Lowering my hands under the table, I reached over and grabbed his thigh through his jeans, pinching until his arm jerked back.

His mouth twitched as he stared at me.

Satisfied now that his hands were in his own space, I let go. “He took me to prom because the boys who were my age were too scared of my father.”

“Huh.” Grady toyed with the stem of his wine glass. “Should I be afraid of your father?”

“No,” I affirmed.

“Yes,” Brock answered. “Hell, I’m still afraid of him.”

I exhaled heavily, noisily.

Grady nodded like he understood, but it was clear he didn’t, and then a seriously awkward silence stretched out between the three of us. I was seconds away from pitching myself under the table when Grady excused himself to use the restroom.

Part of me feared that as he rose and walked off that he may not come back, and then I felt a measure of relief, because maybe, at this point, that would be better.

But Brock and I were alone, so I whipped toward him. “What are you up to?” I hissed.

He fixed me with an innocent look. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Why are you here?”

“Hmm.” He popped his chin in his fist, and my gaze dropped to the thin silver chain around his neck. “I just happened to be in the mood for a juicy steak and thought I’d pick one up.”

“Yeah. And I just happened to be in the mood for a piping hot crack pipe,” I snapped back. “Why are you doing this?”

Brock arched a brow.

“You’re trying to ruin my date,” I accused.

“I don’t think I have to try,” he drawled, grinning.

I glanced at where Grady had disappeared as anger flushed my skin. “What does that mean?”

He smirked. “You two have as much chemistry as tap water does.”

“That’s not true.” I leaned away from him as my breath caught. My first thought was that he was right. My second thought was he didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Really?”

“Yes!” I nearly shouted and then took a deep breath. “Grady is attractive—”

“So cute.” He waggled his brows.

I seethed. “And he’s funny and smart. And he’s nice.”

“Nice?” Brock laughed. “Exactly. Proves my point.”

“What is your point?” My hands curled into fists. “That nice people are bad people?”

Brock inched closer and tapped his finger off the bridge of my nose. I smacked his hand away as he said, “You list his attributes like you’re talking about someone who is interviewing for a job to watch over a kindergarten class.”

“I did not.” Taking a deep breath, I struggled to rein in my patience. “What are you doing, Brock? This—this doesn’t make sense.”