He flashed me a grin, and I wished I hadn’t asked. “What kind of question is that? Of course we won.”
It was only a five-minute drive from Maddy’s to Brock’s, but the ride seemed so much longer when I was caged inside a box with him, his sweaty yet delicious scent filling up the car and wreaking havoc on my willpower.
He keyed in the code, engaging the alarm once we were inside his house. “I need to shower. Make yourself at home,” he said, dropping his key fob on the entryway table. He disappeared up the stairs, leaving me to wander his house.
I’d been here before, the night Ava took those photos of me. It was eerie how much Kenna and I had in common. But I didn’t want to think about her. Not tonight. I banished her from my thoughts and moved past the family room, exploring the lower level. It was almost sad that I’d grown used to these impressive houses that belonged on the covers of magazines.
I roamed through the kitchen, then into the rec room equipped with a badass TV, pool table, wine cabinet, and bar. On the other side of the house was an enclosed pool and sauna. I walked through the glass doors, inhaling the chlorine and balmy air. Crouching down, I dipped my hand into the water, testing the temperature. It was perfect, and I was half tempted to go for a swim. I didn’t have my bathing suit, but something told me Brock wouldn’t care if I went in buck-ass naked. He’d probably join me.
And it was that thought that had me promptly leaving the pool area. An exercise room was connected off to the right. I kept walking until I stumbled onto the library. As I flipped on a small table lamp, casting the room in a soft yellow glow, my heart rejoiced.
Holy shit. Look at all these books.
I wondered if Brock spent any time here. Running my hand along the spines, I plucked one from the shelf and sank into an oversized circular chair. My eyes scanned over the rest of the room as I spun the chair in a circle. Only one wall wasn’t covered from floor-to-ceiling with books, and that was because a rich mahogany-and-brick fireplace filled the space. Half-burned logs sat on top of the grate, and I picked up faint traces of smoke lingering in the air.
I tipped my head back and laughed. My burst of happiness turned into awe. Through the glass-domed ceiling, millions of stars twinkled above me like fireflies. Nothing like reading under the dazzling star-strewn sky.
This room was my dream.
I was still gazing at the night, searching for constellations, when an amused voice said, “Why am I not surprised to find you in here?”
My eyes closed for a moment, savoring the sound of his voice. I’d lost track of time. Reluctantly, I pulled my gaze from the stars and looked toward the doorway where Brock was leaning against a bookshelf in nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants. He was barefoot and shirtless, his dark hair damp. His scent reached me, and my heart skipped. I knew I was staring, but it couldn’t be helped.
My. God. He was gorgeous. Every fucking lickable inch of him. My eyes traced over the ink tattooed on his shoulder.
“I think you forgot something,” I said.
A single brow arched.
“Your shirt?” I told him, my voice sounding huskier than I intended. Completely his fault.
He glanced down and then back at me. “Does my chest make you uncomfortable?”
“Yes! No. Maybe. Does it matter?” My cheeks flamed.
One corner of his mouth twitched, tugging upward, and I really wished he wouldn’t do that. I wished he didn’t look at me that way, because it was almost too much to resist. The angel and devil on my shoulders were having a helluva time fighting it out.
“This isn’t going to work,” I declared, dropping the book in my hands onto the little side table.
He moved into the room, going to a built-in cabinet that framed the fireplace, and took out a decanter and two glasses. “Why is that?” he asked, pouring the amber liquid into each lowball. He turned to me, lifting one of the glasses to his lips.
My brow shot up, eyes flickering to his chest, then back to his mischievous eyes. This playful side of Brock was dangerous.Be careful, Josie. Or you might fall for him.No. Definitely no. Falling in love with a guy who was in love with someone else was not on my senior year bucket list. “You know why.”
He offered me the other drink, which I gladly took, but he didn’t let it go immediately. Our fingers touched. “Because you can’t be alone with me without jumping my bones?”
I snorted. “You’re an asshole.”
Releasing the glass, he grinned down at me. A smile like Brock’s should have been outlawed. The things it did me... I was sure I had stopped breathing, and I wasn’t imagining the ache between my legs. “And I own it,” he said, clinking the top of his glass against mine.
“But you don’t own me,” I replied, taking a sip of the liquor, hints of smokiness hitting my tongue. Bourbon. I hated that it brought a grin to my lips as I thought back to the night he almost ran me over with his SUV. Surely that had been his intention.
He angled his head to the side, male confidence pouring off him. “Not yet, Firefly.”
“Ever,” I stated firmly, glowering. “Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not, nor will I ever be a standby girl.”
“I always get what I want.” He sank his other hand into a pocket with a grin that made my insides light up.
Fuck. What was it about him? He was so arrogant, a self-proclaimed asshole who acted as if the world was his playground. “And you’ve decided that you want me? Is that it?”