The Space Within (The Book of Phoenix #3)
Page 13
“Oh, trust me. Today he would have been. Mom thinks he’s teething or colicky. He was a cranky little bastard all day.”
His tone was filled with love, so I knew he meant it as an endearment. Guys were weird like that. I gave him the expected smile as I stepped to the side to let him in.
My words had been more of a nicety than the truth anyway. I hadn’t had to spend time with the baby yet to know how I’d react to him. Had I overcome the panic by now from the first time I’d seen him? Had enough time passed to heal my wounds? Or would I freak out again and want to run away, possibly with him in my arms? Either way, I didn’t think having a baby in my small apartment with no way for an escape was a good test of how I’d respond.
I held up my sandwich with a bite taken out of it. “I was just eating dinner. You want a sandwich?”
Brock lifted a brow over his chocolate-brown eyes as he sat down on the couch. “A peanut butter sandwich is your dinner?”
“And a glass of milk,” I said as I walked over to the counter and grabbed my cup. I took a long swig to wash down the sticky bite. “Protein, grains, and dairy. Cheap, easy, and at least a little healthy.”
He shook his head. “I should take you out to dinner.”
Uh-oh. Here we go. I drew in a deep breath.
“We can’t do that,” I blurted. “The whole dating thing. Kissing … I can’t—”
He held a hand up, stopping me before I could go on. “I know, I know. I can’t either. I can’t do that to you or me or everyone else involved. But we can be friends, right?”
I sucked my lips between my teeth, hesitating. That’s what I’d wanted, too, a friend, but seeing him here in all his rugged beauty, I didn’t know how that was going to work out. Especially with the way he was looking at me now.
He closed his eyes. “Okay, I admit, I was just thinking friends with benefits, but you don’t deserve that. Just friends. I promise.”
He opened his eyes and stared at me until I finally nodded.
“Friends,” I confirmed as I grabbed my sandwich, glass, and the book and sat down beside him on the couch.
I placed my cup and the book on the coffee table, took a bite of my sandwich, and chewed and swallowed it before reaching to open the cover. As I did, my thigh pressed against Brock’s and my arm brushed over his knee. We both tensed, and I wondered if he felt the same charge I did.
He cleared his throat. “If we’re going to be friends, we can’t sit like this.”
Yes, he did. I sprang to my feet, nodding, and hopped over to the armchair. He slid the book closer to me and turned it at an angle so we could both look at it as he flipped the cover open.
“Jacey and Micah,” he said as he studied the words I’d already peeked at, and then he turned the page. A date was handwritten at the top, along with a lengthy journal entry. I’d been right about it being old, but not as old as I’d expected.
“A diary from 1989?” Brock looked up at me. “Should we read it?”
“Definitely!”
He smiled with a twinkle in his eye like a boy about to cause mischief. “It’s kind of wrong, isn’t it?”
“It’s old. They’re old by now, maybe even dead. Let’s at least see if there’s anything interesting in it.” My gaze dropped to the page, and after silently skimming the first couple of sentences, I pointed to them. “It even says, ‘I hope that writing this down here will help us. And if not us, then someone else who might be reading it.’ See? They want us to read it.”
Brock chuckled and leaned back on the couch. “You’re kind of naughty. But go ahead. Read it to me.”
I eyed him, part of my mind stuck on how naughty I wanted to be with him. Friends. We’re only friends. I couldn’t let myself be so easily distracted. “You want me to read it to you out loud?”
He shrugged, a small smile playing on his full lips. “I’ve always enjoyed a good story.”
I picked up the book and settled into the chair while he stretched out his legs and propped his feet on the coffee table. I felt his eyes on me as I read, and once when I glanced up, his gaze was focused intently on my mouth. I stumbled over whatever words I’d been reading, and his eyes popped up to mine. He gave me a guilty smile and motioned his hand to continue. The next time I looked up, only about ten pages in, his eyes were closed. I paused, watching his chest lift slowly, and he didn’t seem to notice that I’d stopped.
“Aliens came and promised us all big boobs and endless kegs of beer.”
Brock didn’t reply, and if that phrase didn’t catch his attention, it only meant one thing. He’d fallen asleep on me!
He’d looked exhausted before, and I hated waking him up, so I watched him sleep for a while instead, his dark lashes pressed against his cheekbones, and his mouth soft, the corners lifted slightly. After about fifteen minutes passed and he still didn’t stir, I marked my spot in the journal and placed it on the table.
“Um … Brock?” I said softly.
He startled awake, making me jump, too.
“Sorry!” I said guiltily. “I just figured your bed is probably more comfortable than my couch.”
He straightened up and rubbed a hand over his face and then the back of his head. “No, no. I’m sorry. I can’t believe I fell asleep on you.”
“Well, more like on Jacey. Is she that boring?”
“Nah. It was kind of interesting, although pretty sad, too. I just … I had a rough night. Lots of rough nights. It’s hard, you know, trying to do it all.”
I sat back in my chair and tucked my legs under me. “Do what all?”
He shrugged. “You know. Everything. Life.”
I tilted my head. “We’re friends, remember? If you want to talk, I can be a good listener.”
He seemed to consider this for a moment. “Meh. I don’t really want to talk about it. I’d been looking forward to this all day. It was kind of like an escape from reality and talking about my problems doesn’t make for much of an escape, does it?”
“Do you want me to keep reading?”
He glanced at the stove and frowned. “My time’s up. Need to get back to real life. Studies and responsibilities and all that.”
“You should probably go to bed, don’t you think?”
“That cat nap should do me for a while. That and a cup of coffee.” He smiled warmly, the heat going straight through my body. “Thanks for your concern, though.”
He stood, and I stood, and we both stood there awkwardly for a moment.
“Sorry again for the late start,” he said as he moved for the door. “Hopefully it won’t be so late tomorrow. We’ll do it again, right? I want to find out what happens with Jacey.”
I nodded, probably too enthusiastically, looking like one of those bobble heads. “Yeah, sure.”
“Same bat time? Same bat channel?”
I laughed and pushed him out the door. “Earlier time, remember? Now go, you dork. Go get smarter.”
He looked over his shoulder at me, and his gaze fell to my mouth. He let out a heavy sigh and turned back for the stairs again, rushing off before we did anything stupid.
The next evening, he showed up earlier and brought with him a large bowl of pasta with sausage and homemade sauce, a Caesar salad, and half a loaf of garlic bread.
“Friends bring food to each other, right?” he asked as he unloaded his bag onto my small kitchen counter.
The food smelled divine, making my mouth water and my stomach growl at an embarrassingly high decibel. No way in hell could I deny the bounty in front of me. Not after weeks of little more than peanut butter sandwiches and the occasional plate of cheese, crackers, and fruit Hope shared with me. That hadn’t happened for the past two days, though, because she’d locked herself in her writing room. The apartment didn’t have a dining table, so Brock sat on
the couch and I took a seat on the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table. I tried to take my time eating and not looking like a disgusting pig with no manners shoveling in the forkfuls, but damn, it was too good.
“I guess you like it?” Brock asked as he eyed my half-empty plate.
“Like it?” I echoed after swallowing a bite. “I want to roll around naked in it.”
He grinned, a gleam in his dark eyes. “I wouldn’t mind watching that.”
Heat rose to my cheeks. I wouldn’t have minded him watching … or joining. And then we could lick the deliciousness off of each other. Damn it, Asia, stop it!
I stabbed at a tube of ziti. “Your mom’s an excellent cook.”
He burst out laughing. “Hardly. I don’t even remember the last time I’ve seen her cook.”
“Oh, well, then, your chef is excellent.”
He chuckled again. “I made this.”
I practically choked on the bite I’d stuffed into my mouth. “You cook?”
“Another love, after reading and martial arts. I had to learn. Mom sucks at it, but she was always holed up in what she calls her writing cave anyway. Dad’s a great cook, but he works a lot and travels all the time. He taught me the basics, and I took it from there.”
I stared at him wide-eyed. He loved to read and cooked like a pro, both of which were sexy as hell, even if he didn’t have a face and body to die for. Could he get any better? Rich. Spoiled. Used to getting everything he wants. Could probably get away with murder. I had to break open a few old wounds to remind myself that I couldn’t want Brock. That guys like him were nothing but trouble wrapped up in a shiny package. Or worse. Except … he wasn’t like all the boys I’d grown up with. He was kind. Generous. Seemingly genuine. I mean, he had that moodiness going on for a while, but I thought that probably had something to do with his attraction to me that he obviously felt. Now that we’d kind of broken the ice there, he knew we were both fighting it, which I supposed made it easier to deal with.
“What?” he asked as I continued to stare at him.
I smiled and shook my head. “There just might be the makings of a good husband in you.”
His face clouded over, and his eyes darkened. “Not likely.”
I about dropped my fork. “Not with me! I didn’t mean that!” Oh, god, this was embarrassing. “I just meant … with someone. In the future.”
The dark cloud left his face, and he gave me a small smile. “I know. Don’t worry. But it’s still not likely. It’ll take someone special to put up with me and everything I bring to the table.”
His tone was heavy, lingering with the same darkness that had filled his eyes a moment ago. I wanted to ask what he meant, but I also liked what he’d said last night about our time together being an escape for him. Maybe some day he’d tell me an escape from what, but for now, I’d give him what he needed. So I tried to lighten the mood.
“Bringing food like this to the table is a pretty damn good thing. Especially when it tastes like heaven.”
“I think anything not made of peanut butter and bread would taste like heaven to you.”
I shrugged. “True. But seriously. This is impressive, Brock. Unless … is this all you can make? Your one signature dish?”
He chuckled. “It’s just my go-to meal. I don’t have to think about making it, which means I can do other things at the same time. I’ve been making it a lot the past few months.”
I leaned back and rubbed my hand over my stuffed belly. “I think I could eat it a lot. All the time. I wouldn’t even mind getting fat from it because it’d be worth it.”
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a girl say those words.”
“Well, unfortunately, it’s not all that likely. Unlike most girls, I have trouble putting weight on. I can eat like a horse—like this—all the time and never gain. I’m like my mom in that way. She’s tinier than me.”
“You must not have had any girl friends.”
I snorted. “Yeah. I thought my best friend got over it when she realized it was just as hard for me to maintain a normal weight as it was for her. At least she got curves. I barely got any.” Except for a few months last summer, but I wasn’t going there. Nothing Brock ever needed to know about. “But when her curves tried to become rolls and she had to work her ass off at the gym, she became more jealous than ever. It was stupid. And then shit kind of happened, and I got over all the superficial drama. I haven’t talked to her in ages. Don’t really care to, either.”
“Do you keep in touch with any friends back home? Where is that anyway?”
“D.C. suburbs. And no. No real friends there.”
I shoved the last bite of garlic bread into my mouth, but it suddenly became hard to swallow. My throat had thickened, and I had to force it down. I pushed my plate away.
“No wonder you want to be friends with me so much,” Brock teased. “You don’t have any.”
Now it was his turn to lighten the mood. Bless him for noticing.
I smiled. “Yeah. Suppose I could use one. But you already knew that when you and your friend showed up to buy my car.”
“Brandon. I guess you could say he’s my friend, except he’s not much more than a neighbor these days. I’d had a lot of friends at one time, but we all drifted apart since high school. Gone off to different colleges. I went the farthest away, but now that I’m back, they don’t get me at all any more.” He shrugged. “Different lives now. They’re still into the drinking and fraternity things. I’ve had to grow up faster, which makes them stay far away.”
His tone had darkened again, and once more I had to fight the urge to pry. To offer an ear that he seemed to need. Maybe if he were a girl, I would have asked, but guys were different. They didn’t like to talk about feelings and shit. And that’s one thing I liked about them these days.
“So I’m not the only one who’s friendless, eh?” I teased.
He laughed and rose to his feet, then began collecting our dishes. “Yeah. We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?”
We cleaned up together, and he stuck the leftovers in my refrigerator. I was surprised there were any. I felt like I’d eaten enough for four.
Taking our same spots as last night, I read aloud again, and this time Brock didn’t fall asleep. We had to stop for the night when his phone beeped with a text.
“Back to reality?” I asked after he glanced at the screen and frowned. “Again tomorrow?”
“No friends. No life. Remember?”
“So I’ll see you tomorrow.” This time it wasn’t a question.
The next evening was the same. Brock brought over a scrumptious chicken and rice dish, and after we finished eating, he listened to me read the journal for about an hour or so, and then his phone beeped, signaling his time of escape was over. I was surprised he came over the next night. Yeah, he admitted to not having much of a life either, but he grew up around here. Surely someone like him could find something to do on a Friday night. But here he was, sitting with me for the fourth night in a row, an almost empty box of pizza sitting on the coffee table between us.
“Sorry,” he said when his phone gave the tone.
“Even on a Friday?”
“No rest for the wicked.” He gave me a smile to match the phrase, making my heart stutter, and then stood and stretched. “So what do you think’s going on with these guys? Pretty weird, right?”
I marked the page and placed the book on the coffee table before standing, too.
“Who knows? Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if we’re reading a real diary or somebody’s fiction.”
He groaned as he headed for the door. “Damn. That figures. We got all excited, and the book probably came from some new writer who’d figured out Mom’s address and left it for her, hoping to get some kind of response.”
“Good point. But people are fucked up. They probably have some diabolical plan.”
I laughed. “Let’s hope not. Maybe we’ll find out more tomorrow.”
He opened the door and turned back to me with an apologetic look. “I can’t do tomorrow. Probably not the whole weekend.” He paused, and then cocked his head. “Sunday is Christmas Eve and a family dinner, though. You should join us.”
My eyes widened, and I stopped in place. I hadn’t even realized I’d been moving closer to him. “Um … I don’t think so. I’m your mom’s employee. Not family.”
“You’re my friend, too, remember? I’ve had friends over before.”
“For Christmas?” I said doubtfully, and I shook my head. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.”
“You want to be alone for Christmas?”
I shrugged. “All of my Christmases have been spent at a ski lodge with strangers. It’ll be nice to be alone for once.”
He looked at me skeptically, but gave in. Thank God. I really didn’t want to make such a big deal over the holiday.
“Okay, then. Your loss. I’m cooking,” he taunted.
“Very tempting,” I admitted. “But no thanks.”
He studied my face for a long time, and, as usual, his gaze dropped to my mouth. I couldn’t help but lick my lips. His nostrils flared before he turned away, muttering something about being friends sucked as he trotted down the steps.
I wasn’t sure if I agreed or not. I liked being friends with Brock. He was fun to hang out with, and there was no emotional pressure of a more intimate relationship, no wondering what the next step was, no freaking out about whether we were moving too fast or too slow. But I also liked kissing him. A lot. A fucking lot. The feel of his lips on mine was firmly planted in my memory, and part of me wanted to make it real again.
Shit. I was falling for him.