“Yes, you’re my girlfriend, and because of that, I don’t want you worrying about some woman who obviously didn’t understand it was over.”

That thrill of hearing the words “my girlfriend” was still there, but he should’ve told me. “I get that, but you should tell me if someone is trying to get with you. I have a right to know that.”

He looked like he wanted to disagree, but then sighed. “And have you stress out over something that would’ve been irrelevant? Because that shit is not happening with Kristen. That shit is not happening with any woman. I know that, back in the day, I didn’t do commitments, but you know me. When I’m with someone, I’m with them. You never have to worry about that with me.”

Brock was loyal—sometimes to a fault. Him cheating wasn’t something that concerned me. That wasn’t the issue.

“What else did she say?” he asked. “Because I bet there is more.”

There was. “She said that you felt guilty for what happened to me that night at Mona’s,” I told him.

His forehead creased. “Of course I’ve felt guilty over that. You and I have discussed that. I don’t see—”

“Are you with me because you want to be with me, or because you feel guilty about what happened to me?”

He stared at me for a moment, almost like he couldn’t find the words to say, and then he said, “Is that a serious question?”

“Yes. It is.”

“I don’t think I need to answer that question.”

Frustration snapped at the seeds of dread sprouting in my stomach. “I think you do.”

“Do you really believe that?” Brock sat up fluidly, thrusting a hand through his hair again. He clasped the back of his neck. “Seriously?”

“It’s a serious question, Brock”

“And how does me wanting to be with you out of guilt make sense?” His eyes glinted. “What did she say to you?”

“She said that you stayed with her out of guilt and that you’re with me because of guilt.”

Brock cursed under his breath as he shook his head. “And you really, truly think that?”

“I don’t know what I think.” Tugging my hair back, I quickly twisted it and then let go. The hair spun loose. “I need time.” And I needed space so I could think straight. “Look, it’s really late. Maybe you should just go home.”

His brows flew up. “You really want me to leave?”

I rose from the bed, snatching the long cardigan off the corner. I yanked it on. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but I’m not leaving.”

My arms fell to my sides. “Oh, yes you are.”