One side of his lips kicked up, and it was that half-grin, the one that pretty much got Brock whatever he wanted. “Are you insinuating that I somehow found out about your dinner and purposely came here tonight just to see you?” He paused, eyes glimmering in the low light outside the restrooms. “Like I’m some kind of stalker?”
Well, that did sound ridiculous but wasn’t impossible. Mom knew I had this date tonight. I’d told her where we were going. Though I doubted she would’ve told Brock.
She had better not have told Brock.
“Or maybe not a stalker, but someone who is desperate to catch a glimpse of another person who has been avoiding them for years?” he suggested smoothly. “Six years this December.”
I blinked once and then twice. “What?”
That half-grin grew as he eyed me. “Or someone who just happens to be having dinner with a friend who also happens to live in the same vicinity as you?”
My cheeks started to heat.
“If I was stalking you, I’m doing a really bad job at it since I waited for you to come out of the restroom,” he continued on, obviously amused by my observation. “From what I know about stalkers, and trust me, I’ve had a few, they tend to be a little more inconspicuous.”
Anger flushed through my system. Did this amuse him—did I? Of course it did. I had always amused Brock. “I’m pretty sure most of the stalkers you’ve had in the past would’ve walked right into the men’s room instead of waiting for you outside, and you wouldn’t have had one problem with that.”
“Damn.” Brock tipped his head back and laughed. Air punched out of my lungs. God, I’d forgotten how his laugh sounded. Deep and infectious, he laughed without a care. He handed those laughs out to anyone and everyone while I thought they were just for me. A smile played at his lips. “You are not the Jillybean I remember.”
Brock using my nickname did funny things to me. Threw me back in time, to years ago, when we’d sit side by side on the old swing out in my parents’ backyard. Reminded me of how Brock would listen to me ramble on and on about all the places in the world I wanted to visit. It made me think of the way things used to be, and nothing could ever be like that again.
“No,” I told him, lifting my chin. “I’m not her.”
He dipped his head so he was suddenly in my space, his mouth nearly lined up with mine. “I know that.”
A startled gasp left me.
“I think I like this Jillian,” he said as if he were sharing some highly kept secret.
I stared at him, unable to process what that meant.
Brock’s head tilted to the side. “Who is that guy you’re with at the table?”
Jerking back, I about toppled over backward. “I . . . I can’t even believe you’re asking that question.”
His brows furrowed together. “Why? It’s a valid question.”
My eyes widened. “That is so not a valid question.”
Straightening, he leaned against the wall like he had all the time in the world and we weren’t standing outside of the restrooms. “Is he your boyfriend?”
Struck speechless once more, all I could do was stare at him while one part of me wanted to point out it was none of his damn business and the other half wanted to demand to know why he was even asking that question.
I did neither of those things.
“Excuse me,” I said, stepping around him. “I have to get back to my table.”
“Seriously?” He pushed off the wall, wrapping a large hand around my arm, stopping me. “We haven’t seen each other in years and you’re just going to walk away? No hug? No ‘how have you been?’ Nothing?”
“Sounds about right.” I pulled on my arm, and after a few seconds he let go.
He studied me for a moment and the teasing smile faded away into a grim line. “I guess I can’t really blame you.”
Every muscle in my body tensed. This is so wrong. I couldn’t help but think that, because Brock and I . . . we used to be inseparable despite the age difference. It was always us—me chasing after him, tagging along, and clamoring for his attention, and it had always been him letting me chase, including me in everything he did and focusing on me like I was the only person in the world.
Until that night.
Until I realized it had always been me wanting him and him wanting everyone but me.
“No,” I whispered, hating myself a little for what I was saying. “You can’t blame me.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw as he nodded. Heart pounding, I turned around and hurried back to the table without looking behind me. I had no idea how long I’d been gone, but guessing by how everyone was staring at me when I slid into my chair, it had been a little too long.
Avery smiled tentatively at me.
“Is everything okay?” Grady asked, touching my arm.
I started to respond, but before I could, I heard only part of what Cam said, “Holy shit.”
A shadow fell over the table, a shadow that originated directly from behind me. Avery’s eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect O. The tiny hairs along the back of my neck rose.
No, he didn’t.
He so didn’t follow me back to my table.
Cam was rising from his chair, a look of pure adoration etched into his handsome face. “Holy shit, man. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you.”
Yep.
He’d followed me to my table.
Looking to my right, I watched Brock clasp Cam’s hand and then they exchanged one of those one-arm man hugs. All I could do was sit there as Brock and Cam spoke to one another. I had no idea what they were saying, and it probably had nothing to do with my hearing. I was concentrating on not standing, picking up my chair and tossing it at Brock.
Then Brock was standing to my right, looking directly at Grady. He held the man’s stare like he used to hold the stares of his opponents during weigh-ins and before the matches, smiling narrowly.
Clearing his throat, Grady removed his hand from my arm.
My hands slipped off the table and fell into my lap.
Brock’s eyes were cold and flat as he extended his arm over my plate. He spoke, but it sounded muffled since he was speaking to my deaf ear.
“Grady Thornton,” I heard from my left, and I realized Brock had introduced himself. Grady’s hand was all but swallowed by Brock’s much larger one. “You know Cam?”
“We’ve met a couple of times.” Brock placed his hand on the back of my chair, the gesture oddly intimate and possessive. “I met him and his lovely wife through Jillian.”
I stared straight ahead, counting under my breath.
“Really?” Curiosity filled Grady’s tone. “How do you two know each other?”
“He works—well, worked for my father,” I answered before Brock could.
“Ah, come on, that’s not the whole story.” Brock chuckled, and I widened my eyes. “We actually grew up together. There’s barely a thing I don’t know about Jilly.”
What in the actual hell of all nine circles of Hell was this?
“And how do you know everyone here?” Brock asked, and since he shifted closer, I could hear him even though it sounded like it was at the end of a tunnel.
Grady’s gaze darted between Brock and me. “I’m a friend of Cam’s. We work together.”