The voice made me gulp. No, I did not think anything that bad would happen. But yes, I thought something mighty awkward was about to.
“Can we talk for a second?”
I looked over my shoulder to see Steele standing behind me, one hand on the back of my chair. His other hand, which would have been on Kathryn’s chair, hung by his side. I tried to look past him to see where Brock was, where the rest of the boys were, but I couldn’t do so without drawing suspicion.
“Yeah, sure.”
I stood up, keeping my drink close to me. Steele led me to the back corner, placing his hand on the small of my back. And I felt…
“Listen, I’ll get right to the point,” he said. “Have you thought about giving us a second chance?”
I looked up into his eyes. He looked at me with radiating intensity, those brown eyes piercing into my soul.
I swallowed, opened my mouth, and spoke.
Brock
This was fucking stupid.
This was really fucking stupid.
I didn’t know where the hell I’d gotten the idea that inviting the six of us to hang with the three girls was ever, ever, ever a good fucking idea. Elizabeth hated all of us and thought we were disgusting; Kathryn was cool but had a tendency to blurt things out that should have remained a secret; and Tara…
I’d done a fabulous job bullshitting myself about how I really felt about Tara Rogers. I’d kept her at bay. I’d kept conversation friendly and shallow. I’d told myself I could never betray Steele. The old “bros before hoes” cliché if you will.
But when I walked into that bar and saw Tara all dressed up for a night out, in something other than casual clothing or professional attire, looking like she wanted to be attractive…
Good fucking Lord, I had to have her.
This wasn’t a case of where I “wanted” her. It wasn’t like I saw her and thought, “Man, it would be nice to get her without those clothes on.” It reached another level in my head. Maybe it was because I’d suppressed those thoughts for so long, perhaps even longer than since I’d gotten bailed out of jail. Or maybe she was that hot.
It didn’t fucking matter why. What mattered was that seeing Tara Rogers as beautiful as she was, in her short shorts, her bright red tank top that showed her cleavage, and her hair thrown back, made it impossible for me to think about anything other than fucking making her mine.
And I could not do that.
My desire and Steele’s presence were the unstoppable object meeting an immovable wall. For now, I could look the other way, order a drink, or hit on some other girl at this bar to stall.
But the unstoppable object would eventually hit the immovable wall. And when that happened…
It was not helping matters that Steele had gone up to talk to her alone—like he had promised. Like he’d told me would happen. Like how I’d encouraged him to.
How fucking crazy was that? Back at the house, I’d told him this was a significant chance to show that he had improved. He’d shaved. He was looking for real, steady work. He was growing up.
Yeah, I patted him on the back. I told him to get her back. I told him to win her over.
But now, I realized I had been talking to myself. I had been telling myself to get her. I had been urging myself to make a move.
And now, because I had tried to deny this part of me for some teenage fear of how it would appear, I had lost her to Steele.
Well, I guess I couldn’t work for her anymore. I guess she’d have to find security elsewhere. Because I wasn’t fucking putting myself in that position.
Fuck it. I was moving on. I had told Tara Rogers that I would not see her again after she’d bailed me out. She’d looped me in for a spell, but no more. I found a girl with blonde hair at the bar, walked up, and smiled.
“How’s it going?” I said.
She looked at me with curiosity. Sometimes, it paid to look like a tatted surfer. Blond, lean guys had a way of oozing desire that lesser men couldn’t muster.
“Hey there.”
