by T L Swan
His eyes drop slowly down to my feet and back up to my face. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thanks.” I smile nervously.
The three men he was standing with approach us, and Brock smiles their way. “Tully, this is Jesten, Mason, and Scott.”
“Hello.” The three men all shake my hand and smile back at me. Every one of them is buff and gorgeous. I swallow nervously. There are four gods in the world, and they are all in the same place at the same time, here with me.
Callie turns around with our two drinks, and her eyes instantly widen when she sees who I’m standing with.
“Callie, these are my friends, Jesten, Mason, and Scott,” Brock introduces.
“Hey, Callie.” They smile.
Callie hands me my drink and gives me a look that definitely says holy fucking shit, Tull. I take my drink, thank her, and take a sip.
“Margarita?” Brock asks.
I nod.
He chuckles. “You would get along with my sisters well.”
“Why?”
“They have a slight margarita addiction going on.”
“Me, too.” I smile nervously.
One of his friends goes to the bar.
“So, what have you been doing?” he asks, making conversation.
Fantasising about you. “Nothing really.” I shrug. “Working, keeping busy. What about you?”
“Same. Working, nothing much.” His eyes linger on mine, and it feels like he has something he wants to say. We fall into an awkward silence, and I glance around the club for something to do. Callie is now deep in conversation with Brock’s friend.
God, this is uncomfortable.
I sip my drink, remaining silent.
“I just wanted to…” His voice trails off.
I frown and wait for him to carry on, but he doesn’t. “You wanted to what?”
“I just want you to know that I regret being so…”
I wait.
He shrugs, his words failing him.
“Crazy?” I whisper.
He bites his bottom lip to stifle his smile and nods once.
I smile back.
His eyes rise to meet mine. “I know you don’t like crazy.”
My heart is beating so fast. “I sort of do, but maybe just a little less crazy would have been a good idea.”
“Perhaps.”
“Are you always so crazy with your girlfriends?” He blinks. “Oh, I didn’t mean that I think I was girlfriend.” I put my hand on my chest. Why did I just say that? “That’s not what I meant.” I widen my eyes. “That came out all wrong.”
He breaks into a beautiful smile. “I know what you meant, and no, I haven’t done that before.”
For some stupid reason, I want to know what he hasn’t done before. The sex or the stalking? “What do you mean, you haven’t done that?”
He shrugs, and just for a moment his macho mask slips and he seems embarrassed. “Called someone a hundred times and become jealous to the point of insanity.”
“Then why with me?”
“If I knew why, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now. It’s been on my mind for six weeks.”
The air between us crackles. “You know, you are quite likeable when you act sane, Brock Marx.”
He smiles mischievously. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I sip my drink.
“Likeable enough for you to forget how we met?” he asks.
“Maybe.”
He clinks his beer bottle against my glass. “Let’s start again. Truce?”
I can’t help but grin. “Truce.”
He holds his hand out to shake mine, and I frown, confused when I let him take my hand in his.
“Hello,” he says, as if he’s never met me before.
I smirk. Why does he have to be so cute? “Hello.”
“What’s your name?”
“Tully.” I giggle. “What’s your name?”
“Oh, I’m Brock.”
“Nice to meet you, Brock.”
He bows. “The pleasure is all mine, Tully Pocket.”
Our eyes are locked and electricity is sparking between us.
His friend comes back from the bar with a huge tray of shots, and he passes us all two each.
“What the hell?” I whisper, mortified, and his friends all laugh right on cue.
Brock sinks two of the shots from the tray instantly, his eyes coming back to me.
“I’m going to regret this,” I warn them all.
“Some things are worth regretting.” His eyes hold mine and he gives me the best come fuck me look I’ve ever seen.
I know what he’s talking about, and it isn’t these stupid shots.
“I have no doubt,” I whisper. I pick up the first shot glass and he moves closer. He puts his hand on my hip bone as he stands over me. Oh jeez, what is it about this guy?
There it is. The power that his body has over mine. I swear, his touch, his presence, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever encountered.
I’m completely powerless to it. The moment he touches me, all I want to do is please him. Our eyes lock, and I hold the shot glass as I consider backing out of this drinking challenge. “Do it,” he mouths.
I tip my head back and feel the heat of the Tequila slide down my throat.
I lick my lips as I stare at him, and I am instantly taken back to the night in the bathroom when he was daring me to take his body. This man is the peer pressure king.
“Again,” he mouths.
I lick my lips, and he squeezes my hipbone with his fingers. I tip my head back and drink it again.
“Good girl,” he whispers in my ear.
I close my eyes as the heat rolls down my throat. I’m dizzy, and it’s not because of the drinks. It’s because of his electric touch.
What I would give to have a do over with him? In a bed, alone, with no interruptions. I mean, it wouldn’t technically be any worse than what I’ve already done, because it’s the same guy. Would it?
I go over the scenario in my head to try and justify it to myself.
Callie and Brock’s friends seem to hit it off instantly. After a few moments they move to the dance floor to dance.
Brock’s hand slides down to my behind, and he leans down to whisper in my ear. “I have a confession to make.”
“What?” I whisper as I concentrate on not reaching up and putting my arms around his neck. How is it that I feel instantly connected to this guy? We don’t even know each other, but somehow I feel like a I do.
“I came here tonight looking for you.”
I smile, pressed against his face as excitement runs through me. “You did?”
He nods, and his hand squeezes my behind.
“What are you going to do now that you’ve found me?” I stare up at his lips.
“Show you a few things.”
I smile darkly. God, I like the sound of that. “Like what?” I breathe. I get a vision of him flashing himself to me and I can’t help but grin. “Are you going to flash me?”
He chuckles in surprise. “Possibly.” His hand squeezes my behind again and I feel my arousal start to thump. “Although I must admit, I’m a bit wary of where to start.”
I look up at him.
“I don’t want to scare you off. You do seem to have impossibly high expectations.”
“Maybe you should try being a gentleman,” I whisper in his ear.
He grabs me aggressively on the behind. “I’m no gentleman, Tully.”
My heart hammers as I stare into the depths of his eyes.
This is it, the moment where I have to set him straight. If I put up with him saying he will never be a gentleman, then I can’t complain when he isn’t one.
“You’ll need to learn how to be a gentleman with me, Brock, because I’m not a slut. And I’m most definitely not easy.”
Our eyes are locked and he clenches his jaw. It’s as if there is nobody else in the club, just us. “What are you saying?” he whispers, and I feel his warm breath
dust my ear.
“I’m saying that I would like you to dance with me.”
“I don’t dance.”
“Learn.”
“I don’t learn things that don’t interest me.”
My eyes search his, and I lift my chin in annoyance. “Okay, there’s my answer.” I try to walk away, but he grabs my hand.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“I’m going to dance, and for the record, if you don’t want to learn things that interest me than I have no interest in learning yours.”
“I’m not ready to dance yet.”
“I am.” I turn and walk to the dance floor just as a song comes on that I love. I meet Callie and Brock’s friends and I begin to dance with them.
I glance over to see Brock standing where I left him with an annoyed look on his face.
Oh well, tough shit. I asked him to dance and he knocked me back.
He doesn’t dance… pfft. So, does he think I should stand next to him like a little puppet all night?
For the next two hours, I drink way too many cocktails and shots, and I dance with Callie, as well as a few different people. I bounce between Meredith and her new friends, Brock’s friends and Callie, and I have no intention of going back to talk to Brock who is standing in the exact same place near the bar. Every time I look his way, there’s a different girl trying to pick him up.
Ugh. It really is annoying that he is so good looking.
“Isn’t this the best time ever?” Meredith cries as she bounces up to me. We’ve hardly seen her all night.
“It is. Who is that guy you’re talking to?” I ask.
“He used to live in our building. He moved out a year ago. His name is Rick.”
I feel large hands slink around my waist from behind, and I turn to see Brock standing there.
“Hello,” I say, slightly taken aback. He’s been glaring at me all night.
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.
The funny thing is, even with all of this hostility, he doesn’t scare me one bit. I bet he’s a big pussy cat under all this alpha-hole wrapping.
“What’s that look for?” I ask.
“You piss me off.”
“Me?” I point to my chest. “What did I do?”
“You danced with every other bastard in that club and completely ignored me.”
“And?”
“And, I didn’t fucking like it.”
I smile. “Is that so?”
His anger is escalating at my lack of interest in fighting with him. “Yes. That’s so.”
I shrug and walk into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. “Do you want one?”
He follows me in, frowning at me like I’m stupid. “No, I don’t want one.”
I
drink the whole large glass of water as he watches. Then I fill my glass again and repeat the process. I hear him sigh when I go to fill my third glass.
“Oh, come on. You can’t be that fucking thirsty.”
I smirk and walk back into my bedroom. He follows me.
“I’m not going to stand around for hours while you dance with other people, you know,” he says with petulance in his tone.
I take my pyjamas out of my drawer, and close it with a slam. “Okay.”
“What does okay mean?”
“It means okay, don’t stand around. Go home. No skin off my nose.”
He narrows his eyes at me and I can see his fury bubbling just beneath the surface. “It’s like that is it? You just don’t give a fuck?”
I walk into the bathroom and he follows me there, too.
“You don’t even give a fuck if I leave right now?” he asks angrily.
I shrug. “You’re a big boy. You do you.”
“Stop being a fucking smartass, Pocket,” he growls.
My eyes snap to him and I shake my head. “No. You don’t get to call me that tonight.”
His tilts his chin to the ceiling. “And why not?”
“Because, Pocket is your pet name for me, and when you’re acting like this and pissing me off, you don’t have a right to make me sound so familiar.”
“So, you are pissed off with me?”
He seems to like the idea that I’m pissed with him. God, he really does want a good fight. Well, he’s not getting one from me.
Is fighting the way he communicates? Hmm. Interesting.
“I never said I wasn’t angry with you.” I squeeze my toothpaste onto my toothbrush and begin to brush my teeth.
“Stop brushing your fucking teeth. I’m in the middle of talking to you.”
I spit my toothpaste in the sink, and I have to stop myself from smiling at his impatience. “Yes. You pissed me off, and maybe next time—if there is a next time— you will dance with me when I ask you to before you lose the chance altogether.”
Our eyes meet in the mirror. “Is that a threat?”
“That’s a promise.” I smile sweetly.
“You think you can actually make me dance with you by threatening me?”
“Do you think you can actually stop me dancing with an ill-timed tantrum?”