“Hey, now,” I protested, giving him my meanest stare. His face was unreadable except a little tick in his cheek. I rolled my eyes and went back to focusing on the hostess, but his fingers remained on my skin. I tried not to react to the amazing, light touch. “Table for uh, two, uh, please,” I stammered, distracted by his hands.
“Sure, right this way.” The hostess gave me a weird look, and then her gaze settled on Brock’s face. Her eyes lit up before she walked away.
“Well this is cozy as hell,” I said, as our legs bumped together.
His lip lifted up on one side, but other than that, he gave nothing away.
“Okay then, good talk.”
“Sometimes, silence is golden.” He picked up the menu, eyeing me over it. I mocked him, putting my menu higher, so he couldn’t see my face.
“I’m all about free will here, but you must try the platter, Grace. Trust me.”
I ignored him, keeping the menu in front of my face. It was childish, it was immature, but I didn’t care. I read through the appetizers, not sure what I wanted. I was content on ignoring him until his hand grabbed my calf under the table. I yelped.
“Oh, good. You didn’t fall asleep.” He grinned as I set the menu down. “Now, as I was saying.”
“You know, oddly enough I hate when guys order for their dates. It drives me bonkers. But, you know how much I appreciate food, and you would never dare to order me something bullshit. I trust your food order.” I set the menu down, seeing his smug smile. “That was strike number one from that asshat at the hotel.”
His smile disappeared, and his eyes turned hard. “Let’s not spoil the mood, shall we?”
“Ah, you’re right. My bad.” Shame consumed me.
“What’s another strike for you?” he asked, the ice in his eyes melted. “I’m curious.”
“Hmm, ordering food or drinks without consulting the person is a major strike. Also, judging what a person eats is another strike. You’d be surprised at some looks I’ve gotten from ordering ribs.”
“I would love to see that. Shit.” He laughed and looked at me warmly. “What else?”
“I hate mind games or being passive aggressive. The, ‘Are you really going to wear that?’ sort of thing.” I waved my hand about. “Being late, loud chewers. You know, the normal deal breakers and stuff.”
“Interesting.” He bit down on his lip, narrowing his blue eyes at me.
I couldn’t read his mood and chose to keep rambling. “I also hate that some people don’t realize that I’m going to put my career first. I can’t let my dream go. I told you before I’ve ruined dates by talking about work or people telling me I work too much. I hate that. I mean, if I want to spend time with someone, I’ll find the time. It’s not my fault the people I dated before were as interesting as an almond cookie.”
Brock snorted into his hand and cackled. “You are ridiculous.”
“Hey, you can’t steal my lines.” I pointed at him, my chin jutting out in a challenge. His eyes rolled so dramatically I found myself smiling again. “If you’re stealing my lines, I’m stealing some of yours. Where do you see yourself in five years, and what are your strikes?”
“Hmm.” He frowned, his gaze turning serious. “Thirty-two. Not sure. I don’t really make plans beyond a year. At least, I didn’t before.”
“Year by year then. You want to remain at the University and volunteer with the youth of our great nation?”
His lips quirked, a small chuckle escaping. “Yes. I would like to be exactly where I am in a year. After that, NFL, maybe.”
“You’re determined and badass, Brock.” I tilted my head in his direction. “You’re going to be successful no matter where you go. You were an amazing teacher to me, still are actually.” A light blush spread on his cheeks, how cute. “You’re very patient after you tuck away the asshole persona.”
“Gee, thanks for the rave review.”
His smile grew before he changed his tone to a more serious one. “Thank you, for the compliment. It somehow means more coming from you. Your opinion matters to me.”
* * *
Dinner was incredible.He was right—they had the best barbeque I’d ever experienced. I groaned into my food, getting a weird look from Brock. I didn’t care though. The food was too damn good. He didn’t even glance at the waitress the rest of the night. We talked for an hour about dogs and flowers and storms and weird things to collect. I thought it was odd he collected spinning tops as a kid. He thought it was weird I collected yo-yos. They were totally in style back in my elementary school days. I’d been the definition of cool.
“You never walked the dog?” I threw my hands up, unable to believe him. “It is literally the coolest thing.”
“I beg to differ. I think it’s dorky.” A smile danced on his perfect lips. “You were a dork.”
