Page 71 of Nailed

We found our seats quickly and had hardly sat down before Brock’s disdain for the Brewers became glaringly obvious. He leaned over to me and said loud enough for me to hear over the growing din of the stadium, “Look at ‘em. They call American Family Field “Wrigley North” because they can’t fill their own seats without us. Makes me sick.”

“Careful, Brock,” I shot back. “If you get any more worked up about their real estate, I’m going to have to start charging you for the “emotional renovation” I’ll have to do on you later.”

His eyes flashed, darting down again to look at the dress. “I think I’d rather go straight to the structural inspection. And trust me—my rates are a lot higher than yours.”

The crowd began to cheer as the game started but even the roar of noise around me couldn’t drown out his words.

I snapped to attention soon enough though, actually finding myself enjoying watching the Cubs dominate the Brewers. Though not as much as Brock, who was actually cheering along with the people around us.

It was such a break from the version of him that had been running things back at the firehouse that I couldn’t help but poke fun during a lull in the action.

“I love how professional you’re being right now,” I teased.

“Professional, huh?” he repeated, then leaned down and planted a kiss right on my lips in front of the stadium.

I looked at him, dazed at his boldness while he just smiled at me before turning his attention back to the field.

Afterwards, he took me to the Navy Pier and bought us ice cream while we strolled along the dock. We continued talking leisurely, sometimes about his family and sometimes about mine.

It came easier now, partly because he was Brock and that made him reliable, but partly because of the lightness that came with being outside of the firehouse. Yes, it was starting to feel like home, but being confined there while waiting for the permits and organizing the exhibition had made it feel stuffy.

And now, with the last of the permits being approved, it truly felt like a move towards freedom from the weight that had hung over the firehouse ever since renovation had been halted.

We could relax into whatever this was that was blossoming between us. Out here on the pier, Brock wasn’t my foreman and I wasn’t his client. We were just two people getting to know each other a bit better.

“Can we go on the Ferris wheel?” I asked, jerking my head towards the giant revolving ride ahead of us.

“Sure,” Brock said.

We weaved our way through the busy crowd and waited in line until we were finally let on. On the move up, I stared down, watching the fairground shrink. In the small, confined space, the vibe between us that had been on a simmer all day, rolled to a boil that was about to bubble over.

We had fun but it was the connection we shared that was like a spark to tinder. His hand rested on the seat next to me, and just his pinky finger brushed against the exposed skin of my thigh where my dress had ridden up.

I knew that it wasn’t intentional, and yet he didn’t move his hand away.

I didn’t move either, sparks of electricity scattering across my skin at the contact. I turned around only to see him already looking at me. We were almost at the very top of the rotation when our lips met, soft at first and almost playful.

But that didn’t last very long and soon we were grabbing at each other, the simple kiss progressing to a makeout session that was definitely not PG-13. But Brock tasted and felt so good. He was addictive in the best way possible.

He groaned against my mouth, his hand gripping my hip with bruising intensity just as our car passed the highest point of the turn and was slowly making its descent. But instead of stopping, I slipped my hand into his jeans.

“Lauren,” he growled, pulling back and regarding me with darkened eyes. “Lauren, we need to find somewhere private right now. Unless you wanna give the crowd a show they didn’t pay for.”

27

Brock

I was losing my goddamn mind.

It started building the second I saw her walk out in that dress, that hunger that scared me. But then came the ride to Wrigley, the game itself and the Navy Pier walk and I was gone. I didn’t just want Lauren, I needed her like I needed oxygen. And the closest place I could think of where I could have her was none other than Cornerstone’s HQ, a blessed ten minute drive from where we were currently trying not to get arrested.

I grabbed her hand the second the Ferris wheel car jolted to a halt. The cabin door clicked open, signifying the end of the ride.

“Watch your step,” the attendant droned as we found our footing and dashed like we stole something.

Lauren’s hand was hot in mine as we tore across the tourist-trodden concrete of the pier and found our way back to the Chevy, but not before I pinned her against the passenger door.

She was caught between pulling me closer and shoving me away, but when a group of incoming Pier goers started making their way towards us, we broke apart quickly.