Sparrow

He smiled at me and offered me his hand. I took it, despite knowing that I smelled like fish. Despite knowing that it was monumentally wrong. Despite knowing that by taking his hand, I was cooking up a disaster.

“How was your first day at work?”

“Brock.” I swallowed. What was he doing here? Wasn’t he supposed to be at home with his family, or at the cabin with my husband? Or anywhere else for that matter. We weren’t friends. I was mean to him. He wasn’t supposed to care.

Though, damn, he was still pretty darn beautiful. A pool of yellow light streaming from a streetlamp enhanced every handsome feature in his face, and he looked ridiculously Brooks Brothers in his blazer.

“Coffee?”

I shook my head. “No, thanks. I better get home.”

“Hot chocolate, then.” He reached over and placed his hand on my back, and it was only because of the shock that I didn’t pull it back straight away. “I know it’s your favorite.”

It was creepy, but I went along with it. Frankly, going back to the penthouse wasn’t that appealing. I was either going to be greeted with an empty house or with a house full of Troy, my arch enemy nowadays.

Besides, I couldn’t say no to hot chocolate on a cold Boston night after a hectic first day at work.

Brock and I walked to a nearby diner and sat in a red vinyl booth. I drank my hot chocolate silently and messed around with the jukebox. He was beautiful, and nice to me. It was a lethal combination, and I knew it was wrong to ache for a married man, so I didn’t.

I stubbornly flipped songs, frowning as I stuffed coins into the jukebox at the side of the table. “Bizarre Love Triangle” by New Order blurted from the jukebox. By mistake, of course.

“So, tell me about yourself.” He leaned over the table and tried to catch my eye.

I couldn’t look at those grays without wondering how it’d feel having them scanning my bare body. Would it have as much effect as Troy’s icy-blues?

I huffed, focusing on the jukebox. “What for? You seem to know everything about me as it is. Why Troy married me, my favorite drink…”

This should have alarmed me, but truthfully, so much had happened the past few weeks, Brock was the least of my worries. He seemed harmless enough.

A middle-aged waitress with fake boobs and enough makeup to sculpt a small-sized vase brushed past us and eye-licked Brock, confirming he really was stupidly gorgeous. She leaned over to the table in front of ours, where a trio of teenage girls sat. Hunching over their tabletop, they kept stealing glances toward the man across from me and whispering. Couldn’t blame them.

“I’m just trying to be attentive. I want you to know you’re not alone when it comes to Troy. I’m here for you.”

I shook my head and snorted, yanking a few sugar packets from their holder and ripping them open on the table. “Why do you pretend to care, Brock? We don’t know each other, and it’s not like you’re hitting on me. You’ve got a wife and kid at home,” I reminded him.

His interest in me was starting to piss me off. It had no basis. Or future, for that matter.

Brock reached over and dragged his pointer finger through the sugar I’d spilled on the table. Leaning across the table, he put his sugar-dusted finger on my lower lip, pulling it slowly and letting the sugar sprinkle all over it. My eyes met his and he used the same hand that touched my mouth to yank me by the collar over the table to meet his face, taking my lips with his.

He kissed me hard, diving into my mouth and darting his tongue inside with no hesitation. My stomach dipped as he took my face in his palm and the sweet of the sugar exploded between our tongues. I heard the girls from the other booths gasping their amazement and jealousy. Time seemed to have stopped before I managed to twist away from his touch.

Springing to my feet, my head swimming, I pressed a palm to my cheek to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. “What the hell?” I breathed.

He just sat there, a serene smile on his face. “You said I don’t care. Well, I do. You also said that I’m not hitting on you. And well…I am.”

“Is this a good time to remind you that you’re married?” I stamped my foot, heat rolling off my body in waves. I wasn’t sure if I was angrier or hornier.

Angrier. Definitely angrier.

“Just for my son’s sake.” He arched one eyebrow. “Only for Sam. Cat and I are not a couple.”

“Yeah, well, I still have a ring on my finger.” I grabbed my backpack and shoved my cell and other crap into it in a hurry.

“Again, not a real couple,” he said, dragging his finger once more through the sugar and sucked on it, releasing it slowly. “We owe them nothing.” He enunciated every word. “We owe ourselves everything.”

I let out a low growl. My head was already a mess, what with Troy and his secrets. This was another disaster waiting to backfire in my face.

I didn’t want Brock. Even if he did have a great heart and a flawless face. He was Cat’s, and even more importantly, he was Sam’s.

“Touch me again and I’m telling your boss,” I said, turning around and storming toward the exit. I felt his gaze on my back as I pushed the diner’s door open, almost slamming it in a random jogger’s face.

Brock stayed put in his seat, knowing he’d done enough. He’d planted a seed. Knew I drooled over him like all the other women with functioning organs, and that now I knew I could have him.