“That’s not fair.” I frown. “I asked the question before we wound up in this position.”
With a grin, one I’m sure he’s wearing in an attempt to distract me, he cups my cheeks. “We barely had something.”
“Define ‘barely,’ because nothing about the way she acted made it seem like you two were a ‘barely’ kind of thing.”
Grin holding steady, he fishes his iPhone from his pocket and taps on it. After a second, his eyes light up with mischief. “Barely. It says here that it’s an adverb. It also says ‘hardly’ or ‘scarcely.’ People use it to say that someone or something only has a specified small size, age, length, etc.” He draws up a brow. “Just to make things very, very clear, I’m small in neither size, girth, nor length. At. All.”
Giggling, I yank the phone from him. “Did you seriously just look up the definition?” I glance down at his phone. Yep. The wiseass looked it up.
A megawatt smile twists his mouth. “You said ‘define barely,’ no?”
I set his phone on the pier, and with a mock scowl, it’s me who cups his cheeks. “Yes, I did, but I’m being serious, Brock. She was . . . weird about you. I’m gonna ask the questions, and you’re not allowed to do anything but answer. Got it?”
With a wink, he salutes me. “Yes, Miss Ber.”
I roll my eyes, knowing I better get used to his formal nickname. “How long did you two date?”
“We never dated,” he whispers, leaning up and slowly kissing my lips.
I pull back to look him in his eyes, mine narrowed. “You’re trying to seduce me.”
“Is it working?” He drags his lips to the hollow of my neck, letting them linger there. “Because if not, I can do better.”
It is working, my body screaming to pull down my shorts, yank his off, and take a long test-drive on what he claims isn’t small in size, girth, or length. However, I’m not about to let him know my thoughts, so I do what’s necessary to get the answers I seek.
I give him a proper mash to his forehead with my palm, an innocent shrug following suit.
With eyes as wide as balloons, he laughs. “Holy shit of all fucking shits. I’m making you mine. You know this, right?”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”
He grins, tightening his hold around my waist.
“Now you say you never dated, so you two just . . . fucked?” I ask.
“Mm. Blunt. This here Southern boy likes.” He nods, his lips twitching in amusement. “Correct. We fucked. She was a classic booty call. The I’m drunk and feel like getting laid hookup. The mutual this-is-going-nowhere fling.”
“Mm-hmm,” I hum, eyeing him suspiciously. “So I’m assuming that’s why you don’t care that Ryder’s hitting that now?”
It’s his turn to shrug. “Ryder can do what he wants. I’m completely cool with him tapping my seconds. Sharing is caring. And besides, what are friends for, right?”
“Mm-hmm,” I hum again, watching him carefully. There’s a gleam in those green eyes that I can’t quite decipher, something that’s telling me there’s more behind his statement.
Brock leans up and brushes his mouth against mine. “Do you have any more questions for me?” He snags my lower lip between his teeth, gently sucking. “Or am I still under interrogation?”
“You’re still under interrogation,” I confirm, trying to catch my breath, the ache between my legs threatening to explode as he threads his hands through my hair.
“Well, there’s no denying you’re a sexy detective.” He smirks. “Continue on, my little vixen.”
“You have secrets.” I lift my face away from his, going with my intuition. “And I think they’re the kind that can hurt me.”
“We all have secrets,” he whispers, bringing my lips back down to his.
He stares at me long and hard before kissing me deep, each stroke of his tongue unraveling everything I’ve ever known myself to be. Without breaking the rhythm of our kiss, Brock cocoons me in his embrace, gently rolling me onto my back.
A shocked gasp fights past my throat as he hooks his arms under my knees, drawing my legs up around his waist. Scarlet heat covers me from head to toe, perspiration dripping between my breasts as Brock pulls back, slowly eye-fucking every inch of my body.
“And none of my secrets will ever hurt you.” He kisses the slope of my neck, his words muffled against my sweat-slickened skin. “I promise you that. Swear it on my life.” Hands cradling my head, he brings his gaze back to mine, his expression serious as his thumbs make a pass over my lips. “You’re gonna be mine, do you hear me? No matter what I have to do, I want you to be my girl.” He kisses my nose, cheeks, and forehead. “I won’t take no for an answer, and whether or not you want me to, I’m gonna find your pieces so I can put you back together.”
His promise steals my breath as he crashes his mouth to mine. My lips part on a moan, and I grip his shoulders, my nails clawing into his golden flesh as I writhe beneath him, ignoring the pain of the splintery wood at my back. Our flavors fuse together, an intoxicating blend of beer and urgency. I kiss him hard, his sweet, musky scent invading my nostrils like a potent aphrodisiac.
And just like that, the loud ringing of his phone jolts our attention away from each other.
Brock swipes it from the pier, glances at it, and, with frustration hardening his jaw, he groans. “I have to take this.” He swathes my lips in a quick kiss and stands. “I’ll be right back.”