Page 8 of Iowa Intellect
His word choice makes me wonder if he thinks I’m some sort of diva, but I’m too busy thinking about his revelations about his mom to ask about it. Of course, everyone is born to a mother, but I’d never really paused to think about his mom or his relationship with her.
He’s such a strong, independent man, it’s tough to imagine him jumping through hoops to try to please a difficult, ungrateful parent.
As if he can read my mind, he gives me a wide grin before asking, “Let me guess, you thought I was raised by wolves?”
The surprised laugh bursts out of me before I can contain it. He’s closer to the truth than I care to admit, so I say, “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just hard to imagine you being someone’s baby boy.”
He scoffs before saying, “My mom was never the nurturing type, even when my brother and I were little, but yes, she gave birth to us and made sure we were provided with the basic necessities.”
His gaze softens when he adds, “Of course, one of my basic necessities has always been time on the ice. We lived just around the corner from an aging, indoor ice-skating rink. Mom made arrangements with the owner for me to work at the concession stand during peak hours in exchange for unlimited time on the ice when we weren’t busy. That dingy rink quickly became my home away from home.”
I smile down toward the ground before saying, “It seems like that pastime worked out well for you.”
“It did,” he quickly agrees. Turning more pensive, he adds, “I don’t have any idea where I’d have ended up without ice hockey, but I can guarantee it wouldn’t have been good. Most of the kids from my old neighborhood… Well, let’s just say they aren’t thriving. Me and my brother, the ever-responsible accountant, are some of the only ones who got out of there and made anything worthwhile of ourselves. Oh, plus my scrimmage buddy, Leo. He lives in Indiana now, and is a tree farmer.”
It’s a plethora of personal information, and it takes me a moment to absorb it all. We’ve never shared such personal details of our lives with each other before, but I find myself enjoying seeing these deeper layers to Brock.
Seeming to sense that he has overshared a bit, he suddenly indicates his oversized SUV and asks me, “Follow me to my house?”
“Oh, sure,” I answer, trying to keep my expression neutral and not let on how much his abrupt demeanor shift has affected me.
With that, he stalks toward his vehicle.
I climb into the driver’s seat of my car and try my best not to think about how excited I am to be spending the night at Brock Mann’s house––even though that’s honestly the only thing on my mind.
9
BROCK
Ispend 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.”
