9. Brock
9
brOCK
I spend the entire drive to my house wondering why I felt the need to spew information about my childhood at Caroline. I’m normally much more closed off, but something about the beautiful, mysterious doctor-mermaid made my carefully crafted walls come crumbling down.
Seeing her car’s headlights shining in my rearview mirror is reassuring. Even though I know she’ll be using one of my guest bedrooms and that things between us will stay completely platonic, I’m more excited about this particular woman coming to spend the night at my house than I would be if I was bringing a sexy stranger home for a naughty, naked romp in my bed.
I can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking as we pull into my driveway and I park my SUV in the garage. My lavish home has always been a source of pride for me, and most women gasp in excitement when they catch their first glimpse of it. I have the feeling, though, that Caroline is not one to be impressed by material possessions.
My suspicions are confirmed after she parks her car near the edge of the custom brick driveway and walks toward me. With a half-hearted smile, she says in a flat tone, “Nice digs.”
“It gives me a roof over my head.” The underwhelming comment earns a real smile from her, since the sprawling estate is on the cusp of being a mansion.
Not wanting the practical woman to think I’ve wasted every penny I’ve ever earned on an opulent home that is way too big for one person, I shrug my shoulders before adding, “I’ve made some financial investments that worked out well.”
“Quite well, from the looks of things.” She stares downward and nods her head.
I can’t tell if she’s absorbing my financial savvy as new information or confirming what she already suspected, but I hope it’s the latter. For some reason, I really want her to see me as more than just a typical, dumb jock.
With other women, I often play up the ‘himbo’ stereotype to keep from having to commit or put in any real effort, but with Caroline, I don’t want things to remain simple and easy. With her, I crave more. That realization is scary and thrilling all rolled up into one big ball of nervous energy that is churning in my stomach.
Hoping to ease the tension, I try to keep my voice casual as I say, “Shall we head inside?”
“Sure,” she answers, already moving to follow me. Her voice sounds far away as we head up the three steps that lead from the garage into the mudroom. “I really should have stopped by my place to pick up an overnight bag.”
“I always keep extra supplies on hand, so I’m sure I have anything you need,” I assure her.
When she stops to gape at me, I turn back and immediately realize my blunder. She obviously thinks I have toiletries available for when random ladies spend the night here.
It’s clear by the appalled look that she’s giving me that she doesn’t like that idea. There’s no denying the surge of hope that zings through my veins as it dawns on me that, at least on some level, she is bothered by the idea of me being with other women.
Wanting to put her mind at ease, the words fall from my mouth before I have a chance to censor them. “You’ll actually be the first woman, other than my mom, to spend the entire night here. I’ve brought plenty of dates here before, but I always have them leave before morning.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel privileged?” Her tone is snippy.
I’m confused, until I realize that I’ve just managed to make it sound like I bring women back here for a quick bang, and then I boot them out the door. That is the exact opposite of the impression I’d been trying to give her.
“It’s not like that.” I hold my hands up in mock surrender as I say, “I’m really not a cad. When I have sex with a woman, I let her stay the night. It’s the least I can do. I just meant that I haven’t done that since moving in here.”
From her pinched expression, it’s obvious that the more I try to explain myself, the worse I am making things sound.
Giving up on turning this particular conversation around, I head towards the kitchen and say in my most welcoming voice, “Come on in and make yourself at home.”
We stand awkwardly together in my gourmet kitchen, until I offer, “Can I get you something to drink?”
I try not to let the disappointment show on my face when she says, “No, it’s been a long day. I’d really appreciate it if you can just show me to my room.”
“Sure thing,” I respond, already turning to lead her there, even as I curse myself for royally screwing up one of the best opportunities to ever come my way.