“She doesn’t help?”
“Of course she does.” He slumped back against the footboard, his arm looped around Harley’s neck. “In my opinion dogs are God’s Prozac. And God’s blood pressure medicine. They’re pretty much the remedy to a lot of things.”
She nudged his shoulder with hers. “Well, don’t tell the drug companies about your theory. You’ll crush them.”
“I take it you agree with me then?” His eyes turned deeper blue, or maybe it was the dark. Or how close together they sat.
Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She wanted the water bottle.
She wanted him.
Brandon lowered his head… as if he was going… to kiss her. And ohmigod, he was really kissing her. His mouth brushed hers once, twice, then held with a firmness so there was no mistaking his intention. This wasn’t an accidental connection. He palmed her head, his fingers in her hair. She held on to his arms, his thick muscled biceps.
Desire whooshed through her veins until she could have sworn her blood was sweet syrup. And she wanted more. To plaster herself to him until she went into a freakin’ diabetic coma. She’d never been this attracted to a man, ached this much to have him touch her. She wanted him to lay her back on the quilt.
His mouth slid from hers and he angled back. She bit back a whimper of protest. She would not be that girl—needy or pathetic. She would not be the insecure little girl sitting on the sofa while her mother showed her literature on plastic surgery. What kind of parent offered a daughter a boob job and chin implant for her sixteenth birthday?
“Cat, I’m not sure if I’m supposed to apologize or not.” He scooped up the water bottle again and rolled it between his hands as if wondering what to do with them next. “I only know that for the first time in months, I wanted to connect with a person. If I took advantage of our friendship, then I am sorry for that.”
He was apologizing to her for the kiss? Apologizing for wanting to connect with her? The thought that he wanted a relationship with her absolutely rocked her socks—and scared the hell out of her. How could she trust him? Was he only reaching out to her because of his own vulnerable state right now?
“Brandon,” she blurted before she even formed the thoughts, “would you have even seen me in high school?”
He looked genuinely stunned. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m not asking if you would have dated me.” Of course he wouldn’t have. “I’m asking if you would have noticed I existed. I’m the kind of person who fades into the woodwork of life. If someone had to describe me to a police sketch artist, they would be hard-pressed. There’s nothing wrong with my features, but there’s nothing unique. I just… am.”
She held up a hand. “I’m not fishing for compliments here, simply stating facts. Essentially, I don’t want to be any man’s pity fuck.”
He choked on a gulp of water.
“Surprised you, did I?” And she took more than a little pleasure in that. She tugged the water bottle from him. “I may look timid, but I can stand up for myself.”
“Are you finished?”
“For now. But I reserve the right to climb up on my soapbox again without warning.” She tipped back the water, thirsty and nervous.
“Fine.” He took the bottle, set it aside and clasped her hands. “First off, I resent the assumptions you made about my character.”
“Your high school character, and was I wrong?” Why did she feel the need to push this?
“We’re not in high school.”
“Cop-out answer. I’ll take that as a yes to your being a part of the popular crowd back then.” The kind of people who’d walked past her as if she didn’t exist. She tugged her hands but he didn’t let go.
“If you want to know the God’s honest truth”—his thumbs worked along the inside of her wrists—“I’m starting to think you’re the one hung up on looks, because you sure do talk about appearances and popularity a lot.”
She stopped tugging and just let herself soak up the sensation of his caressing touch. “I’m just trying to make a point.”
“So am I. You want to talk about high school? All right then. Try this one on for size. Would you have been drooling over me because I was the football quarterback? Would you have been drawn to the uniform and the so-called status?” His blue eyes shone with clarity, honesty. “Sure sounds that way to me.”
“You’re muddying the waters.” Along with making her feel uncomfortable and even every bit as shallow as her mother.
“Did it ever dawn on you to think I might have been the vice president of the chess club?”
“Were you?”
“No—”