The look of disappointment quickly morphed on his face, and he nodded, pushing his fingers through his hair. He turned his body and climbed into the passenger side of the truck without a word.
I shut the door and dragged in a deep breath while I walked around the truck. It was only then that it dawned on me: I could have just put him in my car. Clearly my mind was boggled around this guy. I groaned and shook my head as I climbed up into the cab.
“Tell me you’ve driven a truck before, princess.”
Jerking my head to look at him, I asked, “Princess?”
He shrugged. “You don’t like the name princess?”
I stared at him, not knowing what to say. I loved hearing him call me that, but it confused me more than anything. Drunk Brock was indeed throwing me for a loop. He finally looked away and sighed.
“Don’t worry, I won’t ever call you that again.”
“No, I mean, I . . .” The words seemed to fade away in the back of my throat before I could get them out.
Dropping his head on the back of the seat, he said, “Don’t wreck my truck, Lincoln.”
His words were harsh, not like a moment ago, when he’d called me princess. “I’m not going to wreck your precious truck.”
“Damn right you better not.”
I sighed as I started the truck. “Just . . . pass out or something so you don’t make me nervous driving.”
“Fine.”
Yep, we were back to the asshole. Maybe he was sobering up.
After pulling up to the Shaws’ driveway, I looked around the truck’s interior and saw a gate opener clipped to the sun visor. When I hit it, the giant iron gate swung open.
“Brock, are you staying with your parents?”
He snored.
Ugh.
When I hit him on the thigh, he jumped. “What? I’m up!”
I tried not to laugh. “Main house?”
The way he looked at me with a confused expression was cute. “Huh?”
“Are you staying at the main house? Tanner mentioned something about Blayze being at the main house with your folks.”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t stay with my folks.”
My heart dropped. Well, shit. Is he at a hotel or something?
“Okay, well, where should I drop off your drunk ass?”
“Um . . . I live in the old foreman’s cabin.”
I waited for him to tell me where that was.
“Okay, Brock, I’m going to need directions there.”
“The road forks up here. Go left and follow it until you see a cabin.”
I remembered the last time I had been here, the road went off in two directions, and I’d had to turn to the right to get to the main house. There was a sign that marked the right turn. I hadn’t noticed any other signs. When I got to the fork in the road, I turned left and followed it another mile or so.
“Jesus, how big is this ranch?”
Brock laughed. “It’s big.”
When I drove farther and saw a large one-story ranch-style house, I put on the brakes.
“Damn it. I must have missed it.”
Brock lifted his head and looked. “Nope. That’s my house.”
Glancing between him and the house, I pointed to it. “That’s your house, Brock? That is not a cabin! That is a house. A big house.”
“Yeah, well, when I moved in, I wanted more room. So, I added on to it.” His words were slow and drawn out, like he was trying really hard to talk normal.
After putting the truck in park and turning it off, I grabbed the keys and ran over to the passenger side.
Brock nearly fell as he got out of the truck, and then again when we climbed the porch steps. I was silently thanking God that this was a one-story and I didn’t have to help him up any stairs. Brock was stumbling all over the damn place.
“My gosh, how much did you have to drink?”
He chuckled. “A whole bunches.”
When we walked into the house, we stepped into a large living room. To the left was an open kitchen that made my mouth water at the amenities and high-end details. To the right was a large dining room. There were two halls that jutted from the living room.
Pressing my lips together, I kept from laughing. “Bedroom?”
“Well okay, then. Finally we’re getting somewhere.”
I smacked him on the chest. My God, the man is solid.
“You wish. Now, tell me where your room is, Brock. I’m exhausted, and trying to hold you up is testing how strong I really am.”
“Um . . . let’s see. Down the hall.”
“Which hall?” I asked.
He pointed right. “That would be the master bedroom hall. Or, as I like to call it, the place where I’ll make you call out my name when I make you come . . . at least three times.”
I stilled.
What in the hell? Does he even realize what he just said?