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Rock seemed to think about this for a moment, then leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Where should we go for lunch? I vote for Solomon’s.”
The boardwalk at Solomon’s Island, which wasn’t really an island, had a bunch of water-facing seafood restaurants and bars. It was kind of a tourist spot—as much as tourists came down this far in Maryland. I hadn’t been there in years.
“Uh, okay. But I have to be at work at one.”
“No problem. We’ll go now.”
I looked at the clock. It was ten-thirty. “Um.”
“Sunday brunch. It’s a thing. Let’s go. Bring your work stuff.” He stood, apparently ready to go.
“Give me a minute.” In the bathroom I stared into the mirror. What the hell was happening? I put on a bit of lipstick and brushed out my long dark hair, and decided to just go along with it. At least Rock had quit being a jerk.
When I stepped out of the bathroom, Rock was on the phone with someone, standing in front of the window and staring out into the dense woods as one hand scrubbed through the messy golden-brown hair atop his head.
“No, Sam. Not an all-star situation down here.”
A pause.
“Oh, I get it. Well, thanks for that, but not really your business.”
Another pause.
“We were friends.” He said this sadly, as if this friend, Sam, had lost his trust. “I’ll do it. Then I’m going to be considering new representation.” He sounded angry, but as soon as he turned and saw me, he grinned. “Let’s go!”
It was like Rock had suddenly become a different version of the tall, hunky naked guy I’d first discovered on my couch. He was charming and funny over brunch, and I felt a little bit like I was spending time in a parallel dimension.
“Was that your agent on the phone?” I asked him once our mimosas had arrived.
“Potentially former agent,” he said, the cheer in his eyes evaporating.
“Because of the tournament?” I shouldn’t have been prodding. It wasn’t my business. But I was curious.
Rock looked at me for a long beat, his dark brown eyes on mine, his eyebrows lowering slightly, as if he was trying to figure something out. Then he let out a little sigh and started talking.
“Yeah,” he began. “Sam is a friend really. And he just admitted on the phone that he sent me down here to this thing because he knew Singletree was my hometown. He thinks I have some things to figure out here.”
“Like what? I mean besides taking care of the fact that someone else is living in your house?”
He smiled at that, and then dropped my gaze. “He thinks I should forgive my mom for some things while I’m here, but I have no plans on doing that.”
“Ohh,” I said, understanding making me quieter. “Yeah, that’s not his call.”
“He’s probably right,” Rock said, sounding sad. “It’s just...” his eyes met mine again and something shuttered. “Never mind. You don’t want to hear about that.” He took a long swallow of his drink and then grinned at me. I was beginning to see that the grin was a cover.
“You and your mom don’t get along?”
“We don’t speak, so no.”
“And your dad?”
“Left a while ago,” he said.
“Ah.”
“But Drea,” Rock said, leaning back as a tower of pancakes was placed in front of him and my omelet was delivered to me. “Let’s talk about you.”
“Um—”
