Yes, it was a demanding text, one I probably would’ve never seen myself ever sending Brock, but I was pissed. I had no idea what Brock had been up to when he stopped by the restaurant. Wanting to talk about Thanksgiving? Utter bullshit.

My hands clenched the steering wheel as I eased out of the small parking lot and turned onto the street, immediately hitting a red light. I didn’t hear my phone ding and I also didn’t check if he had responded, fearing that if he had and gave some excuse to why he couldn’t talk now, I’d drive my car into something.

I fumed the entire drive home. The little part of me that had been left breathless earlier over the fact someone else thought Brock was interested in me had quickly been burned away in fiery irritation.

What he’d done tonight was not cool.

Arriving at my apartment, I climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut. Scanning the parking lot, I didn’t see his car and as I hurried through the chilly air, under the starry night sky, I yanked my phone out of my purse.

Of course, no response.

“Asshole,” I muttered, stomping up the stairwell.

Yeah, there really hadn’t been much of a spark between Grady and me, but that was none of Brock’s business. Not even remotely. And maybe tonight could’ve been the night that that something developed between Grady and me, but that hadn’t happened. Brock showed up, took us all down a quick trip along memory lane, giving Grady the impression that what we had going wasn’t worth investigating further. Reaching my door, I unlocked it and yanked it open, wanting to tear it from the hinges.

Stripping off my jacket, I tossed it over the back of my couch and grabbed the chilled bottle of wine from the fridge. Working the cork out, I took a nice long gulp, forgoing a glass.

Forget the whole not drinking thing for right now.

A small part of me knew that even if Brock hadn’t busted all up into my date like the Kool-Aid dude, a spark wouldn’t have magically appeared between Grady and me. After reading a crap ton of romance books—after knowing what I had for Brock at one point in my life—I was a firm believer in if that special it wasn’t there on the first real date, it most likely was never going to appear.

And that wasn’t even taking into consideration that the nights when I couldn’t sleep and I slipped my hand between my own thighs, it hadn’t been Grady’s face that appeared in my mind.

But still.

I was pissed.

Raising the bottle of wine to my lips again, I jumped and dribbled a little on my chin as I heard a knock on my door.