12. Ariel Cambridge
Chapter twelve
Ariel Cambridge
I throw a pillow at Brock. It hits the side of his head before falling onto his open laptop.
“What was that for?” he asks in an exasperated tone.
“I want ice cream.”
He shoots me an unamused look and throws the pillow back at me.
I catch it before it smacks me in the face.
He goes back to typing. Since I came in from watching the sunset, he’s been glued to his laptop like it’s an oxygen tank and he’s a hundred feet underwater.
I haven’t bothered him, since I did kidnap him a few hours ago, but my patience for excessive typing sounds has run out.
“I don’t see how that’s my problem.”
“It’s not, but the fact that you don’t have any clothes is,” I say with a smile.
He groans and pushes his hands into his hair. “I forgot about that. How far away is the nearest store?”
“About twenty minutes. There’s an outdoor clothing store right next to the ice cream shop.”
“Of course there is,” he says drily. His laptop snaps shut. “Fine, let’s go before it gets too late.”
“Your enthusiasm is admirable.”
“Don’t test me, Duke.”
I give him a cheeky grin. “Don’t tempt me, Carolina.”
He swipes a hand over his mouth, failing to hide his smile. “Will getting you ice cream make you more or less of a menace?”
“Only one way to find out.”
I hop up off the couch, head to the door, and start to slide on my shoes.
“Actually, I just remembered a time when you and Sutton had a sleepover at our house. You both made a giant ice cream sundae and then drew on my face with eyeliner,” Brock says from behind me. I laugh at the memory. “I think we should stay here. You’re dangerous with a sugar high.”
I shake my head. “It’s just like a man to not know how to handle me.” The words are a joke– mostly . I might be covering up the aching wound with a little humor.
Brock walks up to me, his brown eyes heated. “I could handle you.”
I swallow. “Is that so?”
He smirks. Leans in. “Only one way to find out.”
My eyes widen. Words bloom then wither on my tongue. Then he opens the door. He was leaning to grab the doorknob . His chuckle is husky and warm–no, grating –in my ear as he brushes past me. I definitely do not have goosebumps.
“Come on, Duke, don’t want the store to close before I can buy swim trunks,” he says over his shoulder on the way to the car. The porch light illuminates the driveway when he walks outside.
I grit my teeth. “It would be good for you to remember we’re alone in the woods and no one knows you’re here,” I say as I stomp to the car.
He meets my eyes over the hood. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
My face burns. I jerk on the handle of the driver’s side door and almost rip my arm out of its socket. It doesn’t open. Because my keys are inside . Brock’s shoulders shake as he laughs.
“Shut up,” I say, trying not to laugh with him.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your thoughts are as loud as a fog horn.”
“If they were, you’d be blushing even more than you are right now.”
I gape at him. “Quit–quit flirting with me!” I sputter. We don’t do this. We mess with each other, sure, but if he’s flirting with me, we have much bigger problems than I thought.
“I’m not flirting with you, Duke. If I was, you’d know.”
“Then what would you call this conversation?”
An infuriating smirk slants his mouth. “Getting a reaction out of you. Which is much too easy, by the way.”
“I’m going to get my keys,” I grumble.
He holds up a hand. Dangling against his palm is my key ring.
“I snagged them from the coffee table while you were putting on your shoes,” he explains, then unlocks the car.
I get in and slam the door shut behind me. He follows suit, chuckling the entire time.
“You’re insufferable,” I grumble.
“And yet you kidnapped me for the weekend. What does that say about you?”
“That I’ve lost brain cells from spending so much time with you.”
I press the start button and put the car in reverse.
“I hope you’re nicer when you’ve had ice cream,” Brock comments after I’m on the road.
“I’m going to drive off the side of this mountain if you don’t hush .”
“You’d be in the crash with me if you did that.”
“Worth it,” I mutter, but he hears me and laughs.
“So much venom.” I shoot him a glare that he must feel even in the dark car because he says, “Okay, okay, I’ll be quiet.”
“ Thank you. ”
For the next few minutes, the soundtrack to our drive is the hum of the AC vents and the gentle crunch of my tires on the worn road.
It should be peaceful, but my mind is a pinball machine.
Thoughts bounce around in every direction.
I steal a glance at Brock, catching his silhouette against the light of the moon.
He seems to be doing better. He’s not even on his phone right now, but that might be because there’s no signal on these back roads.
He helped with dinner. That was new. None of the boyfriends I’ve had have even been to this cabin, much less– boyfriend ?
I scrunch my nose. Brock is the furthest thing from a boyfriend .
He’s a hazard to my mental health. Nothing more, nothing less.
Still…it was strangely intimate standing so close to him in the kitchen while listening to my favorite jazz playlist.
I stifle a groan as I turn onto the main road. If only I could talk to Sutton. But no, I had to make a deal with the subject of my ire.
“Are we good?” Brock asks when we’re halfway to the shops.
My brows furrow. “What do you mean?”
“Did I make things weird?” he asks, which doesn’t help me discern his riddles at all. “I-I mean with my comments earlier. I don’t want you to think I was trying to take advantage of us being alone.”
I whip my head to look at him, then back to the road.
“You said you were just messing with me.” Panic makes my voice rise a few octaves.
If Brock Jones has a thing for me, then I don’t know what I’d do.
The hopeless romantic in me thinks of Shaw and Sutton’s story, but the realist half of me squashes that idea.
He can’t even go ten minutes without his phone.
That is not the kind of man I’m looking for.
“I was!” he quickly clarifies. “I just didn’t want to make you feel weird.”
“This”–I gesture between us–“is making things weird.”
“I’m sorry, but I had to say something.”
“No, no you didn’t.”
“I did. If Sutton found out we were up here together and I made you feel unsafe–”
“Why would you joking around make me feel unsafe?” I ask incredulously. “I’m not a delicate flower. I can handle a little teasing.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He sighs, and I catch his hand tousling his hair as we drive beneath a street light. “You’re definitely not the fragile-flower type.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, feeling on edge now.
“Hey, you’re the one who said it,” he defends himself. “I can’t win here. You’re not fragile like a flower or some porcelain doll. You’re fragile like a nuclear reactor. One wrong move and the entire world is at your mercy.”
I laugh. My nerves begin to dissipate. “I like that.”
“You would,” he grumbles.
I reach over and shove his shoulder.
“You’re too stressed all the time, Carolina. I’d tell you if you were bothering me. Probably by kicking you.”
He snorts. “Fair enough. So, you’re not going to call Sutton? Shaw would definitely take her side and probably punch me. I’ve fought him before, and I don’t want to go through that again.”
I shake my head. “I keep my word. I’m not calling Sutton. Your face is safe.”
“Good, women everywhere would be disappointed if Shaw marred it.”
“They’re already disappointed when you open your mouth. Maybe him breaking your jaw would help your dating life.”
“You’ve got a sick sense of humor, Duke.”
I pull into a parking spot in front of the ice cream shop. “What can I say? You bring out the worst in me.”