knob turn.

Brock cursed. “Jillian, come on.”

Nope.

“Okay,” he said. “If you don’t want to come out, then we can talk through the door. I’m not stupid. I know why you’re hiding in the bathroom.”

My eyes narrowed at the closed door.

“There’s no reason to be embarrassed over what happened last night,” he started and I lost it.

“Really? I think there’s plenty of reasons to be embarrassed,” I said, dropping my hands. “I got drunk and I—”

“Used me to get off?” he supplied.

“Oh my God, seriously? Thanks for putting it bluntly.”

“I didn’t mind.”

My mouth dropped open and I just stared forward. I had no words. None. Zip. Nada. Then I shook my head. “How could you not mind? I practically molested you.”

Brock’s deep laugh made its way into the bathroom. “First off, if I didn’t want you doing any of that last night, I would’ve stopped you. I wouldn’t have made you come.”

I slapped my hands on my hips and nearly doubled over. Made you come. Oh God, he had so done that. I couldn’t deal with this. My head was still clouded from the devil’s nectar known as whiskey and wine, and I needed coffee, and I needed him gone.

“Okay,” I said after a moment. “Can we just pretend like that didn’t happen last night?”

“Are you serious?” he asked, and shock colored his tone.

“Yes. I am serious. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to acknowledge it,” I said in a rush. “And I want to go on like that never happened. We can do that. It’s better that way. So you don’t have to be okay with it or worry that it’ll happen again or that I think anything stupid.” I drew in a ragged breath. “Things will be normal.”