by Cathryn Fox
My phone buzzes and my blood runs cold when I see Reagan’s panicked answer.
“Was that Reagan?” Stewart asks.
“Yeah, she’s getting out early and is on her way.”
“How nice,” he says. I’m not so sure it is, though. Maybe Stewart is just humoring me until Reagan gets here. Maybe he’s super pissed that she has a guy staying with her. I guess I’ll find out soon enough. In the meantime, I’m starving and plan to eat. Sandwiches and coffee in hand, we find a table for four and sit. “Where are you from, son?”
“Chicago,” I tell him. “Burnside.”
He stills for a brief second, absorbing that information, then takes a bite of his sandwich. I dig into mine, my manners, or lack thereof, not really on my mind at the moment.
“Are your folks still there?”
Truthfully, I have no reason to lie to the man, or try to charm him into liking me. After today, I’ll never set eyes on him again, so I decide to tell him the truth and when I’m done, he sits there thoughtfully, his head nodding slowly.
“With no family, I take it you’ll be having Thanksgiving alone.”
“Yeah, it’s okay. I don’t mind. I can find a turkey dinner somewhere in town.”
“Like hell you will,” he says, and I stiffen.
“What?”
He gives a hard nod, like he’s just come to some great conclusion. “You’ll be having dinner with us.” Just then Reagan steps up to the table, her eyes wide, her head bobbing back and forth between the two of us.
“I’m sure Reagan would love for you to come home with her for Thanksgiving. Isn’t that right, Reagan?”
10
Reagan
“What’s that now?” I ask as I lean down to give my father a kiss on the cheek. Clearly, he’s been bonding with my new roommate, and I’m not too sure how I feel about that. It’s nice they like each other. Rocco probably never had a father figure in his life, but Thanksgiving? That’s going too far. Dad pulls me in for a hug, and when he holds me like this, it reminds me how much I love him, how much he’s done for me, and everything I would do to make him proud.
“It’s okay, Stewart. Reagan is doing enough by letting me stay at her place for a while.”
Thank you, Rocco.
I break the hug and stand up straight, flashing Rocco a grateful smile as Dad gives him a dismissive wave. “Don’t be silly. We’d love to have you. Right, pumpkin?”
Rocco grins when Dad calls me pumpkin and heat rushes into my cheeks.
“Yeah, uh right.” I take the empty seat next to Dad. “If he wants to.” I tried to inject a bit of enthusiasm into my voice. I mean, why wouldn’t I want to invite him? I’m sure that’s the question going through Dad’s head, considering I’m letting Rocco stay at my place, right?
I’m pretty sure Rocco is excellent at reading people, and can see the clenching of my jaw. He smiles at my dad. “I appreciate the invitation, thank you. I’d like to bring something, of course.”
“We can discuss those details later.” Dad turns to me. “Now, why didn’t you tell me Rocco was staying with you?”
Oh crap.
“It happened quick, only a couple of days ago, and I didn’t have time to mention it. I hope you’re not upset.”
“Upset? Are you kidding me? Rocco nearly busted my nose, and I’m quite fond of this nose.” He lifts his chin to showcase his nose. The Ellison nose, as he calls it. Wait, what? Rocco nearly broke his nose.
“You nearly broke his nose?” I glare at Rocco. “What did you do?”
His eyes go wide as he holds his hands up palms out. “Nothing, I just went back to our place, let myself in, and found your father there.”
Our place?
“And you tried to break his nose?”
Dad laughs. “He thought I was the intruder, I thought he was. I tackled him, but come on…” Dad laughs and points at Rocco. “What chance did I stand?”
Rocco grins. “Give yourself some credit, Stewart. You almost had me.”
I sit there dumbfounded as they trade compliments, a real-life bromance in the making. Did I just enter the twilight zone or something?
“Only because I caught you by surprise,” Dad counters. “Seriously, I didn’t expect to see a six-foot, muscular guy come around the corner of the kitchen, Reagan. A head’s up would have been nice, but I’m not upset. I’m glad he’s staying with you.”
“You are?” Rocco and I both say at the same time, and then grin at each other.
“He’s great protection. You know, I never did like two young girls living in that big old house. Having Rocco around is bound to scare off any intruder.”
“That’s true.” I glance at the long line building at the counter. “I’m desperate for coffee.” Rocco being Rocco slides his cup of coffee across the table. Dad’s eyes shift from Rocco to me, and I cringe inwardly. Rocco’s gesture is a simple one, but an intimate one, and Dad is going to think there is more going on. He’s clever like that. Wait, no. There isn’t anything more going on, and this weird little guilty feeling mushrooming inside of me is insane. Dad makes a small noise, and I don’t miss the ever so slight nod he just made, like he’s putting two and two together, but this time it doesn’t equal four because nothing is going on. And yes, I am trying to convince myself of that.
Rocco must have realized his mistake because he says, “You can have it. I didn’t touch it.” He stands. “I’ll go grab another cup. It’s the least I can do for a friend who’s helping me out.”
My smile is full of gratitude as I look at him, but my father still has that know-it-all look on his face. Rocco looks back at me. “Sandwich?”
“Just coffee, thanks.”
Rocco leaves us alone, and Dad says, “He’s a nice guy.”
“Yes, very nice.”
He takes a sip of his coffee and wipes his mouth with his napkin. “How are things between you and Cochrane?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Leave it to Dad to jump right into things. “Good,” I say. “We’re both very busy.”
He arches a brow, a million questions dancing in his eyes. “He’s okay with Rocco staying with you?”
I almost snort. “He’s sort of responsible for the whole thing.” Not a lie.
“Really.”
“What?”
“Interesting.” I’m about to ask him why that’s so interesting, but he speaks again. “If the two are friends, and it was his idea for you to help Rocco out, I guess he won’t mind Rocco coming for Thanksgiving.” He leans in conspiratorially—and believe me, I know he’s fishing—and says, “If I were Cochrane, I wouldn’t want a guy like Rocco staying with my girl.”
“He has nothing to worry about,” I say. “I don’t think Cochrane can make it this year, Dad.” He raises his brow. “I’ll check with him, though,” I add quickly, not wanting to raise more suspicions, or give him time from now until Thanksgiving to delve into our relationship troubles. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Can’t a father drop in to see his favorite daughter?”
I laugh and put my arms around him for another hug. “Anytime, Dad.”
“I was in the vicinity and thought I’d see if you wanted to come out to lunch.”
Rocco comes back with his coffee and sits. He takes a huge sip and, as if being drawn by a greater force, I look past his shoulder and find Cochrane on the sidewalk staring at us all, with murder in his eyes.
Oh, God.
I throw up a silent prayer: Do not come in here! He disappears and my heart settles, and I note the way Rocco is watching me. He slowly looks over his shoulder, not doubt to see what just stole all the air from my lungs. He turns back to me, his eyes questioning. His question is soon answered when Cochrane steps up to the table.
“Stewart, what are you doing in town?” he asks and thrusts his hand out.
“There you are. We were just talking about you.” Dad stands, and in that manly way guys greet each other, they shake and hug at the same t
ime. “Have a seat. Let me grab you a coffee.”
“He can’t stay,” Rocco says, his voice hard and flat, his eyes laser focused on me as the muscles in his neck twitch.
“Not even for a minute?” Dad asks, a little surprised by that announcement.
Cochrane stands there, his gaze on me, his nostrils flaring. I fold my arms and stare back, anger bubbling up inside me. Rocco is right, he shouldn’t be let off the hook so easily.
“He has class,” I say. “Can’t be late for Finance. Professor McAllister locks the door if you’re a second late. Isn’t that right, Cochrane?”
“That’s right,” he says through clenched teeth. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Thanksgiving, I hope,” Dad adds. “Rocco will be joining us this year.”
Cochrane’s eyes go cold, and in all the years we’ve been together, I’ve never seen that look on his face before. I guess he shouldn’t have put me up as payment in a game he never should have been playing.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The muscles in his jaw are so tight, I’m afraid something is going to snap.
“Like I said,” I pipe in and face Dad. “Cochrane might be busy, but we’ll talk about it and let you know.”
“Well then, we’ll leave it at that,” Dad responds, clearly aware of the tension in the room. “It was nice to see you, Cochrane. You’re looking well.”
Cochrane nods, and tears his gaze from me. “Thanks. Enjoy your day. I’ll talk to you later, Reagan.” A deep warning growl crawls out of Rocco’s throat as Cochrane practically pushes people out of his way as he stalks out the door.
My dad takes a sip of his coffee, and doesn’t bring up the tension, and for that I’m grateful. “How are classes, pumpkin?” he asks.
Rocco finishes his coffee, and stands. “I’m going to let you two catch up. No need for a third wheel. Thanks for lunch and the invitation to Thanksgiving, Stewart. I really appreciate it.”
“You don’t have to go,” Dad says. “We’re just getting to know one another. Any friend of Reagan and Cochrane’s is a friend of mine.”
“I’d love to stay longer but I have class too, and I hope to see you Friday.”
“What’s Friday?” I ask.
“Home game,” Rocco tells me. “Your dad is going to try to get up for a game.”
“Oh…” I say for lack of anything else. “That would be fun.”
“I had plans to head to the cottage to check on it. I have to bring the dock in for the winter and drain the fuel from the boat. I could push that to the next weekend.”
“I miss the cottage,” I say with a dreamy sigh.
Dad frowns. “Although I am kind of busy next weekend. Still, I really hate to push the closing of the cottage too late.”
“I could always go do it. I can study there next weekend just as well as I could study here, and I have a stats assignment to get done.”
“You sure you don’t mind? It’s a bit of a drive for you.”
The idea of getting away very much appeals to me. “Just a couple of hours. I’d actually enjoy the break from campus.” I don’t need to look at Rocco to know he’s staring. Does he think I’m looking for a break from him?
“Perhaps Rocco could go with you. Keep you company. Do you like boating or canoeing?” he asks Rocco.
“Can’t say I’ve done either of those things.”
“It’s settled then. Rocco will keep you company, and you can introduce him to the lake.”
“Okay,” I concede, just to appease Dad, although for the life of me I can’t understand why he’s instant besties with Rocco. Sure, there is a lot to admire about him, and Dad would appreciate any guy who dragged himself up, and despite the odds, is headed in the right direction to make something of himself.
“Sounds like a plan,” Rocco agrees, and I stare at his back as he leaves. Dad happily bites into his sandwich, and when he’s done, we spend the next little while talking about school, and my future, and he eventually walks me back to my place, giving me a hug and a kiss at his car before he leaves. I wave him off, and as soon as he disappears around the corner, I spot Cochrane and his friends cruising down the street in his car. Not wanting to talk to him, I dart into the house and lock the door. I still my racing mind, and pray he doesn’t come knocking. I’m still so angry. The best thing he can do is leave me alone for the next month. Time heals all, correct? Maybe after one month, I’ll be happy to be back in his arms.
Or maybe I won’t.
A groan slips out of my throat and I push off the door. I head to my bedroom, grab my blankets and cover my head. A text message comes in and my heart races, but it slows quickly when I see that it’s from Cochrane. I toss my phone onto my bed, and flop down onto my pillow, but then I reach for my phone again, and a smile touches my mouth as I scroll through the pictures I took at Rocco’s private cave.
My heart settles as I find my happy place. After going through the files, a thought hits, and it fills me with joy. I grab my sketch pad, and for the next hour, work on something I’d like to paint. Before I realize it, my hour is over, and I have to get back to class.
I hurry across campus and slow before walking into my lecture hall. From my peripheral vision, I spot a bunch of members of the rowing team, a group of girls all over them. There’s nothing unusual about the sight. Cochrane isn’t in the mix. He was never one to soak up the attention from other girls. He could have any girl he wants, but he’s not a cheater. I used to worry about that, especially after I told him we could fool around, but that I didn’t want to go all the way. My mom always told me to save myself for the man I love. I’m doing that but I guess I want to be married first.
Or maybe Cochrane isn’t the man you love.
Oh God.
I turn and run straight into a brick wall. “Ouch,” I groan and rub my nose.
“I’m sorry,” Rocco says quickly, and puts his hands on my shoulders. He gives a slight squeeze, but the strength in his touch, combined with the raw tenderness in his eyes, travels through my body and settles deep between my legs.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Trying to break your nose. Just like I did with your dad.”
I laugh. “You were almost successful.”
“I called your name, but you didn’t hear me.” He looks over my shoulder to see what had me so distracted.
“Look,” he says, a line in his forehead as he frowns. “I want to apologize. I probably shouldn’t have said Cochrane couldn’t sit with us. Your dad didn’t deserve that.”
“It’s okay. I didn’t want him sitting there either.”
He goes quiet for a second, his head down, thoughtful, like he’s trying to find the right way to tell me something.”
“What?” I ask.
He glances up, his blue eyes dark and deep when they latch on mine. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. While I want to punish Cochrane, I realize I’m punishing you too, and that’s not fair.” Catching me by surprise, he takes a strand of my hair between his fingers and rubs it. “I guess if you want to see Coch—”
“I don’t,” I blurt out and his brow raises. “You’re not punishing me.”
He steps a tiny bit closer, heat emanating from him in waves and rushing over me like a tsunami. I can hardly breathe. “Are you sure, Reagan?”
“I’m sure and look, you can’t move out now.” I’m trying for casual, but my body is shaking and my stupid words are breathless. I force a smile. “My father likes the idea of you staying with us and keeping us safe.”
He nods slowly. “I suppose when you put it that way, in a weird, twisted way I am kind of doing you a favor.”
I grin and shake my head. “How’s that for logic at its worst?”
“It’s still logic and I think that means…” He angles his head and points his finger at me. “That you might actually owe me something in return.”
I put my hand on his chest to shove him. “Wow, I think your twisty skills are wasted on football. Y
ou should be in politics.” He doesn’t budge, but he does take my hand in his and lightly rubs my wrist.
“I like your dad.”
“He likes you, too.”
Breathe, Reagan, breathe.
He brushes his knuckles over mine. “I won’t go to Thanksgiving dinner if you don’t want me to.”
“I want you to.”
“To get back at Cochrane?”
“Umm…yeah.”
He stares at me for a long moment, and for a quick second I think he’s going to kiss me. He doesn’t. Instead, he makes a fist and lightly nudges my chin. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
I laugh, and he adds, “Your father is wrong. You’re strong, Reagan. You can take care of yourself.”
“Then why did you always follow me home late at night when I was walking alone?”
Surprise registers in his eyes, holds there for a moment, and then he quickly blinks it away. His eyes narrow in on me and a moment passes. “Who says I did that?”
His reaction tells me everything I’ve always wondered. But it doesn’t answer the question as to why he followed me on his bike, keeping his distance as I trekked home alone late at night. “I do.”
“Were you afraid?”
“Yes.”
The blue in his eyes deepens. “Are you still afraid?”
“No.”
He grins at me. “Maybe you still should be, pumpkin.”
11
Rocco
She should be afraid. She should be very afraid. Those words ring as loud and clear in my brain today as they did three days ago when I first said them to her. The truth is, staying at her place, seeing her every morning and again every night, it’s been hard in numerous ways. I’m not sure I can be trusted to keep my hands to myself much longer. It’s taking every ounce of my strength not to touch her, kiss her, crawl into her bed and just hold her. Put my cock in her.
The thing is, I have this deep gut feeling that she wants me to touch her. Whenever we’re close, I notice the quiver in her body, the slight parting of her full lush lips, but Jesus, I can’t think about that. Not when we’re all lining up for a game against Anaheim that we have to win. Not just that, Reagan and her dad are out there, and while I normally play for the team, for the win, there is something deep inside me that’s compelling me to impress them. What I should be focused on is me, and the NFL. What the hell happened to my no distractions rule?
