“If she asks, explain it that way. Explain that you didn’t want to rush into bed because you really like her.”
“Man, this is so not me.”
Brad chuckles. “Tell me about it.”
“I offered to… I offered to produce a recital for her.”
Silence another moment.
“Brad?”
“Man, do you have it bad.”
I open my mouth to tell him he’s wrong, but nothing comes out.
“Brock,” he says. “If you really like this woman, don’t screw it up.”
“What do you think I’m calling you for? Tell me how to not screw it up.”
“Just go against all your natural instincts, and you’ll be fine.”
“Thanks. Thanks a lot.”
“Okay, I’m kidding.” He sighs. “All right, only half kidding. You’re a great guy, Brock. Everyone loves you, but you have a reputation as a womanizer. Everyone knows that, including Rory Pike. So…you have to go against your instinct.”
“Dude, I went against my instinct last time. I didn’t hop into bed with her when I had the chance.”
“You just said you wanted this to be more.”
“I do, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever done not to hop into Rory Pike’s bed. Have you seen her tits?”
“Everyone has seen her tits, Brock. Everyone knows she has the best rack this side of the Rockies.”
A strange feeling settles in me. My brother has noticed Rory’s tits. Hell, of course he has. He’s a heterosexual male. Even the gay men I know love her tits.
And now? I don’t want anyone looking at those amazing breasts but me.
God, what is happening to me?
“All right,” I say to my brother. “Thanks for the help.”
“Any time. Be yourself. You’re a great guy. Just don’t do what you normally do to get a woman into bed. Get to know her. Ask her about herself. Care, Brock. Just care.”
“Got it. Bye.”
Now…to plan an amazing date with Rory Pike.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rory
“This is your place,” I say.
Brock stops the car—a green BMW tonight, as opposed to the Tesla last time—in the garage to the guesthouse behind his parents’ ranch house.
“It is.”
“I thought we were going to have a date.”
“We are. I’m going to cook for you.”
I can’t help myself. I laugh. I sound like a cackling chicken, but still I laugh.
“Something funny?” Brock says.
“No. I mean… Do you cook?”
“I’m no Aunt Marjorie, but I do okay.”
“You mean you don’t have someone to do your cooking? Full time?”
“No. My parents do.”
“You seriously cook for yourself every night?”
“Not every night. About half the time I eat with my parents at the main house.”
“Okay, this is making more sense now.”
“You know, there’s more to me than just this gorgeous hunk of man you see before you.”
I laugh again. He is charming. I’ll give him that. He gets out of his car and comes around to the passenger side and opens the door for me, just like he did last time.
Yes, charming.
But I’m not unaware that this is all a perfectly scripted Brock Steel move. After all, last time he promised me the Brock Steel experience, and then he turned me down when I invited him to have his way with me. After telling me that lovemaking was an integral part of said experience.
So truly, I didn’t get the Brock Steel experience.
A beautiful dog meets us at the door.
“Hey there, Sammy,” Brock says.
Sammy looks to be some kind of German Shepherd mix with a lush brown-and-black coat and beautiful brown doggy eyes.
“Hey, gorgeous.” I kneel and give him a pet on the head. “What kind of dog is he?”
“He’s a she,” Brock says. “I don’t know. Obviously some German Shepherd is in the mix. I got her at Lifeline Rescue in Grand Junction.”
“Really? That’s where I got Zach.”
“You have a dog?”
“Yeah. Callie and I went over and adopted dogs a couple of weeks ago. Zach and Dusty. They’re awesome.”
“I didn’t know you liked dogs, Rory.”
“Who doesn’t love dogs? They’re the best.”
He gives Sammy some scratches behind her ears. “They are.”
I follow Brock through the entryway around the formal living and dining room to a large country kitchen, where a vase of gorgeous red flowers sits as a centerpiece. He must see me gazing at them, because he says, “Dahlias. From Mom’s greenhouse.”
He lets Sammy out the back door, and then he turns to me. “You eat red meat, I hope.”
I’m tempted to make another meat comment like I did Monday, but that got me nowhere fast. “Of course I do. Have you forgotten that my family owns some cattle? We don’t just do wine, although that’s the major enterprise.”
Which has been shut down, but I don’t need to remind him of that.
“Good. I have two amazing cuts of filet mignon wrapped in uncured bacon. Twice-baked sweet potatoes, and curried cauliflower.”
“And you really made this all yourself?”
“Okay, okay. Grilling the filet mignon is no big deal. I can do that in my sleep. And curried cauliflower is easy. But Aunt Marjorie made the twice-baked sweet potatoes and brought them over to me. They just need to bake the second time.” He inhales. “Can you smell them? They smell amazing.”