We fell into silence again, and my eyelids drooped. Just as I was dozing off, Brock said to me, “I lied.”

“Lied about what?” I whispered, sliding my hand over the tight dips and planes of his stomach.

There was a pause and then he said, “The night I ruined your date with that guy wasn’t a coincidence.”

A small grin tugged at my lips and I turned my face into the side of his chest. “I figured that.”

“The first night—the first time I saw you at the restaurant wasn’t a coincidence either.” His fingers stilled along my upper arm. “Your mom had mentioned where you’d be. It was in passing. She probably doesn’t even remember. I went there knowing you would be there. I hadn’t planned on saying anything to you. I just wanted . . . I just wanted to see you, and I didn’t want to wait until Monday.”

I opened my eyes.

His chest rose with a deep breath. “And when I saw you, I had to talk to you. I was there because you were there.”

I should’ve probably been irritated at Mom and him for that, but I decided I didn’t care. “Creeper,” I murmured.

Brock’s arm tightened around me. “No regrets.”

In the flickering light of the candle, I smiled and closed my eyes.

Chapter 30

Chapter 30

Everything and nothing changed between Brock and me in the days and weeks following Thanksgiving and the night at his place.

As corny as it sounded, it was like a fairytale come true, but my girlish fantasies of Brock and me being together was nothing like the real thing. Back then I had no experience in, well, anything, and what limited knowledge I’d gained from Ben had been repeatedly and amazingly blown out of the water each time Brock touched me—kissed me and took me to bed . . . or on the couch, the kitchen counter—against the wall. Brock was never sated, and neither was I. I’d never been like that before, where I spent a good portion of the day lost in thoughts about our time spent alone. My heart was in the clouds and my head was quickly following.

He spent many nights at my apartment, because I had a functioning kitchen, and I think he was growing attached to Rhage, even if he didn’t necessarily admit it. Over the weekends, I’d gather up Rhage and we’d end up at Brock’s, eating carryout and helping him the best I could with stripping the cabinets, which involved a whole lot of elbow grease and sanding off the old finish.