by Cathryn Fox
“What are you doing?” I ask quietly.
“Just keeping you warm.”
“Rocco…”
“We’re friends, and this is what friends do.”
That’s news to me and I should argue, I want to argue, but the words won’t come out. He drags me to him, the little spoon to his big spoon, and smooths my hair down, allowing him to rest his chin on the top of my head. His heat wraps around me, the rhythm of his strong heartbeat pulling me under, despite the fact that my body is hyperaware of his.
“Sleep,” he orders, like he can hear my mind racing.
My lids fall shut, and the next thing I know, a noise at my window wakes me. My eyes open, and I’m no longer under the blankets. I turn over, and disappointment bursts inside me when I find the other side of the bed empty. I reach across, find it warm to the touch, and my heart speeds up. Rocco spent the night in my bed, and I’m not even upset about that. Angry words from the driveway below reach my ears, and my throat tightens.
Oh no.
I jump from my bed, and hurry to my window to find Cochrane and Rocco standing there. Rocco is dressed only in a pair of jeans. I quickly scan my room, and spot his towel on the floor. Did he leave it on all night, or did he toss it and sleep with me naked?
I look back outside, and Cochrane lifts his head, his eyes connecting with mine, and like a kid getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar, I jump back, hiding behind the curtain. What am I doing? I’m in my room. Alone. Sure, I slept in the same bed as Rocco, but Cochrane sold me to him in a damn card game. There is no need for me to act weird and childish. Guilty.
I straighten my shoulders and move back to my window, wanting to hear what they’re saying, but Cochrane is leaving, and Rocco is looking up at me. His body is tight, everything about him hard and unwavering. He backs up, out of my line of sight, and I press my face to the glass. Should I be afraid of him? Was I a fool for letting him care for me last night? Rocco Gianni is tough and brutal, a guy not to be messed with. Yet he touched me with such tenderness. Does he touch all girls like that?
Oh, Reagan, stop thinking you’re anything special.
Last night he told me he’d seen numerous naked women. Mine is just one of many, and in one month, life goes back to normal. To the way it was meant to be.
I don’t need to turn to know Rocco is at my door. I sense him, feel him staring at me. I slowly turn, and my God, the man is gorgeous. He eats up my doorway, and I can’t help but let my gaze fall over him. Neither of us speak. We both just stand there, looking our fill.
“What did he want?” I finally ask.
“You.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him you were with me, and if he didn’t like it, then he should come up with the money he owes me.”
His words hit like a slap, a hard reminder that I’m a pawn in a game. I have no idea why I’m about to say what I’m about to say, but can’t help myself. “I guess you’d prefer the money over having to stay here for the next month.”
“I can only assume it’s what you’d want.”
I slowly nod, hardly able to believe that I’d need time to think that over.
He pushes off the doorframe. “That’s what I figured. I have to get ready for practice.” He seems thoroughly pissed as he walks back to his room, his door closing with a hard click. Does he want to stay for the month? Would he prefer being here over taking the money? That can’t be right. This was Cochrane’s idea, not Rocco’s.
I stand there, perfectly still as he bangs around in his room. A second later, he passes by my door, a big duffle bag over his shoulder. He doesn’t glance in and he’s moving so fast, all I see is a blur.
I don’t have class for a while, but there’s no way I’m getting back to sleep now. I pick up my cell and note a dozen or so texts from Cochrane, all apologies saying he doesn’t know what he was thinking, that he panicked. I shake my head. He panicked all right and, in a bid to save his ass, he sold mine. I toss my phone and head to the shower to clear my head and settle my body. After I shower, all the while trying not to think about Rocco being in here with me, I dress, and go to the kitchen and find Miranda at the table sipping coffee. She stops scrolling through her phone and has a wicked little grin on her face when I enter, and our eyes meet. I brace myself.
“So, you and Rocco, huh?”
“There is no me and Rocco.” I grab a mug and pour a much-needed cup of coffee.
“That’s not the way I see it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I grab the cereal, pour it into a bowl.
“I heard the fight between Rocco and Cochrane in the driveway this morning.”
“I heard bits of it, too.”
She eyes me. “Did you hear the bit where Rocco said you were his for thirty days and if Cochrane tries to talk to you, he’ll personally see about shutting his mouth…with his fist.”
I exhale. “This isn’t about Rocco wanting to be with me. It’s all to do with a bet. There’s more going on than I can say, but I’m not Rocco’s and he’s not mine.”
“A bet?” she asks.
I take a quick second, debating on what to say. I trust Miranda. We’ve been friends for a very long time. The card game, though. It’s illegal and the less who know the better. I can’t let Rocco get into trouble. I mean, Cochrane. Yeah, I can’t let Cochrane get into trouble and risk his future.
“Let’s just say, Cochrane couldn’t pay up, so now I’m stuck with Rocco for a month.”
She waves a finger back and forth between the two of us. “I think you mean we’re stuck. You’re not the only one who lives here.”
My stomach clenches and I give her hand a little squeeze. “I’m sorry, Miranda. I know I put you in a bad situation, too. I promise to make it up to you, okay?”
“Nah, it’s okay. Honestly, why would I be upset? The view is as good coming as it is going. I gave him a spare key. I thought you’d want that, so we don’t have to leave the door open for him. I mean, we have no reason to wait up at night, right?”
I nod. “Thanks.” I keep my voice light, when I ask, “Did he say anything to you?”
“About what?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Maybe that he liked being here, and it wasn’t about the money, which is crazy. I take a bite of cereal, and milk dribbles down my chin. I’m a little jittery since waking up.
She leans toward me. “You want to know what else I think?”
“No.”
She laughs. “I think Cochrane was an asshole to do this to you.” I’m about to agree when she adds, “And that something good can come from something bad.”
I shake my head. “You sound like a bad country song.”
“Yeah, not at all like the hot noises I heard coming from the bathroom last night.”
My heart jumps. “It’s not like that.”
“The real question is, do you want it to be?”
9
Rocco
My body is still buzzing like an angry bee by the time I make it to the field, partly because of my run-in with Cochrane. What the fuck was he doing throwing pebbles at Reagan’s window first thing in the morning? I ran to my room to grab pants, then bolted down the steps and outside to stop him before he woke her. He’s not a guy to put her needs first, obviously. The second reason my body is buzzing? Oh, just that I slept with Reagan in her bed, pressed against her warm body as she melted into me, accepting every last drop of warmth and comfort I was offering.
It was a big fucking mistake. I know it. She probably knows it. Hell, anyone with a half a brain knows it. I guess that’s why this morning I turned it around, made it all about the money. The problem is, if Cochrane came at me with the bucks, I might tell him to shove those dollars right up his ass. Hanging with Reagan, no one can put a price tag on that. And that, my friends, is a major fucking problem.
I jog to catch up with Alistair, and he frowns. “What?” I ask and stretch my arms out like I don’t have a care in the w
orld, but I’m not fooling him.
“You have that…” he pauses to do air quotes around, “‘just got fucked look’ about you, and not in the good way.”
“I’m fine. Had a run in with Dick today, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Alistair glances around the bleachers like he expects to see the douche watching us. “You sure about that?”
“I can handle him, Alistair.”
“Yeah, but can you handle his girl?” he asks.
“There won’t be any handling of Reagan. She’s innocent in all this, and I plan to keep it that way.”
He slaps my back. “Good, because Dixon house is having a party this Friday night after the game, and Jaclyn has been asking about you.”
Jaclyn and I have hooked up a couple of times. She’s a nice girl and we had a nice time, but I’m not interested in hooking up with her again. Alistair must read that on my face.
“Are you kidding me? Jaclyn is hot, and you’re snarling at the idea of sleeping with her.”
“I’m not snarling.” I wipe the snarl from my face. “I like Jaclyn, but we’re not a couple, or anything. We hooked up a couple times, that’s all.”
He stands there staring at me for a moment longer. “Dude, you’d better get that head of yours on right, before a pretty little princess fucks you over.”
I nod, and for a quick second I think about defending Reagan, but I shut my mouth. The coach blows his whistle, and we all hustle across the field. For the next hour, we practice passing drills and get in a little scrimmage near the end. Every now and then I find myself scanning the bleachers, and every now and then I realize how disappointed I am that Reagan isn’t up there watching me—sketching me. Crazy, I know.
But the idea of her always having to hide her creative side pisses me off. No one should have to hide under the damn blankets. Unless you’re in a foster home and someone is chasing you with a belt, of course. That’s the time someone needs to hide under the blankets, better yet under the bed, but that wasn’t her situation at all.
After practice, with Reagan still on my mind, I head to the locker room and shower. Once done, I toss my bag over my shoulder and since I have an hour before class, I head back to Reagan’s place, a key to her house in my pocket.
I use it to open the door, and hope to find Reagan inside, but she’s long gone. The house is quiet, the hum of the fridge the only sound. I make my way down the hall, and with hunger driving me, I step into the kitchen, and…holy fuck.
A grown-ass man comes from around the corner and jumps me, doing his damnedest to take me to the ground. There’s an intruder in Reagan’s house! That thought fills me with fear. What if she or Miranda had been home? Fight or flight kicks in and since I’m always ready for a fight I let the burst of adrenaline fill my veins. I grab the guy by the collar, and raise my fist, but something in the back of my brain jingles….and before I pummel him, I take another look at him—and his very expensive suit.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“Who are you?” he asks in return.
“I’m Rocco.”
“That’s not much to go on, Rocco. Why are you sneaking into my daughter’s house?”
My blood drains, and I let go of his suit jacket. He runs his hands over the lapels to smooth out the wrinkles. Fuck me. Even if I had a chance with Reagan, even if we wanted to build something, which we don’t, what I did right here would have ruined it.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I thought you were an intruder.”
He stares at me long and hard, and for a second I think he’s going to call the authorities on me.
“What are you doing here, Rocco?” he asks again. I hesitate. What the hell am I supposed to tell him? “It’s not that hard of a question.”
I scrub my face. “Yeah, I know. Sorry.”
He looks at the big hockey bag over my shoulder. “If you’re not here to rob the place, why are you here?”
I glance around and try not to look as guilty as I feel. Honestly, Cochrane sold her out, but I’m the douche who decided to stay here. “I’m kind of staying here for a while.”
His eyes narrow in on me. “With my daughter, or Miranda?”
“Neither.” I wave my hand back and forth in front of myself. “I’m in the spare room. It’s all platonic. They’re helping me out.”
His eyes soften, the fine lines around them smoothing out as he relaxes. It’s a reaction I wasn’t expecting.
“You needed a place to stay?” he asks, no judgement in his tone.
I nod. “Something like that.”
He glances at my bag again, which has our team’s name on it. “You’re a student at Kingston?”
“I am. Science student, actually.” I open my mouth, about to tell him I’ve helped Reagan with her stats, but I don’t. She probably doesn’t want anyone to know. “I just finished football practice and I’m dropping my stuff off before class.”
He smiles at me. “That’s very nice of my daughter helping you out like that.”
I instantly like this guy. He’s not judging me for having no place to stay, for not being in his social class. I think he could be one of the good guys. Although, they are pushing Reagan into a career she doesn’t want. That doesn’t mean they have ill intent. They could just be looking out for her best interests, and let’s face it, starving artists are called starving artists for a reason.
“She’s a very nice girl, Mr. Ellison. You and Mrs. Ellison did a great job raising her.”
He beams at me, and I’m about to leave the kitchen, until he looks at his watch and then back at me. “Call me Stewart, and how about we grab a bite to eat?”
Wow, this guy is full of surprises. “Oh, I…”
“You have class right now?”
“In an hour.”
“Isn’t that your stomach I hear grumbling?” he jokes, then rubs his own. “Okay, okay, I admit. It’s mine.”
I laugh at his humor. I guess Reagan must get her wit from him.
“Of course, if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s not that.” He doesn’t need to be spending his money on me, and I’m not sure how Reagan would feel about me having coffee or lunch with her family. “We can just eat here. Reagan keeps a stocked fridge.”
“Nah, let’s get out. I want to hear more about your football.”
“Were you a player?” I ask, and set my bag down at the foot of the stairs.
“With these knees,” he jokes and wobbles his legs.
I laugh at that, any tension from earlier long gone. We step outside. I guess the Mercedes parked on the sidewalk should have alerted me that someone was visiting. If I’d been looking. I’d been too caught up in hoping Reagan was still home to consider my surroundings. That’s so unlike me, and I should be worried.
“We could head to the Coffee Shack. They make great sandwiches. It’s just a short walk.”
“Lead the way,” he says, and stops in the driveway when he sees my bike. “Is this yours?” he asks, his eyes wide and full of childlike wonderment.
“She’s a real beauty, huh?” I say.
“1969 Honda CB 750.” He gives a low slow whistle of appreciation and I like him even more that he knows his bikes. “Where’d you get her?”
I run my hand along the chrome. “My old high school coach. A gift for college. He’s the one who helped me get into Kingston on a football scholarship.”
He slaps my back. “Good for you, son.”
Son.
My chest tightens, right around my heart.
“Do you mind?” he asks with a raised brow.
“Hop on.”
He throws his leg over the bike and balances it. He pretends to rev the throttle.
“You used to ride?” I ask.
“Oh yeah. Believe it or not, I was the neighborhood terror.” I laugh at that, because no way can I picture this perfectly put together man tearing up the streets.
He smiles at me. “I bet she’s fun to ride.”
&
nbsp; “Yeah, she is. She’s a bitch on carburetors, though. I’m constantly rebuilding.”
“Football star and mechanically minded. Impressive.”
I don’t need his praise or compliments, but I do find myself standing a little taller.
“You’re welcome to take her for a spin, if you like.”
He laughs. “These old bones. Not what they used to be.”
“Yeah, don’t be too hard on yourself. You just about tackled me to the floor ten minutes ago.”
He chuckles. “True, but I couldn’t get you there. You must be one hell of a football player. I think I’m going to have to come to a game one of these days.”
“We play Friday night, home game. Come watch.”
“I might take you up on that.” He rubs his hand along my shiny handlebar.
“Reagan never mentioned that you rode.” Then again, why would she?
“She never mentioned that she had a football player staying at her place either.”
I laugh at that. “I guess we’re both on a need-to-know basis.”
He climbs off the bike and we start down the sidewalk. “How long have you known Reagan?”
“Since freshman year.” It’s not a lie. I definitely noticed her freshman year, and it wasn’t just because she was dating my roommate. We might not have talked a lot until recently, but I’ve been aware of her for a very long time now. Since Stewart was at the house looking for her, I ask, “Want me to shoot her a text and ask her to meet us after her class?”
“That’s a great idea.”
I pull my phone out and fire off a text. I’m a bit worried about how she’s going to take this, though. What can I say, her dad wanted to take me out for a meal, and you know…food. I hold my phone and as I wait for her to answer, Stewart unbuttons his jacket.
“Are you in town on business or just to see Reagan?”
“A little bit of both.”
We reach the coffee shop and I open the door and gesture for him to enter. Delicious scents fill the air, and my stomach rumbles as I inhale. At the counter, we both order smoked meat sandwiches and coffees. I try to pay for mine, but Stewart is having none of that.
