Seducing the Bridesmaid (Wedding Dare, #3)(18)

The fact that she was willing to play it aloud instead of putting in earbuds made something inside him warm. He found he could really look forward to these moments of sweetness in the midst of all the tart he enjoyed. “Sure. I’m not particular about what I listen to.”

“As long as it’s got some twang, right?”

“Darlin’, your prejudice is showing again.”

She popped her iPod into the jack next to them. It was a token of how nice this gym was that it actually had docks for electronics instead of just an old radio like the one he frequented. Immediately a familiar strain of music came from the speakers. Brock stared. “‘I’m Shipping Up to Boston’?”

Regan shrugged. “Dropkick Murphys are underappreciated.”

Maybe, but he hadn’t expected a poised and pretty woman like her to have any sort of appreciation for Irish punk. She stepped onto her treadmill and said, “Seven miles an hour good for you?”

“Sure.” It’d be a nice easy pace.

“Then enough chatting. Let’s get to it.”

He obeyed as she cranked up her speed. Soon enough, they were both jogging comfortably. It was so strange. He would have guessed that she’d need a drink to calm her nerves after that f*ckup in the trees, but she’d come at him with the running thing. And now her iPod was playing Social Distortion and she was humming along under her breath, which was something he never would have expected.

Turned out there was a lot about Regan that surprised him.

And masochist that he apparently was, he wanted to stick around and find out more. It didn’t matter that she seemed more than willing to write him off as a worthless POS. He had this perverse desire to prove to her that he was more than good enough for a woman like her.

They kept going, running until the miles melted away and his breath sawed through his lungs. He fell into the familiar pace, though his thoughts circled around the woman next to him.

What would it take for her to reconsider her initial judgment of him?

He didn’t like the thought of having to prove himself to anyone—not after he’d been trying and failing for the last thirty-odd years with his father. It stuck in his throat that Regan so blatantly preferred Logan to him. She’d lose her damn mind if she met Caine. He was just as driven, polished, and successful as Logan. Maybe more so.

And Brock knew just how well he measured up against his brother.

Did he really stand a chance against Caine 2.0?

…

It took twenty minutes before Regan was finally able to think straight. And her first thought was that two gym sessions in a day was going to leave her hating life tomorrow. She took a quick swig of her water and let herself finally look at Brock in the mirror.

She’d expected him to show up in a cutoff shirt that exposed those tanned and toned up arms to perfection. But no, he wore a threadbare T-shirt that had long ago faded from black to gray, the writing on the front indecipherable from countless washings. With the faint sheen of sweat on his skin and his feet thumping the treadmill in perfect rhythm with hers, he looked like temptation.

He’d handled her.

The realization didn’t sit well. She’d been about to freak the hell out when he’d come for her, and he’d known it. Instead of patronizing her or washing his hands of it—both of which she’d deserved after some of the stuff she said to him—he’d taken care of her. In a really unexpected way.

Normal people didn’t offer to jog until they couldn’t feel their legs just so the crazy woman could outrun her fear. But Brock had. Still was.

She glanced down. Three miles. That was good enough. She slapped the stop button and waited until he’d done the same to speak. Or maybe she was being a coward, because it was significantly more difficult to say the words than she would have expected. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He flashed her a grin. “Though if you’re feeling particularly grateful, I could go for a drink.”

She could fall into that smile if she let herself. Enjoy this time with him and then get back to her life at the end of the week. They’d probably have a whole hell of a lot of fun.

No.

If her little freak-out earlier had proven anything, it was that when she deviated from her plan, she got into trouble.

He wasn’t part of the plan. They’d had fun last night, and he’d helped her out today—in more ways than one—but that didn’t mean a single thing in the grand scheme of things.

She wanted what her parents had—a true partner who loved her more than anything else in the world, supported her in her choice of career, and brought stability to her life. Which meant someone equally driven, who had the same set of goals Regan did.

Brock wasn’t that.

But Logan might very well be.

She couldn’t afford to miss the opportunity to get closer to Logan and see if he would be a good fit. That was the plan for the week. Not to lose her head—or, God forbid, her heart—over a Southern playboy with too much time on his hands.

Her control once again firmly in place, she gave him her professional smile. “Like I said, thank you for helping me out. Have a good rest of your evening.”

She snatched her iPod off the dock and made it nearly to the door before he came after her. “Whoa, hold on there. I’m only talking one drink.”

It was more temptation to say yes than she wanted to admit. Because damn it, she actually kind of liked him even though he drove her to distraction.