15. Brock Jones
Chapter fifteen
Brock Jones
I never should have gotten into this hot tub. It might as well be a pool of piranhas with how dangerous it is.
Ariel stares at me from across the water.
Her hair is piled up on top of her head, and there are strands sticking to her face from the humidity.
My gaze traces the length of her neck to the slope of her collarbone that’s visible just above the waterline.
I try to banish the knowledge that I know what she looks like beneath the bubbling jets. That I know what she feels like.
I clear my throat. “You said you needed this date. What does that mean?”
Asking this question after Ariel was all over me makes no sense, but it’s either change the subject or run away. I can’t have Ariel thinking any of that affected me, so conversation it is.
“It’s nothing.” She reaches for her glass of wine and takes a long drink. Water drips down her tan arm. I avert my gaze.
“That usually means it’s something,” I say.
She lets out a long sigh. “There’s this guy at my work. He’s terrible. He steals my clients and patronizes me.”
I stop her from continuing. “Steals your clients? He can do that?”
A look of distaste twists her features. It rivals the ones she usually gives me.
“He’s not supposed to, but the new boss encourages friendly competition. There’s nothing friendly about that man. He’s a viper in an Armani suit.”
“What does he have to do with your boy toy?” I gesture to her phone.
“He’s not a boy toy, he’s a potential date to an event next month that I may or may not have told Houston I’d have a date to.”
I cringe. “Yikes. Dug yourself a hole there, huh?”
She presses the side of her wine glass to her face. “Yeah. The worst part is I didn’t just say date, I said boyfriend .”
I stretch my arms out on the side of the tub. “So you need a fake boyfriend?”
Her brows scrunch together. “That’s what your sister said too, but I still have a couple of weeks. That’s plenty of time to find a boyfriend. Cohen”–she points at her phone–“is sweet. Maybe he’s the one.”
“Yeah, but is Dr. Dog Sweaters going to lie for you?”
“What do you mean? He’d be my boyfriend, no lying required.”
“He’d have to at least lie about when you started dating. If you say you started talking tonight, that’s after your conversation with Houston.”
She groans and tips her head back. “I didn’t think about that. I can’t ask Cohen to lie for me. He’s a doctor . I’ll look immature and stupid.”
“Well he puts clothes on his dogs so…” I trail off and she laughs.
“Is it really so weird that he does that? They’re such cute dogs.”
“It’s a little odd, but hey, if you think it’s cute, then that’s what counts.”
“Whether he’s weird or not, I don’t know that I can ask him to lie for me.” She swirls the remaining wine in her glass. “But I can’t show up without a date. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“I can do it,” I blurt out.
Her eyebrows shoot up. Why did I say that? The last thing I need to do is offer to be her boyfriend. This trip has already brought us too close for comfort. If Ariel got the wrong idea about us and I hurt her, Sutton would kill me. She wouldn’t even need Shaw to help. Her rage alone would fuel her.
“You would be my fake boyfriend?” she asks in an uncertain tone.
“If your doctor won’t do it, then sure.” I shrug as if it’s no big deal. “What’s one night? That way, you can date without being stressed that you need to make things official before the event.”
She visibly relaxes. “That would be amazing. Thank you, Brock. I can’t even come up with an insult. I’m really grateful.”
The smile that blooms across her face shows that her words are genuine.
I smile back at her, though I’m freaking out inside.
I’ve turned down dates for months now. Now, all of the sudden, I’m voluntarily signing up to be a pretend boyfriend for the woman that’s been playing ping pong with my last nerve since high school.
I think the lack of sleep has finally caught up to me.
I wouldn’t be surprised if I passed out soon.
“You’re welcome.” I scratch the back of my neck. “I think I’m going to head back inside. I’ve got a few things to finish up for work.”
Her smile shrinks. “Okay, try not to work too late.”
I nod and push myself up out of the water. I’m tempted to see if she’s staring at me, but I don’t allow myself to check. It’s for the best.
The next morning, I awake to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of pop music.
I drag a hand over my face. Sleep has crusted over my eyes, and there’s a wet spot under my cheek that indicates I drooled last night.
I worked until three in the morning. Ariel went to bed well before that, murmuring goodnight as she dripped water through the cabin.
When I finally crawled to bed, I was so exhausted I forgot to set an alarm.
I groggily search for my phone in the tangle of sheets.
When I finally find it, the time on the screen has me shooting up.
It’s almost nine in the morning. I shouldn’t have let myself sleep that long.
With how many emails and messages I left unread last night, I needed every hour of today to catch up.
I slide a t-shirt over my head and stumble out of the bedroom.
Dappled rays of sunlight illuminate the hall.
The rich scent of coffee mixes with the sweet scent of flowers and pine drifting through a nearby open window.
When I enter the living room, I notice that a few more windows and the back door are open too.
A soft breeze lifts the bottom of my flannel pajama pants.
Ariel is dancing in the kitchen. She flips a piece of what looks to be French toast, then sways her hips and sings along to the song, pretending her spatula is a microphone. She spins in a circle and catches sight of me. But instead of blushing or stuttering, she simply grins.
“Morning, Carolina!”
I smile as I walk over and sit at the kitchen island. There’s a wooden cutting board with an array of chopped fruit on top next to a bowl of whipped cream. Looks like another gourmet meal is in the making.
“You’re in a chipper mood.” I swipe a piece of kiwi off the cutting board.
“It’s a beautiful Saturday. I’m not working, the sun is shining, and I'm about to eat French toast. What’s there to be sad about?”
“My presence isn’t raining on your parade?”
Her smile morphs into a smirk. “The day is young.”
I laugh. “It’s not that early. I can’t believe I slept in this late.”
Ariel turns back to the stove. “It’s not sleeping in if you go to bed at three in the morning.”
“How did you know what time I went to bed?” I question.
She throws a smile over her shoulder. “I texted Cohen until late last night. You might not have to be my date after all if things keep going this well.”
My smile is brittle. “That’s great. I hope it works out for you.”
And I do. As much as she annoys me sometimes, she deserves to have that family life she wants. It’s just a little hard to be fully on board when last night I had the briefest thought of kissing her in the hot tub.
She lets out a happy sigh. “Me too.”
“If all goes well, I’ll be free of you too. You’ll be too busy taking care of him to pay attention to me.”
She turns around with a tray of golden brown French toast. “I won’t need to take care of him. He’s a doctor. He’s got his life together.”
Any traces of a smile are officially wiped off my face. “I run a multi-million dollar business. My life is together.”
“Your sister sent me to bring you food because she was worried you weren’t eating enough.”
“My sister thinks you shouldn’t be dating this guy because of how he treats his dogs. Her judgment is impaired.”
Ariel shoots me a glare before turning back around to pull plates down from the cabinet. “You don’t have time right now to take care of yourself, much less someone else. Cohen could take care of me, and that’s what I want.”
She sets the plates down on the island.
“Do you really think he’s going to have more time than me?” I snap back. “You keep droning on and on about how he’s a doctor. You realize doctors work crazy hours, right? He’ll probably spend less time with you than you think.”
She’s flustered as she assembles a plate of French toast, throwing the pieces on there and haphazardly scattering fruit on top.
“You don’t know that. His values are in order. He wants a wife and kids.” She opens a drawer, pulls out a fork, then slams it shut.
“Guys say that all the time. That doesn’t mean he’s going to rearrange his schedule for you.”
She drops a dollop of whipped cream on top of her French toast, then sets her plate down hard. “I thought you said you hoped this would work out?”
“I did. I do.” I quickly realize how this conversation has escalated beyond what I intended.
“Then why are you acting like this?”
“I don’t know,” I mutter, not able to meet her gaze.
“Well, stop it. I don’t need or want your opinion on my dating life.”
I clench my jaw. She sure needed it last night when I offered to be her date.
I open my mouth to tell her so, but stop.
This is stupid. I got all up in arms because Ariel compared my success to his.
In her eyes, he’s the better guy because he wants what she wants–supposedly.
That’s her definition of success. So be it.
There’s no reason for me to say anything else.
“Sorry,” I mumble. The word feels like yanking a tooth out.
“It’s fine.” She sighs. “I’m going to eat on the balcony and then go for a hike.”
She walks outside and closes the door behind her. I make a plate, but I can’t even enjoy the sweet breakfast on account of the bitter taste in my mouth.