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He nods, distracted. “Hey.”
“This is Meredith,” I introduce them. “This is Brock.”
“Hello.” She smiles over my shoulder at him.
“We’re going,” he says.
My face falls. “Oh, okay, I’ll see you later then.”
“No. I mean, you and I are going. Together”
I stare at him, stunned. “But, I’m not ready to go yet.”
“Tough shit. I am.”
I raise my brows in question. “Excuse me?”
“I said, we’re going.”
My anger begins to simmer. “And I said I’m not.”
“Don’t be a fucking pain in my ass. We’re leaving.”
“What?” I snap.
“I’m not standing here watching you dance with every fucker in the club for one second longer.”
My mouth drops open and my eyes flicker to Meredith. She’s watching Brock intently.
“Do you want to take her home to have sex?” she asks innocently.
“That’s not happening,” I hit back.
Brock narrows his eyes at me, and a guy walks past towards the dance floor. “Hey, do you want to dance with me?” I ask the stranger.
He smiles as if he’s won the jackpot. “Sure.”
Brock grabs my hand. “What the fuck are you doing?” he growls.
“Dancing.” I fake a smile. “Remember, that thing you have no interest in learning.”
“Don’t you dare dance with him.”
I smirk and tilt my head.
“I fucking mean it, Tully. Don’t fucking push me.”
“Goodbye, Brock. Go fuck one of your girls who you don’t have to put any effort into.”
He glares at me.
“I don’t need a man,” I tell him confidently.
“That’s right,” Meredith interrupts. “She has a huge vibrator.”
“What?” he growls as his eyes blaze. “You think a fucking vibrator can replace me?”
“I do, actually, because unlike you, my vibrator isn’t an entitled ass who thinks that he’s God’s gift to women. He does his job and keeps his mouth shut.”
“Get in the fucking car before I drag you outside.”
“Go fuck yourself.” I turn and walk to the dance floor. I’m so angry, I feel like I can hear my thudding heartbeat in my ears. Who the hell does he think he is?
That man is a complete asshole.
The cab pulls up at my house at 4:00 a.m., and I stumble out onto the road.
Meredith and Callie went onto another club with everyone else, but honestly, I just couldn’t. I’m so tired. I pay the driver and stumble up the pathway, stepping back when I see Brock leaning against a tree.
It’s dark, I’m alone, and he’s glaring at me.
“Took your fucking time,” he growls. “Where have you been?”
Chapter 9
“Dancing,” I reply flatly.
The sensible girl inside of me should be outraged that he’s here. However, the masochist in me is thrilled.
Good girl verse bad girl. There’s a whole lot of wrong in that sentence.
It should be no contest.
“How do you know where I live?” I ask as I open the foyer door with my key.
“I’m a private investigator. I know a lot of things about you.”
“Ha,” I huff as I push the door open. “You must be crap at your job then otherwise you’d know I like to dance.”
He fakes a smile. “Witty.”
Should I ask him in? He’s not drunk or anything, and he is a private investigator. I guess he must be trustworthy. I hold the door open. “Are you coming?”
His eyes hold mine for a moment, as if he’s surprised that I’ve actually invited him in so easily. The truth is, I do want to talk to him, but I’m not doing it outside in the cold.
I get into the elevator and he stands beside me silently. His large frame overtakes the space, the power radiating from his body.
God, this is unbelievable. What the heck am I doing right now? Three hours ago, I swore to loathe him for all of eternity. How does this work? He’s a hot guy who I’ve been fantasising about for weeks. He goes caveman, loses his shit at me, leaves the club, and then he turns up at my house and 4am… and I just go right ahead and invite him in like he’s an old family friend.
You idiot.
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from smiling as I stare at the floor.
The doors open and I walk out like a woman on a mission, and a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing and why she’s doing it.
To be honest, I have no frigging idea what I’m doing, but the fake-it-til-you-make-it strategy seems like a good starting point. I open my apartment door and walk inside in a rush, throwing my keys onto the sideboard and flicking my shoes off without grace.
“Oh, man,” I sigh. “What a relief. Those shoes are the devil.”
Brock puts his hands on his hips angrily, and my eyes rise up to him and his hostile stance. It makes me smile. He is such an open book. He has absolutely no control over his emotions. If he thinks it, he says it, and damn the consequences. To be honest, it’s an admiral quality that he holds, and I wish I could do it more often. I guard most of my thoughts and would never say them out loud.
