Chapter 5

CHAPTERFIVE

Finley headed out of The Sweet Tooth with the bag of cat food and a clean blanket in her arms and a smile on her face. The night before with Brock had been…wonderful. She’d been perfectly relaxed around him, so much so that she wore a pair of old, thin leggings and an oversized T-shirt with a small hole near the hem. Her go-to comfort clothes. And he didn’t seem to mind a bit. In past relationships, she wouldn’t even think about wearing something so casual around someone she’d just started dating. It always took at least a few weeks before she felt comfortable enough to do so.

But with Brock, everything was different. He made her feel as if she could simply be herself. And that meant wearing whatever made her happy and saying whatever was on her mind.

Last night, he’d helped with the baking and profusely praised the cookies she’d made. He’d admitted that he didn’t understand the obsession with pumpkin-spice everything, but after tasting her pumpkin sugar cookies, he claimed he was a convert. He’d enjoyed the simple baked chicken and broccoli…and she was still thinking about the kiss he’d given her before leaving for the night.

The more Finley was around Brock, the more she wanted him. He made her feel beautiful, which was no easy task. While she’d learned to accept her body years ago, the way his gaze heated and his obvious erection pressing against her as they kissed…well, it gave her even more confidence when it came to her sexuality.

She could admit to nervousness at the thought of being naked with him, if their relationship progressed to that point. He was so damn muscular, and Finley had a feeling he didn’t have an ounce of fat on his entire body. The last thing she wanted was for him to be disappointed when he saw what she looked like under her clothes. He’d told her time and time again, in words and with his actions, that he liked her exactly how she was, but she still had that small nagging doubt.

However, today wasn’t the day she needed to worry about that. They were going on their second official date that evening, even though they’d seen each other every day for the last week. She would’ve been content to have him come over and chill at her house again, but Brock was determined to take her out. He said he wanted to show her off. Which was just another way he made her feel special.

He wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with her in public.

She’d dated one particular guy in the past who never took her to dinner, never went shopping with her, never so much as held her hand or touched her in any way the few times they were out in public. When they broke up, he’d admitted that he was embarrassed for his friends to see him with someone like her. That particular blow had taken a while to get over.

But she didn’t have to worry about that with Brock. Every chance he got, he was putting his hands on her. While walking anywhere, sitting on her couch watching a movie, standing in the kitchen at The Sweet Tooth…he was always touching her.

So if he wanted to go bowling, she’d gladly go. It didn’t matter if he called it their second date, their fifth, or their sixtieth. She was just pleased he wanted to spend time with her.

But first, she needed to get through the day. Starting with looking after the stray kittens Khloe had been caring for. Davis was currently in the kitchen of The Sweet Tooth mixing the first batch of dough for cinnamon rolls. She told him she’d be back within ten minutes or so and headed out the door.

Fallport was quiet this early, and quite dark. The stars overhead twinkled as she walked across the grassy square. She turned left and went around the clinic, as she and Khloe had done the day before. She walked quickly to the box by the trash—and was thrilled to see a little brown head peeking out from inside.

Finley knelt and slowly pulled the plastic food bowl closer. She murmured quietly to the kittens, not wanting to scare them, as she filled the bowl. Then she pushed it toward the opening of the box, and within seconds, all three kittens were standing around the bowl, chowing down. They didn’t exactly come up to her for pets, but at least they hadn’t run when she approached. Finley supposed the food was a great incentive.

She didn’t want to startle them by attempting to pet any of them while they were eating, so she stayed on her knees next to the box and watched as they heartily ate.

A noise to her left startled Finley, and she looked up to see a black pickup pull into the parking lot behind the pool hall. It was so dark, she knew whoever was driving probably wouldn’t see her kneeling next to the dumpster, so she kept her eyes on the vehicle in case it reversed back toward her. The last thing she wanted was for any of the kittens to be spooked and run off—right under the wheels of the truck.

To her surprise, a man came around the corner of the pool hall and leaned into the passenger side of the truck. Whoever was driving had rolled down the window on that side. The driver and the man had a short conversation, before the man reached into the truck, coming away with a backpack. He stepped away as the truck drove off, slinging the pack over his shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

The entire thing had taken no more than a minute and a half, and in that time, the kittens had managed to finish their meal. The calico had gotten up the nerve to come near Finley to smell her.

The black truck forgotten, Finley reached down and gently ran a finger over the kitten’s head. It immediately started purring. The other two kittens, obviously feeling as if they were missing out, came up to her as well. Soon, Finley was sitting on her ass on the dirty ground with three kittens on her lap.

She stayed there in the dark, soaking up the innocence of the kittens, for way too long. “I wish I could stay here all day,” she whispered. “But I’ve got cookies and goodies to make. I’ve brought you a clean blanket though.”

She leaned over and pulled the soiled blanket out of the box as all three kittens slowly climbed out of her lap. She exchanged the dirty blanket for a clean one, making a mental note to bring a second bowl and a bottle of water the next morning. She watched as the kittens scampered away and disappeared into the trees bordering the back of the parking lot.

More determined now to convince Bristol and Lilly to take in the cats, Finley stood and brushed dirt off her butt. She picked up the dirty blanket and the bag of food, pushed the plastic bowl closer to the box, then headed back to her shop.

Brock arrived to help her out not long after she got back to the bakery, and with his and Davis’s help, making the morning goodies was fast and easy.

The day went by fairly quickly, much to Finley’s relief. She was doubly grateful for Liam’s presence when there were several customers who seemed determined to take out their bad moods on someone else. Finley hated conflict and usually just ended up giving the obnoxious customers whatever they wanted. But Liam had more backbone. He was soft-spoken, which seemed to help ease tensions, but more than that, he was able to resolve the customers’ issues and complaints without simply rolling over and giving anyone free food to get them out of the shop quicker, like Finley might’ve done.

By the time three o’clock came around and they closed up the shop, nervousness was just starting to get the better of Finley. It was silly. She’d hung out with Brock every day this week. Just because they were going out instead of staying at her house, or his, didn’t mean anything.

But it did. It made things between them more official. She could tell herself they were just friends and hanging out if they were at her house, but going out in public, letting others see them together, was very different. It opened them up to being the topic of gossip, which this small town loved. And Finley hated.

She knew what people would think. They’d wonder what in the world Brock was doing with someone like her. He was fit and athletic, and she was…not. They’d probably assume he was feeling sorry for her or something, going out with her on pity dates or maybe even just to get laid.

Taking a deep breath, Finley shook her head. No, she wasn’t going to worry about what others thought of her. She was positive Brock didn’t give two shits about the opinions of strangers, and he wouldn’t waste his time dating her if he wasn’t truly interested. If she’d learned anything about the man in the last week—and really, in the last few months that she’d been around him, thanks to her friends—it was that he didn’t do anything he didn’t want to.

She waved goodbye to Liam and headed for her car. There was still plenty of time before Brock said he was going to pick her up. She could relax a bit, get off her feet. She was used to standing all day, but couldn’t deny that sitting on her butt for a while sounded like heaven.

Three hours later, Finley sighed when she realized she hadn’t sat down at all. From the moment she’d gotten home, different nerves had struck. She’d spent way too much time trying to decide what to wear. She didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard, but she also didn’t want to look like a slob. After rifling through her entire wardrobe, she finally decided on a pair of jeans and a flowery top. It was tight across her boobs but loose and flowy around her stomach, hiding the extra weight she had there.

She’d left her hair down, which she never did. It got in the way when she baked, and the last thing she wanted was hair getting into the treats she made. It was thick, and in the summers she couldn’t stand the weight of it on her neck, but because cooler weather had finally hit Fallport, she knew she wouldn’t sweat to death if she kept it down.

She wasn’t a high-heel kind of person, so she put on a pair of red Sketchers and examined herself in the mirror. She actually felt pretty. Her cheeks were flushed, and the little bit of makeup she’d used really brought out the changing colors of her hazel eyes.

At six o’clock on the dot, there was a knock on Finley’s door. Her heart beating hard in her chest, she quickly opened it.

Brock always took her breath away, but tonight, he was even more handsome.

His hair looked damp, as if he’d recently gotten out of the shower. He smelled like some sort of spicy body wash, and her gaze greedily took him in from head to toe. He was wearing black jeans that hugged his muscular thighs, a forest-green polo shirt, and black hiking boots. His biceps strained the elastic at the sleeves, making Finley’s mouth water. She loved how buff he was.

“Hi,” she said belatedly.

But he didn’t even seem to mind that she hadn’t greeted him right away, because his own gaze had been taking her in as well. At the sound of her voice, his gaze came back up to her face. Instead of speaking, he stepped toward her.

Instinctively, Finley backed up. He kept coming until they were inside the small foyer of her house. Using his foot, Brock shut the door behind him, then reached for her. He framed her face with his hands and leaned in.

Finley went up on her tiptoes, more than eager to meet him halfway.

He held her still as his lips touched hers. They went from zero to one hundred in seconds, and Finley’s palms curled into his chest as he kissed her senseless.

Brock pulled back but didn’t go far. He stared down at her for a long moment before saying, “You’re so damn beautiful.”

Finley let out a huff of breath. It wasn’t that she didn’t think she cleaned up well, but she’d never been that good at taking compliments about her looks. If someone wanted to praise her food, she had no problem basking in the pleasure the comment evoked. But she knew what she looked like, and it wasn’t like anyone she saw in magazines and in movies. Over the years, Hollywood had gotten a little better at employing men and women who didn’t fit the typical mold of what society deemed beautiful, but those actors and actresses were few and far between.

“Thanks,” she finally replied.

“You don’t believe me,” Brock stated.

Finley didn’t hear any irritation in his tone so she merely shrugged. “I know what I am and what I’m not.”

“Obviously you don’t,” Brock said. “When you opened that door, I saw a woman so delectable, it was all I could do to control myself.”

Finley’s lips twitched. “This is you controlling yourself?” she couldn’t help but ask. “Backing me against the wall and kissing the daylights out of me?”

“Yes. I wanted to sling you over my shoulder, throw you on your bed, strip you naked, and bury my face between your legs.”

Finley’s heart skipped a beat and her cheeks heated. “Oh,” was all she could manage to say. The image that sprang to her mind at his words was so carnal, she almost had a spontaneous orgasm right there and then.

“You didn’t slap the shit out of me,” he said with a grin. “I’m gonna take that as a good sign.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not every day a girl like me hears that kind of thing,” she informed him.

“A girl like you?”

Finley took a deep breath. “I’m fat, Brock. I know you’ve noticed, because everyone does. I’m always going to be this way. I’ve dieted, and sometimes I even lost a good amount of weight. But I felt like crap. I was always tired and miserable and it was all I could do to get out of bed in the mornings. I like food too much to be on any kind of long-term diet. But I see my doctor every year, my blood pressure is good and my cholesterol is normal. I work out when I can, yoga, hiking, workout programs on the internet, things like that. But I’m probably always going to be bigger than what society deems acceptable.”

She took a breath and stared up at Brock. He hadn’t let go of her face and her fingers were still digging into his chest.

“You done?” he asked.

“Um…yes. I guess so.”

“You’re right. I haven’t missed your size, Finley. And I believe I already told you this, but I’ll tell you again. I don’t give a shit what the scale says. In my eyes, you’re fucking perfect. I’m a big man, all over. I work out, lift weights. A lot. It’s my way of letting off steam. I can’t think of anything sexier than feeling your softness against my hardness. I love every single curve on your body, and the thought of having you under me, and over me, makes me lose my damn mind. I don’t want you to lose weight. I want you to be healthy, of course, but I wouldn’t be kissing and touching you like I am if I didn’t want you exactly how you are.”

Finley wanted to cry. She’d had men tell her in the past that her weight didn’t bother them, but they eventually proved otherwise. Now, held in Brock’s possessive hold, feeling his erection against her belly and hearing the sincerity in his tone…she had no choice but to believe him.

“Thank you,” she whispered, almost overcome with emotion.

“You wouldn’t thank me if you could read my mind and knew what I was thinking right now,” Brock said dryly as his gaze went from her face down to her chest.

Finley could feel that her nipples were hard. And the shirt she wore had a fairly low, scooped neckline. It wouldn’t take much for him to push the material down and—

She cut her thoughts off. It was too soon for sex with Brock. Wasn’t it? In the past, she tended to wait at least a couple months before trusting a man enough to go to bed with him. But she was finding it difficult to come up with her usual reasons to wait with Brock.

He cleared his throat and inhaled deeply before dropping his hands from her face and taking a step back. “You ready?”

Ready? She was more than ready for him.

Finley swallowed hard. That wasn’t what he was talking about and she knew it. “Yeah.”

“I thought we could eat at Knock ’Em Down. They’ve got decent burgers and their seasoned fries are awesome.”

“Don’t let Sandra hear you say that,” Finley joked. “She’d be appalled that you find bowling alley food acceptable.”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Brock said with a wink. Then he leaned toward her once more. This time, the kiss he gave her was short and sweet.

“What was that for?” she asked as he reached for her hand and turned toward the door.

“Just because,” he said with a shrug. “Does it bother you?”

“Does what bother me?” she asked as he took her keys after they’d exited the house, locking her front door.

“Me touching you. Kissing you. I’m finding it difficult to keep my hands and lips off you, honestly, and I need to know what your level of comfort is with PDA.”

“PDA?” she said with a small giggle. “What are we, in middle school?”

Brock grinned as he walked her toward his truck with a hand on the small of her back. “Nope. But Fallport’s a small town, as you’re well aware. And the second I kiss you in the middle of Knock ’Em Down, word’s gonna be all over that we’re seein’ each other. I just want to make sure you’re comfortable with that.”

“I am,” she reassured him immediately.

“I’m just a mechanic,” he reminded her.

Finley frowned at him as they stopped in front of the driver’s side door of his truck. She was startled to realize in that moment that he had his own insecurities when it came to others’ opinions of him. She reached up and palmed the side of his face, much as he’d done to her earlier. “A damn good one,” she said softly. “The only thing I know how to do to keep my car running is put gas in it when the little line gets too close to E. And you aren’t ‘just’ anything, Brock Mabrey.”

He tilted his head into her palm and closed his eyes for a moment. When they opened again, he looked at her with such intensity, Finley found herself holding her breath as she stared back.

“I’m not going to fuck this up,” he said after a moment.

“Of course you aren’t,” Finley said in surprise.

“I mean it. It’s been a very long time since I’ve found something I want as badly as I want things between the two of us to work out.”

“Same,” Finley admitted. It was kind of scary to lay herself so bare like this, but it also felt right.

“Good. Now, you want to go knock down some pins?”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be able to,” she quipped.

Brock chuckled, and the powerful moment they’d had was over. He turned and opened the door and gestured for her to crawl over to the passenger side.

“Are you ever going to let me get in on my side?” she asked as she scooted up into the seat.

“Probably not,” Brock said with a shrug. “It’s safer this way.”

Finley wanted to roll her eyes and remind him that this was Fallport. That the crime rate was ridiculously low. But then again, after what had happened to Lilly, Elsie, Bristol, and Caryn, she figured he might have a point, so she kept her mouth shut.

They drove to the square and Brock parked behind the bowling alley. Finley could see the tiny house the town had made for Davis on the other end of the parking lot, and she smiled. There were definite disadvantages to living in a small town, but there were pros too.

Brock held her hand as they walked into the bowling alley, and Finley was shocked to find the place so crowded. “Holy crap, have there ever been this many people here at one time before?”

“Maybe on half-price bowling nights,” Brock said with a small frown on his face. He walked them up to the counter where bowling shoes were handed out.

Before he could tell the kid behind the counter their sizes, he said, “We’re completely full at the moment, it’ll be at least forty-five minutes before a lane opens. Here’s a card reserving your spot. When you hear your number over the loudspeaker, you can come back and get shoes.”

Brock took the laminated card and sighed.

Finley squeezed his hand. “It’s okay. We can grab something to eat while we’re waiting. It’s hard to eat and bowl at the same time anyway.”

Brock nodded and they headed for the food counter. There was a long line, and Finley heard Brock sigh again as they took their place at the end. She leaned against him and put her arm around his waist. He immediately wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her tightly. “Sorry about this,” he said.

“About what? You can’t control who decides to go bowling on the same night as us,” she said with a shrug. “And while I’m not always thrilled with the tourists, this is really good for business. I’ve definitely had an increase in sales myself.”

“I know, I just…I just realized I don’t like sharing you.”

If Finley wasn’t mistaken, Brock was pouting. Honest-to-God pouting. She couldn’t help but chuckle.

“What’s funny?” he asked.

“You,” she said with a shrug.

“I’ve gotten used to having you to myself. Chatting with you in your shop in the mornings, hanging out with you in the evenings. All these people are…” His voice trailed off.

“Peopley?” Finley finished for him.

“Exactly,” he said with a smile. Then he leaned down and kissed her forehead.

Luckily, the line moved fairly quickly. Brock gave the harried-looking boy behind the counter their order and they received another laminated paper with a number on it.

“Not sure we can find a seat, but shall we try?” Brock asked.

Finley nodded and, as it turned out, they had to wait just five minutes or so before a couple got up to leave. Brock moved faster than the twenty-something kid who’d spied the table at the same time, claiming the sticky tabletop first.

“My hero,” Finley said with a sigh, batting her eyelashes at him playfully.

“Not sure she needs to eat anything else, she already looks like she swallowed an entire cow,” the kid muttered spitefully under his breath.

Finley felt Brock’s muscles tighten and she grabbed hold of his forearm before he could get up and confront the inconsiderate asshole. “Don’t,” she warned.

“You think I’m gonna let that shit go?” he asked with a lift of an eyebrow.

“Yes, you are. Because that’s not the first insult I’ve heard about my size and it won’t be the last. I’m used to it, Brock. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” he insisted. “It was rude as fuck and there’s no way I’m gonna let anyone talk to you like that.”

“Here’s the thing,” she said, leaning into him. “That’s unfortunately normal for people my size. Being fat means I’m fair game. I’m used to it, and while I admit comments like that used to bother me, now I pretty much see it as his problem, not mine. Other than feeling self-conscious now and then, I’ve accepted my body for what it is. Going after him will only embarrass me, and it wouldn’t change the way he thinks anyway.”

“It’s bullshit,” Brock complained, but Finley was relieved when he relaxed into his seat once more.

“It is,” she agreed with a shrug.

Brock wrapped his fingers around her hand and stroked the back of it gently. “You’re gorgeous,” he said softly. “And I’m a lucky son-of-a-bitch to be here with you tonight. I’ve wanted this for a long time now.”

“Really?” she asked.

He nodded. “But you would barely look at me when we were together with our friends. I had to bide my time until you were more used to being around me.”

Finley shrugged. “I’m shy,” she said.

“You aren’t telling me anything I don’t already know,” Brock said with a grin. “And I like it.”

“You’re weird,” she informed him.

“Nope. I just know that under that shyness is a passionate woman who’s worth the wait.”

“You think so?” she asked with a tilt of her head and a small smile.

“Definitely. I see the energy and effort you put into baking. The passion you have for your creations. The way you stand up for your friends. How concerned you are about them. You’ve got more passion in your little finger than a lot of people have in their entire bodies. So yeah, I knew once I got past that bashful exterior, I’d be rewarded with the real Finley.”

She stared at him in disbelief. He made her sound almost mysterious. It made her feel all tingly inside that he wanted to get to know her, and that he’d been patient for so long in order to gain her trust.

She opened her mouth to say something, she wasn’t sure what, but their number was called over the loudspeaker.

Brock picked up her hand, kissed the back, and said, “Save my spot?”

Finley rolled her eyes. “I’m guessing there isn’t going to be a rush of men trying to take it.”

“Then you aren’t paying attention. Your ass in those jeans? Woman…I’m surprised some of these guys haven’t come hit on you with me sitting right here. I’ll be back.”

Finley watched him walk over to the counter to grab their burgers and she pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Brock was hands down the best-looking man in the building. It wasn’t even so much his looks, although he definitely wasn’t hard on the eyes. It was the confidence he exuded. She had no doubt he could take on an entire flotilla of men if they started a fight over her.

She had no idea what a flotilla was, but she was sure Brock could take it on.

She was still smiling when Brock returned with a plastic tray loaded with their burgers and fries.

“You look happy,” he observed.

“I am. This is fun. Thank you for bringing me.”

He chuckled. “So far we’ve found out we have to wait an hour before we can bowl, had to stand in line for food, had to fight for a table, you were insulted, and I forgot the drinks. Oh yeah, loads of fun.”

Finley giggled. “I’ve actually learned things I didn’t already know about you tonight, which makes it all worth it.”

“Like?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“You aren’t as self-confident as you appear, which is actually a huge turn-on. You’re protective, which I already knew, but probably even more so than I thought. You’re touchy-feely, which is awesome, and you’re really patient.”

“Patient?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Yup. If you weren’t, you would’ve turned around and left when that kid told us it would be an hour before we could bowl.”

“Okay, that’s probably true. I learned the power of patience sitting in the woods, waiting for someone trying to cross into the US illegally to make their move and reveal their hiding spot. And while waiting for a certain beautiful baker to give me a shot.”

Finley smiled at him.

“Eat,” he ordered, nodding at her burger. “Before it gets cold.”

“Yes, sir,” she sassed, picking up her hamburger and taking a bite.

“Good?” he asked after a moment.

Finley nodded enthusiastically, as her mouth was currently full and she couldn’t speak.

Halfway through their burgers, Brock got up and bought them both a beer, and the rest of their meal passed quickly. After he’d thrown away their trash and put the plastic tray on top of the trash can, their number was finally called for bowling. They got their shoes and headed for their assigned lane.

Finley was as bad at bowling as she’d warned, but since Brock didn’t seem to care, she didn’t either. They were halfway through their first game, and Brock had just bowled another strike, when the machine that reset the pins stopped working.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair in agitation.

Finley could only laugh.

Brock went to tell someone about the problem, and while he was gone, Finley couldn’t help but eavesdrop on the couple in the lane next to them. They were arguing about whether or not to stay in town another night. The guy wanted to stay and go back out in the forest the next day, while his girlfriend was obviously over tromping around the woods looking for Bigfoot.

“They said it would probably be ten minutes or so before anyone’s free to go see what the issue is,” he said in a disgusted tone of voice.

Finley shrugged and took a sip of her beer. It had gotten a little warm, but she wasn’t going to complain. Not when poor Brock was already thoroughly frustrated with their night out.

He sat down beside her and shook his head. “Second date, second time things haven’t gone according to plan. I’m thinking we should just stay in from now on.”

“You mean you don’t ever want to take me out again?” she asked.

“Oh, I want to, but with my track record, I’m not sure it’s smart.”

“Brock, shit happens. It has nothing to do with you or me. And it’s fine. I’m still having a good time. Aren’t you?”

“Of course I am. Any time I get to spend with you is awesome.”

“I feel the same. So…where do we want to go on our third date?”

“I think we should go to Sunny Side Up. That should be safe enough.”

Finley wasn’t going to remind him about the man Caryn had saved in the diner while he was choking. Or that it was likely to be as crowded as the bowling alley. She simply smiled at him and nodded.

The argument between the couple next to them got more heated just then. The woman accused her boyfriend of not caring about her feelings. Raged about the “backwater town” they were in and how it didn’t have a decent restaurant and how she was sick of him being cheap as hell with their vacations.

Unfortunately, the man didn’t have a lot of common sense, and he retorted, “Let me guess, you want to go to Chicago or New York City, which you know I hate, and shop all day. Spending hundreds of dollars on shit you’ll never wear or use. That’s not a vacation, that’s just plain stupid.”

Finley’s eyes were wide as she looked at Brock, and she saw him desperately attempting to smother a chuckle.

But the smile on his face quickly faded when the girlfriend, obviously sick of her boyfriend’s shit, stood up and threw her almost-full cup of beer at the man.

The guy, not being an idiot, ducked.

And the beer meant for her boyfriend ended up hitting Brock instead.

They’d been sitting on the other side of the plastic booth from the couple, and it was all Finley could do not to laugh from utter shock as Brock blinked back at her, beer dripping off his hair and onto his face and shoulders.

Turning, Finley saw the woman’s eyes widen almost comically, then she burst into tears and ran toward the restroom.

“Shit, man, I’m so sorry!” her boyfriend said as Brock stood. He looked terrified as he stared up at Brock from the other side of the booth. In comparison, Brock was huge—and he could easily squash the smaller, far-less muscular boyfriend.

But Brock just shrugged and said, “Don’t sweat it, man. I would recommend, though, that you apologize to your woman…and take her on a shopping spree tomorrow, instead of looking for Bigfoot.”

“Yeah, good idea,” the guy said before grabbing his girlfriend’s purse, their shoes, and heading toward the bathroom.

Finley couldn’t hold the giggle back any longer. Poor Brock looked miserable. She wasn’t laughing at him, but at the entire situation.

“Come on, we’re leaving,” he told her, bending down to take off his shoes. Beer dripped from his hair onto the floor, and when he turned, Finley saw how drenched he actually was. The entire back of his shirt was soaked, and she could see the material of his jeans darken from his ass down to his knees even as they stood there.

After they put their street shoes back on, she followed him to the counter, where they informed the kid they weren’t going to wait for someone to fix the problem with their bowling lane and were, in fact, leaving. Brock didn’t ask for a refund, even though it probably would’ve been perfectly acceptable.

Brock grabbed her hand and towed her toward the exit. She silently let him lead her back to his truck, and she got in without a word of protest. He drove them back to her house, and after she’d climbed out of the front seat behind him, Brock moved to get back behind the wheel.

She put a hand on his arm. “Brock?”

“Yeah?” he asked, one foot inside the truck.

“Will you stay a bit? It’s early.”

“I stink. I’m irritated. And I’m soaking wet. I need a shower, and I’m in no mood to be good company. I’m sorry, Finley.”

She didn’t want their night to end. Even with everything that had happened, she’d enjoyed spending time with him. And she was pleased to see that even when things didn’t go his way, he didn’t go off the deep end. Too many people would’ve lost their shit on the woman who’d thrown the beer. Or on the boyfriend. Or even on the shoe guy. But not Brock. He’d kept his cool.

“You can shower here. One thing about being my size is that I should have a T-shirt that will fit you while we wash your clothes. I can’t do anything about underwear or sweats or anything, but I do have big towels you can use until your jeans are dry.”

He stared at her for an incredibly long moment. “You’re okay with me sitting around your house in nothing but a towel?” he asked.

She noticed he hadn’t said anything about putting on one of her T-shirts. She hadn’t lied, she had a feeling that the large T-shirts she liked to lounge around in would probably fit him, but she didn’t bring it up again. “Yes,” she said simply. “Why? Are you going to attack me or something?”

“Fuck no!”

“Then…” She let the word trail off.

Brock took a deep breath, then turned and slammed his truck door. He grabbed her hand once more and marched toward her house.

Smiling, and feeling relieved that he was going to stay, Finley docilly followed behind him. He held his hand out for her keys and she willingly handed them over.

“Shower?” he asked.

He was obviously still upset, so Finley didn’t say anything, simply pointed toward the hallway and the guest bathroom. When he headed that way, she said softly, “If you put your clothes outside the door, I’ll get them in the wash.”

Brock nodded and disappeared down the hall.

Whew. He was intense. But not in a bad way. Finley appreciated that he wasn’t ranting and raving. He was upset, yes, but he didn’t act in a way that would scare her or otherwise make her leery to be around him.

She heard the bathroom door open and shut and peered down the hallway, spotting his clothes sitting in a pile. Quickly gathering them up, she got them started in the washing machine, then changed into a pair of comfy pants with an elastic waist and a long-sleeve T-shirt before heading into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. She also got out some of the pumpkin sugar cookies she and Brock had made. She arranged them on a plate and put them on the coffee table. By the time she returned to the kitchen to grab two cups of coffee, Brock had finished with his shower.

Sensing him, Finley turned—and almost swallowed her tongue. He had one of her large bath towels around his waist and his hair was still wet. But it was the expanse of muscular chest that had her thighs tensing and her lungs sucking in a deep breath.

My God, the man was gorgeous. He was built like a Greek god—or at least what she imagined they’d look like. The muscles in his arm flexed as he grabbed hold of the knot of the towel at his waist. His jaw tightened as she continued to stare at him.

“If you don’t stop looking at me like that, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

His words didn’t scare Finley because she had a feeling she was staring at him the way a little kid drooled over ice cream. She definitely wanted to lick him. She’d start at his nipples and work her way down to…

She closed her eyes and turned to fiddle with the coffee mugs. She needed a minute to get her equilibrium back. She’d known Brock was stunning, but having all that smooth skin right there in front of her was almost overwhelming.

“Is that coffee I smell?” he asked nonchalantly, as if he always hung around in women’s houses naked with nothing but a towel on.

“Uh-huh,” she said, still not able to get her words to work.

She felt him come up behind her, and a hand landed on her hip as he leaned down. He nuzzled the side of her neck as he said, “Have I told you how much I love your hair down?”

Finley shook her head.

“Well, I do. And I appreciate you being cool about this. I know this is…awkward.”

“It’s not,” she said firmly, turning to face him. “I mean, if I’d been the one who had that beer poured on me, I wouldn’t have taken it nearly as well as you did.”

“If you’d been the one who’d had that beer poured on you, things would’ve ended much differently than they did,” he said in a deep, dangerous tone.

Finley shivered.

“Come on, you want to watch a movie?”

Sit beside him now, when all she had to do was tug on that towel and he’d be naked? No, she didn’t want to. But she nodded anyway. He was being cool about this, so she would be too.

She carried their coffee cups to the couch. Brock smiled at seeing the plate of cookies. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“What?”

“The cookies?”

Finley shrugged. “I figured they’d be a good dessert.”

“You figured right,” he said. Then, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, he sat and pulled her down next to him. He tugged her close, until she was plastered against his side.

Finley wasn’t sure where to put her hands, but he solved that for her when he grabbed one and placed it on his chest. His skin was warm, almost hot, and of course her fingers were chilly. He had a slight smattering of chest hair, and it was literally the sexiest thing Finley had ever seen.

She remained tense against him until he murmured, “Relax, Fin.”

Amazingly, she did. Practically melting against him.

A few minutes went by as he searched for something to watch on the movie app. He settled on Signs, an oldie but one of her favorite flicks, before he said, “This is much better.”

Finley smiled. “What, being practically naked on my couch while your clothes get washed after being drenched in beer?”

“Yup. I get you all to myself now.”

She shook her head.

“I’m sorry I was so short with you when we got here.”

“I don’t blame you.”

Finley hadn’t forgotten that Brock didn’t have any clothes on, but he didn’t make things weird, which she appreciated. He also didn’t make a pass at her. Didn’t try to take advantage of the situation. After about thirty minutes, she got up and moved his things to the dryer, then settled back into the same spot beside him.

She was almost sorry when the dryer dinged, letting them know his clothes were done. Without a word, he got up, and when he returned, he was once more in his jeans and polo shirt. Finley was almost sorry her dryer was so effective.

The second he sat beside her, Brock pushed her shoulders gently until she was lying on her back, and he was hovering over her. Then he kissed her. Long, hard, and quite thoroughly. She could feel his erection behind his jeans pressing against her thigh.

When he pulled back to gaze down at her affectionately, she frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just trying to understand you,” she said, caressing the skin of his muscular arm as she spoke.

Knowing exactly why she was confused, he explained, “I wasn’t about to kiss you when I was only wearing a towel. I didn’t want to make you nervous that I might want more, that I would lose control and take what wasn’t being offered freely, and I knew if I did start kissing you, it would be extremely difficult for me to stop.”

“You wouldn’t lose control, and for the record…it definitely would’ve been offered freely,” she said shyly.

Brock inhaled deeply before smiling down at her. “I think you have more faith in me than I do.”

“Probably,” she said with a shrug. “You’re a good man, Brock. Down to your bones.”

“It’s gonna be a while before we go on that third date,” he said.

Finley frowned in dismay. “It is?”

“Uh-huh. With our luck, I don’t even want to imagine what would happen. So I’ll keep helping you in the mornings, even though I know you don’t need it anymore, and we’ll hang out like this. But we aren’t calling them dates, okay?”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay.”

“And I know you’re making Lilly and Ethan’s cake, and that you’re going to be helping with the wedding…but I was hoping you’d sit with me? Dance with me?”

“Like, be your date?” she asked.

“No!” Brock exclaimed.

Finley giggled this time.

He smiled. “No dates. Just hanging out. We are especially not calling it a date at our friends’ wedding. There’s no telling how we might ruin their big day if we did.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And yes, I’d love to hang out with you at the wedding then.”

“Good. You need a ride?”

“Would you mind?” she asked tentatively.

“Wouldn’t have offered if I did.”

“I need to get there pretty early. And it’s a pain to transport a cake. It won’t be completely put together, because that’s just asking for it to fall over or something while on the way, but I’ll have a bunch of pastry boxes and supplies and stuff to bring with me, so I can get it all finished once there.”

“Not a problem,” he said evenly. “How do you usually get cakes to a venue?”

“Well, I’ve only made a few birthday cakes since opening the shop. There hasn’t been time for special orders. But generally, I hold my breath and hope the boxes don’t go flying across the floorboards and stuff.”

“I can be your assistant,” he said easily. “Whatever you need me to do.”

“Thanks.”

They stared at each other for a long moment before Brock sighed and climbed off her and held out his hand.

“You’re going?” she asked.

He nodded. “I’m sorry the night didn’t go the way we planned.”

“I’m not.”

They both smiled.

It was fifteen more minutes before Brock actually left, neither of them particularly eager to end their kisses at her door. When he pulled out of her driveway, Finley leaned against her door and smiled. It was safe to say she was extremely happy with how things were working out with Brock. She never would’ve thought they’d click as well as they did, but she was looking forward to seeing where things would take them after their next non-date.