As I took the shirt he offered, our fingers touched for a brief moment, and I lifted my gaze. The startling aqua color of his eyes trapped mine. I should move. I really should. And yet, my feet stood there, doing nothing.
With a grin that made me want to kiss him and hit him at the same time, Brock released the shirt and his tingling touch along with it. I’d be a liar if I said a ribbon of disappointment hadn’t woven through me, that I didn’t crave his touch. A part of me, a big part of me, wanted to grab him by the arm and pull him into the shower with me just to hold me.
That was my irrational, reckless side that always ended up getting me in trouble.
Turning around, I walked into the bathroom and shut the door, loosing a long breath as I stared at the shirt. “Fuck,” I whispered, running a hand over my face, and winced, having momentarily forgotten about my cheek. The pain was a reminder, and alone in the bathroom with just my thoughts, it all came crashing down on me.
Carter.
Grayson.
Kenna.
Panic rose swift inside me, and I reached for the doorknob, Brock’s name on my lips.
But as my fingers touched the cool metal handle, I closed my eyes and forced myself to take a steady breath. I could do this. Iwouldget through this.
Forcing myself to turn the water on to warm up, I stripped out of my clothes, refusing to look at them as I kicked them into a corner. Poised on a perilous mental edge, it would only take a tiny nudge to send me careening over the edge.
As I stepped into the shower, silent tears flowed with the steady stream of water, the two mixing in such a way that I convinced myself there weren’t tears at all.
Twenty minutes later, I stood in front of a foggy mirror, wrapped in a white towel. My hair smelled like Brock, woodsy and with a hint of citrus. Braiding my wet pink hair, I braced myself and glanced into the mirror, half afraid of what I would see. My skin was shades pinker than usual due to the hot shower, but the cheek Carter hit was redder yet. Turning to the side for a closer inspection, I concluded I would have one hell of a bruise in the morning.
“Bastard,” I hissed, cursing my stepbrother.
Borrowing a bit of toothpaste from the drawer, I squeezed a glob onto my finger and scrubbed it over my teeth, swirling the paste around in my mouth. Better than nothing. I absolutely could not go to bed without brushing my teeth. It didn’t matter how late, tired, or drunk I was.
When I left the bathroom, my gaze immediately went to Brock on the bed. His grin widened at the sight of me in his T-shirt that hit just at the tops of my thighs. “It looks good on you.”
And he looked good on the bed… way too good, but I kept that to myself and berated myself for downing those shots. Rolling my eyes, I tugged at the hem, wishing the tee was longer so it didn’t look like I was naked underneath.
Did he expect us to sleep together in the bed?
The lush side of me said if I got into the bed with him, all kinds of delicious things would happen.
No, Josie! Sex with the hottest guy you’ve ever seen is not what you need tonight. What you need is comfort and safety.
And Brock could give me both.
Hell, what I need is a tranquilizer.
I wasn’t keen about being alone, but then again, a night in bed with Brock seemed riskier.
“Does that mean I get to keep the shirt?” I asked in a sad attempt to be light and playful when I felt anything but.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Only if you promise I’m the only one who gets to take it off you.”
I swallowed. Flirty Brock made my head fuzzy. “I’m too tired to make deals with you.”
He patted the bed with his hand. “Get in.”
Without argument, I padded over to the bed and peeled back a corner of the blanket, slipping underneath. I kept my legs curled as Brock watched me from the other side, still on top of the covers.
When I was settled, he asked, “Do you want me to stay or go? Your choice. And though I don’t think it needs to be said, I promise to keep my hands to myself. For tonight,” he added.
I tucked my hand under the pillow, lying on my side—the opposite one of my hurt cheek—and watched Brock. “It’s your bed.”
“Firefly,” he replied firmly, leaning a hand on the other side of my legs.