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

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 been in me.

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 was almost eager to answer.

“You busy?” he asked when I answered.