“Sure thing.” He turns his attention to Brock.
“I’ll have a Corona and the nachos.” He folds his menu in half and passes it over before his eyes come up to mine. “Blow out.”
I smirk. “What does that mean?’
“It means I don’t eat crap and drink on a week night. I’m usually at the gym right now. You’re a bad influence, Pocket.”
My mouth falls open. “Me?” I gasp. “You’re the only bad influence around here.”
He slides his hand up my leg under the table and licks his lips as his naughty eyes hold mine. There it is—that electricity I get from his every touch.
“Thank you.” I sigh.
A frown crosses his face. “For?”
“For not being demanding and obnoxious yesterday.”
Our drinks arrive. “Here you go. I have a salted margarita and a Corona.”
“Thank you.” We both smile as we take them from him.
Brock sips his beer and frowns. “Do you think I’m demanding and obnoxious all the time?”
“No.” I sip my drink. “God, this is good.” I gesture to my glass. “But sometimes you can be,” I add.
“Like when?”
“Like when you demanded I call Simon in front of you.”
His eyes hold mine for a moment.
“What?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It’s hard for me to deal with an ex on the scene when I’ve never—”
“When you’ve never had one?” I cut in.
“Yeah. I guess.” He drinks his beer and then places it back on the table. “I just don’t know if you’ll go back to him one day.”
I take the hand he is resting on my thigh. “Would it bother you if I did?”
He nods, and his face falls serious.
I smile softly. “I like this person.”
He frowns.
I cup his face and lean over to kiss him. “I like this person who is with me here tonight.”
“What do you mean?” He frowns.
“Why aren’t you like this all the time with me?”
“Like what?”
“Gentle and understanding.” I smile.
“I don’t know why I’m the way I am. I have this raging temper that… I don’t know. I fly off the handle and can’t control myself until it’s too late.”
“Too late?” I frown. “Is that why you’ve never had a girlfriend because of your temper?”
He smiles and then breaks into a chuckle. “Fuck, no, I never cared about a woman enough to lose my temper with them.”
“So, why have you lost it with me numerous times?” I frown.
His eyes search mine, and I know he’s trying to tell me that he cares.
I could push him to say it, but he doesn’t probably even realise it himself yet.
“What do you mean by too late?” I ask. “When have you lost your temper and it’s been too late?”
His face falls serious, with eyes glancing across the restaurant to avoid mine. Brock takes a swig of his beer. “I killed my father with my temper.”
I freeze at once. “What?”
He stares at the floor in front of him for a moment and I can see he’s right back there reliving it.
“My sister was dating someone I didn’t approve of.” He pauses, taking in a breath. “I lost my shit and attacked him at my parents’ house.”
My heart sinks.
“We had a fight, and my father tried to break us up.” He into the distance and pauses again, the story obviously hard for him to speak of. “He had a massive heart attack on the spot.”
I squeeze his hand in mine. “Brock,” I whisper, pained for him.
“My cousin Cameron was there and was just out of med school. He tried to save him in the back of the ambulance with defibrillators.”
Brock sips his beer again, his eyes void of emotion, and I feel sick as I imagine the horror of what it must have been like to be there on that day.
“He died anyway,” he tells me sadly. “It fucked Cameron up for a long time, too. My father was the first patient he ever lost.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “And you still blame yourself?”
“Every day.”
I drop my head and think for a moment. I don’t know what to say.
“Every time I watch my sisters and my mother cry over my father’s absence, I die a little inside.”
I get a lump in my throat. “Brock.”
His sad eyes come up to meet mine. I know that was a big deal for him to tell me that. I know it’s probably something that he would usually guard closely. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For showing me what’s underneath your temper.” I pick up his hand and gently kiss the back of it.
His eyes search mine.
“We can work with your temper, baby,” I kiss his hand again, “if you give me this side of yourself more often. We can work with anything.”
He looks so lost in this conversation and being open with me, I can tell that statement meant a lot to him. He just has no idea how to verbalise it yet. I get up and go around to his side of the table to sit on his lap. I wrap my arms arounds his neck and kiss him tenderly, our lips hovering over each other’s. I wish we were alone right now. I need to change the subject and not make a big deal out of what he just told me.