"Did you expect me to be a lumbering oaf?" Brock said, raising an eyebrow.  "People dance with muscles.  I'm pretty sure I'm graceful because I'm strong."  He said it with deadpan, self-deprecating humor.  He did a lot of thing that took good footwork - like many cops, he boxed, and he was better at that than he was a dancer, but it left him with good footwork, too.<br/><br/>"I've got a cat at home.  But I've got one of those things that feeds the cat and waters the cat.  I could vanish for a week and the damn thing wouldn't notice I was gone.  She sleeps on my head unless someone's over, but she hasn't shown signs of jealousy."  He had girlfriends - most good-looking cops had a phone packed with the numbers of women who wouldn't mind fucking a cop - but his lifestyle didn't permit emotional intimacy and he didn't particularly<i>want</i>anyone to have a good, up-close look at how he lived his life.  He preferred one night stands.<br/><br/>Brock looked over at Colin and Hazel while they danced.  He said, "They're using my phone for their music.  I'd be a jackass if I took it<i>now</i>."  But he stood close to Chance and put a hand on her hip.  He looked at her, knew she was a rare beauty, the kind that most men would never get the opportunity to touch - so he<i>was</i>going to her room.  "We could make out until they're done?"  He leaned it close, brushing his lips against hers.