Page 109 of Small Town Firsts

BROCK

Just when Ithink life can’t get any better, Abby Jane shocks the shit out of me by asking if I want to stay the night. Obviously, I said yes. Hell. Yes.

So, here I am now, feeling like king of the fucking world, laying in my firecracker’s bed with her my arm around her and her head on my chest. “You wanna watch a show?” she asks.

I drop a kiss to the top of her head and hold her a little closer before murmuring, “Sounds good.”

She wiggles out of my hold to grab the remote, and I instantly miss the feel of her body pressed against mine. “Whatcha wanna watch?”

“It’s up to you.”

She turns to look at me, disbelief coloring her features. “Really?”

“Really. Do your worst, Abby Jane.”

She clicks around, moving through Netflix like a wizard before settling onGossip Girl. I smirk and pull her back into the position we were in. “You really think watching a little Serena and Blair is gonna upset me?”

“Oh, my God,” she laughs. “You know their names?”

“Hell yeah. It’s one of those guilty pleasure shows. West and I were watching a show one night and a rerun marathon came on after. Shit…we were six episodes in before we even realized what the fuck we were watching. Now, I’ve seen all of the seasons—at least twice.”

Abby Jane runs her hand across my chest, lightly raking her nails as she goes. “You are something else, Brock. Not at all like I thought.”

I hum deep in my throat. “Hush.” My words are gruff. Tonight’s been so damn perfect; I have no desire to ruin it by digging into the heavy shit. “We’re getting to the good part of this episode.”

Abby Jane passed out cold during the finale of the first season. I stayed up a little longer, despite my eyelids drooping—I wasn’t ready for our night to end. I finally gave in and decided to call it quits at the start of the second season, just as Kristen Bell’s voiceover told viewers, “Sex, lies, and scandal never take a vacation.” I smirked at the familiar opening lines as I grabbed the remote and powered off the television.

If only I knew how true that would soon prove to be.

AJ

I wake up earlier than usual thanks to a random beep from somewhere in the house, immediately rolling over to snuggle into Brock…only he isn’t there. What the fuck? Did he seriously bail on me in the middle of the night?

No. No, he wouldn’t do that. Right?Unless he already got what he was interested inwhispers the inner bitch in my mind. Maybe he’s in another room? I tiptoe from the bed to thebathroom, naked as the day I was born, but when I swing open the door, he’s not there.

I snag my robe from the hook on the door and slip it on as I trudge into the living room, feeling slightly defeated. Still no Brock.What the fuck?I continue into the kitchen and a piece of paper on the island grabs my attention.

Abs-

You can go ahead and stop with all those thoughts I know you’re thinking. I didn’t run out… did you really think you’d get rid of me that easily? Nah, get real firecracker. I have private golf sessions every Saturday and Sunday morning early AF. Sorry I forgot to tell you; please don’t be mad. I’ll call you when I finish up. Oh, and I made you a pot of coffee before I left.

-Brock

Ah!That’s what the beep was—my coffee pot telling me it was finished brewing. My cheeks split into a wide grin as I pull a mug down from the cabinet, filling it with the nectar of the gods. I doctor it up just right and carry it back to my bedroom. Back in bed, I pull out my Kindle and skim through my TBR, finally settling onBashful—a rom-com about a theater major who’s majorly crushing on her bestie, who she assumes is gay.

I’m immediately sucked into this book, only pausing twice to refill my mug, and before I know it,hourshave passed. Honestly, if it wasn’t for my stomach growling and demanding food, I’d keep reading. After I power down my Kindle, I head into the kitchen in search of sustenance.

I settle on a peanut butter, jelly, and pretzel sandwich and an ice-cold glass of milk. Once I’ve cleared my plate, I check the time. It’s almost noon, and I still haven’t heard from Brock. While my irrational heart wants to panic, my logical brain reminds me he very well could still be golfing. Lord knows, when my dad went, he’d be gone for endless hours. Then again, for dear old dad, “I’m going golfing” roughly translated to “I’m out cheating with my secretary,” so maybe not the best comparison.

I’m debating over whether or not I should text him when he calls me. Not caring about looking eager, I answer on the first ring. “Hey.”

“Hey, Abs. You get my note?”

“I did. Thanks for leaving it. Not gonna lie, I was a little worried at first.”

“Figured you might be. Sorry I forgot to tell you.” I hear a car door shut in the background, followed by the sound of an ignition cranking. When he speaks again, his voice is low and husky. “I’ve been thinkin’ about you all day—about last night...how hot you were.”

His words light a fire in me, and I clench my thighs together. “I’ve been thinking about you, too.”

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