Wild Man (Dream Man #2)(9)

“Oh my God,” I whispered. “Are you angry with me?”

“No,” he bit off. “I was angry with you, seein’ as I f**ked my woman for the first f**kin’

time, she made me a promise when my cum was still inside her and then just hours later she reneged on that promise. Now I’m here ‘cause there’s a goddamned for sale sign planted in your front lawn and I walk in here and see you lookin’ like this so, gotta say, babe, I’m not angry. I’m f**kin’ pissed. ”

Did he…?

Did he…?

Did he just f**king say what I thought he just f**king said?

“Sorry?” I whispered again but this whisper was different.

He didn’t repeat himself. Instead he asked, “Where are your glasses?”

“What?”

“Your glasses, Tess. Where the f**k are your glasses? You never decorate a goddamned cake without your glasses.”

“I got contacts,” I snapped.

His head tipped back and he clipped to the ceiling, “Jesus,” before I saw his jaw get hard.

Why in the hell were we talking about my glasses?

I didn’t care. Nope. I didn’t.

I only cared about one thing.

“Get out,” I ordered, his chin tipped down and his eyes locked with mine.

“No.”

I felt my eyebrows go up. “No?”

“Yeah, Tess, no.”

“You have,” I told him. “You have lost your mind.”

He ignored me again and asked, “What the f**k are you wearing?”

“What am I wearing?”

“Yeah, babe, what the f**k are you wearing?”

I looked down at my t-shirt and jeans then I looked back at him.

“T-shirt and jeans…” I hesitated then spat, “Brock. ”

“No one calls me Brock, they call me Slim.”

I blinked and something about that took me right out of our current scenario and into la-la land.

Therefore, I breathed, “What?”

He pushed away from the doorjamb while speaking. “No one calls me Brock. Mom, Dad, brother, sisters, friends, since I was a kid called me Slim.”

“You’re not slim,” I told him although he was lean he wasn’t what I’d call slim.

“No, I’m not and I wasn’t when I was a baby seein’ as I was over ten pounds when I was born. It was a joke ‘cause I was a big kid. My family’s screwy that way.”

Whoa. He was over ten pounds when he was born? That was one huge kid.

He was tall, at least six one, maybe six two. And muscled. He wasn’t slim at all, his body was built of lean, compacted muscle that had some bulk to it, sure, but I wouldn’t call him huge.

Since babies didn’t come out muscled, I wondered if he wasn’t a big baby but a long one.

It hit me then he’d rounded the island and was getting close and I stopped thinking about his weight as a baby and his current size and started retreating at the same time I came out of la-la land and back into our current scenario.

“I want you to leave,” I stated firmly.

“Yeah,” he replied, still coming at me and I hit the side counter as he kept coming and talking. “I get that but clue in, Tess, I ain’t leavin’.”

Then he was right there. So right there I could feel his heat and I had to tip my head way back to look up at him seeing as I was barefoot and not six foot one or two but five foot six.

“Please leave,” I stated a far bit less firmly.

He leaned in settling his hands on the counter on either side of me and I lifted my hands (and the pastry bag) between us.

He also again ignored me. “You didn’t call.”

I stared into his angry eyes. “I didn’t call?”

He glared at me with his angry eyes. “No, babe, you didn’t call.”

“I didn’t call,” I whispered, my heart, already beating fast, started to pound.

“Three months,” he declared but said no more.

I stared into his glittering, silver eyes.

Then I lost my ever lovin’ mind.

“Are you nuts? ” I shrieked.

“Tess –”

“Fuck you!” I shouted and pushed at him with my pastry bag filled hands, a thin stream of pale yellow icing shot out onto the floor beside us as well as on his Charlie Daniels tee and then I found the bag not in my hands and watched him twist his torso and toss it on the island next to the cake and twist back to me. That was when I put my hands on the hard wall of his chest, shoved and repeated on a shout, “Fuck you!”

He rocked back a couple of inches then moved right back in, his face got into my face and he growled, “Fuckin’ listen to me.”

“No!” I yelled. “No way. No f**king way. You used me.”

“It’s my job,” he ground out.

“Do you think I give a shit?” I asked.

“Maybe if you’d calm the f**k down and listen for a goddamned minute you’d understand why I do think you should f**kin’ give a shit.”

“I can assure you, Brock Lucas, that nothing you can say will make me understand why I should give a shit,” I informed him.

“Your ex, Tess, that motherf*cker needed to be taken down. That motherf*cker is serious bad news.”