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“Well, I shouldn’t have pried.”
“Nah, don’t feel bad. It actually feels good to let you know the bigger picture.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re easy to talk to, you know that?”
I nod. “I’ve heard it before.”
“So, you’ve got an advantage.” His tone lightens. He steps forward to pick up the stick Mr. Brown abandoned. When he chucks it, Mr. Brown swivels his head away from the ducks and tracks it until it lands with a splash in the water.
Mr. Brown starts wading that way, slow and steady.
He’s like Brock and me. We waded through some heaviness just now. Thanks to Brock’s movements and lighter sound, I know he wants to brighten the conversation.
He glances my way, then gestures to the path behind me. “You know all about my history with women, and all I know about your dating life is that you went out a few times with that guy who rocks a reflective jacket.”
I giggle. “Isn’t that thing bright?”
“So bright. I was like—bro!” He feigns shielding his eyes. “Blinding.” He blinks a few times. “I think my retinas might still be fried.”
It feels like a dream to stand here and laugh with Brock. So good.
When our laughter dies down, I catch the way his eyes linger on me. He returns to my side like it’s where he belongs.
Heat snaps and crackles between us.
I know him better now. I’m glad about that.
“He was an idiot,” he murmurs.
“Charles?” I ask.
Brock nods.
“Well, idiot might be sort of harsh,” I say. “I mean… his mom gave him that jacket. And for all we know, it will save his life when he’s riding his bike in traffic… Reflective clothing is really?—”
He steps in closer.
His hand finds my hip. Electricity courses through me, hot and searing. My breath hitches.
“No, not for the jacket,” Brock says, his voice deeper now than it was before, with a new husky gruffness.
“For… for what then?”
His other hand curves around me, to my lower back. “For not making better moves.”
“He—he didn’t—I mean, he did okay. Once, when my ice cream melted and fell off the cone onto the sidewalk, he bought me a new ice cream.”
I should be put into classes or something. Remedial classes about how to behave when a man holds you and looks into your eyes.
The first class might be about not jibber-jabbing about an ex. Not saying stupid, rambly things. Not stalling for time, because you’re scared.
I am scared, though.
Not of Brock’s demands, or his selfishness, like I used to be. I’m not even scared of his reputation as a player anymore. That’s all gone.
I know him better now, and in this instant, new fears are rising up.
