Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 133127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
He’s home.
What do I do now? I park across the road and turn off the car, sitting in the darkness, biting my thumbnail as I peer through the windshield.
I don’t smoke but if I ever were to start, I think this stakeout would be the cause of it. I feel like I need something to do with my hands or some shit.
What the fuck do I do?
Do I march in there?
I drop my hands to my face and rest my elbows on the steering wheel. For half an hour, I sit in the car and go through my options.
I can either get over this craziness, go back to Simon and forever dream of Brock, or I can march in there and demand a second chance.
Out of all the options, the last one seems like the right thing to do.
My phone beeps with a text.
BROCK: What are you doing?
I screw up face, is he going to come over to my house? I text back straight away.
TULLY: I’m waiting for you to come over.
Another text bounces back.
BROCK: I mean, what are you doing sitting outside my house?
I can see you.
I wince and cringe. Damn it, I’m the worst spy in history. I text back.
TULLY: I’m stalking you
What does it look like?
A reply bounces back.
BROCK: Why?
I stare at my phone in my hands. Why am I here?
TULLY: Because I need to see you.
I wait for his reply, but it doesn’t come. For ten minutes, I wait. Damn it, Brock.
Why does he have to be so fucking difficult all the time? My life was so damn simple before I met him.
Damn gym junkie and his magic dick.
Screw it, I’m just going to go in. I get out of my car, cross the street, and knock on the big timber door. My heart is hammering in my chest. I have no idea how he is going to react to what I have to say.
He opens the door in a rush and looks at me flatly. “Yes.”
I smile softly. “You’re not on a date?”
He rolls his eyes. “No, I’m not on a fucking date.”
I twist my fingers in front of me nervously, my eyes searching his. “Can I come in?”
He looks at me blankly. “Tully, I told you to go back to your boyfriend. We have nothing to say to each other.”
My face falls. “Don’t call me, Tully.”
He glares at me.
“You call me Pocket, remember?”
“What are you doing here? If you’re here to fuck with my head, don’t bother.”
I grab his hand. “I’m fucking with my own head, Brock. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore,” I whisper.
His jaw clenches as he watches me.
“I only know that I feel sick knowing that you don’t want to see me.”
His eyes drop to the floor. “Fuck’s sake,” he whispers, shaking his head. “You’re turning into the crazy person now. I thought that was my position in the company.”
I smile at his little joke. “We can take turns being the crazy person.”
He scratches the back of his head. “I’m not your back up plan, Tully.”
I nod. “I know.”
“And I don’t want to see you if you are going to go back to him.”
“Okay, Brock.” I pause as I try to get this right. “I’ve been thinking long and hard about this all week, you know?”
He crosses his arms and raises his brows.
“Don’t give me that look,” I plead. “Listen to what I’m saying, will you?”
He exhales heavily. “What are you saying, Tully? Do you even know?”
“I’m saying I want to see if we can be together.”
He clenches his jaw as he stares at me, his internal struggle clear to see in his eyes.
“Well?” I ask.
Still, he doesn’t answer me.
“What do you say, Brock? Can we try?”
“I don’t want you seeing him again,” he tells me coolly.
“Okay.” I smile softly. “I won’t see him again.”
He presses his lips together, still looking down on me.
“You said you don’t do relationships,” I whisper.
He doesn’t say anything.
I take his hand and press it to my cheek. “I’ve been frantic all week thinking you were going out with someone else.”
“Is that why you’re here? To see if I’m alone?” He sighs, annoyed.
I shake my head. “No.” I pause as I brace myself to say the next sentence. “I’m here because I think I have real feelings for you.”
He watches me.
I shrug. “And not the kind of feelings that you like receiving.”
His eyes search mine, and suddenly, as if he feels what’s between us too, he dusts his thumb over my bottom lip.
“Brock, I know you don’t do relationships.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because you told me yourself.”
He tilts his chin to the sky but lifts his other hand to my face. “What do you want, Tully?” he asks.
I frown because I can’t even believe I’m saying it. “Maybe we could see how we go together… without any kind of end date in mind. Just the two of us in, like, a real relationship.”