Keeping Score

by Cathryn Fox

  “What are you sorry about?” he asks.

  I shake my head, my heart aching at all the cruel things Cochrane said to him. “You don’t deserve to be talked to like that. Cochrane is wrong. You’re none of those things.” He stares straight ahead, and I take in the lines of his profile. “I guess I know why you two don’t get along. I used to wonder why you were never at any of the Wolf House parties, or why you never went to any of Cochrane’s gatherings. I mean, you two were roommates. You were just never around.”

  “Now you can’t get rid of me.”

  I smile at him when he casts me a fast glance. “Maybe I don’t want to.” I turn and stare straight ahead. “I feel like a fool. How could I have ever been with a guy like that?”

  “This isn’t on you. He just never showed you that side of himself, and maybe you should just be thankful that you found out sooner rather than later.”

  “Yeah…” I say and let my words fall off. I’m not sure what my parents are going to say about the whole thing. They love Cochrane. They’re best friends with his parents and they’ve been planning our wedding for as long as I can remember.

  We sit in silence for a long time, both lost in our thoughts, and I give directions once we come to our exit. He pulls off the highway and I guide him down the side roads until we reach the gravel road leading to our lake house.

  “This is kind of in the middle of nowhere,” he says as he turns on the high beams and slowly follows the curvy path. Most of the cottages are closed up for the upcoming winter, and ours will soon be as well. I’m just glad it’s open now, and we’re able to escape the city, college and real life for a while.

  “Did we miss it,” he says when we come to the end of the road.

  “Nope, that’s us right there.” I point to the left, to the cottage at the end of the lane, perched high with a view of the lake from every window.

  He gives a low, slow whistle. “It’s gorgeous.”

  I swallow, a niggling guilt inside. I’ve been so privileged my whole life and being with Rocco, who’s had nothing…I don’t know, I’m a little embarrassed.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks.

  I crinkle my nose. “It’s extravagant, I—”

  “Don’t ever apologize for what you have, Reagan. Your parents work hard, and they deserve all their successes.”

  I smile at him, appreciating the fact that he’s not calling me a princess, a spoiled brat, or any of the other names I’ve heard over the years. “Thank you,” I murmur, and with this incredible new closeness blossoming between us, I lean across the seat and kiss his cheek. His eyes go wide as his hand flies to his face like I might have just slapped him.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I don’t know why I did that.” I hold my hands up. “I just felt so close to you a second ago, but I never should have done that without asking.” God, what was I thinking?

  His throat makes a gurgling sound as he swallows. “Don’t be sorry.” Before he can say anything more, joking or otherwise, I grab the door handle and open it. I wince against the bright interior lights and hop from my car. Rocco sits inside for a second. From the look on his face, my kiss shocked him, and he’s likely trying to figure out what to make of it. I’m not sure he can, when I can’t figure it out myself.

  I stretch my arms out and turn toward the water, watching the waves lap gently against the shore. The creaking dock makes me smile. How many times did that sound lull me to sleep when I was younger?

  “Hey,” Rocco says, coming up beside me. “Want to take a swim?”

  “It’s freezing.”

  “I think I might need that right now,” he says and I’m about to ask why until my brain kicks into gear, and I understand. It takes everything in me not to giggle like a school girl, and not to glance down at his crotch.

  “How about we take our things inside first?” I suggest. He walks to the back of the car, grabs our duffle bags and backpacks. “I can take something.”

  “Got it.” His voice is low, deep, almost tortured. “Just get the front door for me.”

  He closes the trunk and I fish my keys from my pocket and hurry to the door. I open it and swing it wide for him. He enters and I flick on the lights, and he looks around, admiration in his gaze. I try to see the wide expanse through his view, and take in the two closed bedroom doors, the one open bathroom door, the wide living room that flows into the kitchen—which also has a door to the outside—the rooms separated by an island.

  “I love it. I don’t think I’m ever going to leave.”

  “I know. I love it here too, Rocco.”

  He drops the bags, and turns to me, his body close, crowding mine, yet oddly enough, I want to get closer.

  “You spent a lot of time here as a kid?”

  “I did.”

  “Do you have a treehouse?”

  I laugh at that, even though his treehouse story fills me with such sadness. No kid should ever have to seek comfort and refuge in a treehouse.

  “No, but maybe we can build one.”

  “That would be fun.” He glances around. “Which room is mine?”

  “You can take my old room.” I point to the first door. “I’ll sleep in Mom and Dad’s.”

  He snatches up the bags again and deposits them in each of the rooms. He comes back out and I take two beers from the fridge and hand him one. I hold my bottle up to him, and he eyes me.

  We clink bottles. “What are we drinking to?”

  “To Cochrane.” He angles his head as he’s about to take a drink, his eyes dancing with questions. “When you think about it, if it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t be here together,” I say. His bottle pauses halfway to his mouth, and his expression changes, becomes darker. “I just mean, I’m glad I found out who he was.”

  Okay, it’s clear I want something to happen here between us, but each time I allude to it, he freezes up.

  “How about that swim?” I suggest and set my bottle down, backing away from him, needing a reprieve from his scent and gravitational pull. The air feels cooler the second I put distance between us, and he glances at his bedroom door.

  “Are you okay with me swimming in my boxers?”

  “If you’re okay with me going in my bra and panties.” Oh God, what is it about the word panties that sends heat charging through me? Of course, I’ve said panties before in front of numerous other people and it’s never pulled that kind of reaction.

  “I’m probably not okay with that, but what can you do, right?”

  For a second, I consider what he means. Does seeing me in my underthings turn him off, or is it the exact opposite? I glance at him. Warmth, need and…desire? Is that what I’m seeing in his eyes? If that’s the case, the guy is all kinds of contradictions tonight. Cold one minute and hot the next. I’m making it clear where I stand. I guess he’s having doubts. With everything that’s happened over the last week, I can’t blame him.

  “Let’s go then.” I push open the door and the cool air washes over us. I shiver. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “What is it with you always being cold?” He casually throws his arm around me as we walk to the water, like two good friends who hang out all the time.

  “I don’t have all that muscle to keep me warm like you do, Rocco.”

  He laughs. “You don’t have to get in if you don’t want to.”

  I can’t help but wonder. If I get really cold, will he take me to the shower again, hold me against him?

  Is that what you want, Reagan?

  Yes.

  It’s exactly what I want.

  “No, I’m not going to chicken out and let you tease me about it for the rest of my life.”

  “There’s nothing chicken about you. You’re a lot tougher than you realize.”

  Beneath the full moon, which is illuminating a path of light across the lake, I spot admiration in his eyes.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “For one, you’re struggling through a degree you don’t w
ant, and find extremely hard, but you check in each day and do what has to be done.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Only if I get to ask you something back.”

  We reach the dock, and it wobbles beneath my feet. “How did you get into football? I mean…” I totally forget what I’m saying when he reaches over his back and peels his shirt off, exposing a wall of muscle and scars. My hands itch to touch each one, to kiss them better.

  “Up here,” he says and he’s grinning like a fool when my gaze lifts to his. I shake off the arousal. “I had a coach in high school.” He unzips his pants, and tugs open the button. I struggle to find my words. “I guess he saw potential in me. He taught me to use my hands for good instead of bad.”

  Oh God, my stupid brain takes that moment to consider how much I’d like him to use his hands—good or bad—on my body.

  “That’s really nice,” I say.

  “If it wasn’t for him, I don’t know where I’d be today. I certainly wouldn’t be here on a football scholarship, about to go swimming with you.” He goes quiet for a long time, staring out over the lake, and I can almost feel the struggles he’s gone through. My heart hurts for that young boy. “It was the first day of high school, and I’d been in a couple of brawls before first bell. Fighting. It comes naturally. Coach Phillips really changed my life, Reagan.” He laughs. “Don’t get me wrong. He was hard on me. Hellishly hard. I needed that, though.” His eyes lift slowly, reach mine. “He was like the father I never had. I owe him so much. You would really like him. He’d like you too.”

  I want to ask him about his own father, his mother. I’m sensing it’s a subject he doesn’t like to talk about, so I don’t. “I’d like to meet him.”

  He nods slowly, still lost in thought. “Can I ask you something?”

  I shrug. “I guess.”

  “Do you think you’ll regret living the life your parents want for you instead of the life you want?”

  I blow out a breath. “That’s quite the question.”

  “You don’t have to answer. It’s just that football isn’t just my ticket to a better life. It’s my passion.” He puts his hand on his chest, near his heart. “I think I’d lose a piece of me if I lost football, you know. That’s what painting is for you.” This time he puts his hand on my chest. “In here, it’s your passion…your heart.”

  “I’ve always done what was expected of me by my parents—”

  “And Cochrane…”

  “Yeah…there’s… there are certain expectations, when you’re from the world I live in. I…I’d love to open my own gallery someday, Rocco. My parents appreciate art, but they don’t think it’s a good future for me.” I wave my hand around my luxurious cottage. “This and school. They’ve given me everything, pay for my school and housing, and it feels wrong to just go off and be frivolous with my life, you know.”

  He takes one of my hands. “I understand.”

  There is nothing in his eyes to suggest he’s humoring me. He might not have grown up with privilege, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t understand that there are still pressures. Like he said, rich or poor, everyone has problems. He stands there a moment longer, watching me. I think he’s going to comment some more, and I wait for the argument that I should do what I want, be who I am. It doesn’t come. My gaze drops, takes in his near naked body, and my hand lifts without thought. Something moves in a nearby bush and it snaps me back, drags me out of this trance I always seem to be in when he’s around. My arm drops.

  “Are you doing this or what?”

  “Doing what?” I ask, my lust-imbued mind a scattered mess. Did he know I was going to touch him? Is that what he’s asking?

  “Are you going to strip down to your bra and panties?”

  Panties…

  Kill me now. “Yeah, of course.” I reach for the hem of my shirt, and he turns to give me privacy. That’s when I realize I didn’t give him the same courtesy. “Sorry, I didn’t turn when you undressed.”

  “You don’t need to be sorry.” With that he runs to the end of the dock and jumps in. Cold water splashes so high a few drops reach me.

  I toss my shirt and jeans to the dock, and decide to cannon ball as well. It might be the only way I’m getting in that ice-cold water. I come up, and search for Rocco. “Where are you?” I ask.

  “Marco.”

  I spin, treading water and laughing. “Oh, we’re playing that game, are we?” I swim away and call back. “Polo.”

  “Marco.” His voice is closer now, and I swear the energy from his body is warming the water around me.

  I swim away, even though I’m second guessing that choice. Let’s face it, I want to be caught.

  “Polo.”

  I turn back around, and Rocco is nowhere to be found. “Where are you?” I call out. Catching me off guard, bubbles form in the water in front of me, and he pops up. I scream and splash him, and he slides his arms around my waist before I can get away. Not that I’m really trying.

  “I win,” he says.

  With his body meshed against mine, his mouth close enough for me to taste him, I’m pretty sure I’m the winner in this situation. “Have you cooled off?” I ask for lack of anything better to say.

  He stares at me long and hard, and I wish I could read minds. Whatever is going through his head is causing him a great deal of torture.

  “Yeah, cooled off,” he says, his hands leaving my hips as he flips to his back and starts floating.

  I do the same, and float beside him. “It’s gorgeous tonight.”

  He moves his hands, creating small ripples in the water—not to mention in me. Never in my life have I wanted to touch myself as badly as I do now. Correction, never in my life have I wanted someone else, and that someone else is Rocco, to touch me as badly as I do now.

  “See that cluster of stars over there?” I point. “That’s Cassiopeia, named after the vain queen Cassiopeia in Greek mythology. Apparently, she liked to boast about her unrivaled beauty.”

  “That’s because she never met you.”

  I laugh. “Wow, you say you’re not good with words, but you’re on your game tonight.” I glance around. “Do you have a playbook around here you sneak peeks at?”

  “Smart ass.” He laughs and tugs on my hair.

  I go back to stargazing and sigh. He might say the nicest things to me, but I’m not naïve enough to think he considers my beauty unrivaled.

  “I used to love coming to the lake at night. Normally I’d lay on the wharf and look at the stars. I downloaded a bunch of astronomy books. Then I’d study the star clusters and see if I could find them in the night sky.”

  “You’re kind of a nerd.”

  His humor catches me off guard and I laugh, my body sinking a little with the movement, and I take in water. I go back to treading water and start coughing.

  “Jesus, Reagan.” He comes to my aid quickly and propels me back to the wharf. He jumps up and pulls me out of the water with him. I cough and cough to clear my lungs, and he stands there tapping my back to help dislodge the water. When I finally clear it, he exhales. “You scared me. I thought I was going to have to perform mouth to mouth, and I really suck at it.”

  I’d bet a million dollars he doesn’t.

  A shiver wracks me and he drags me to him. “Let’s get you inside and warmed up.”

  “We could light a fire,” I suggest.

  “A shower first. You need to warm up fast. I never should have dragged you into the lake with me.”

  “You didn’t drag me in. I wanted to go.”

  We get inside and he hurries me into the bathroom. He turns on the shower and adjusts the temperature. “Come on.”

  I step into the shower with him, and in typical Rocco fashion, he puts me under the spray, letting me hog all the hot water, but I’m not having any of that. He’s cold too. I wrap my arms around him, pull him in with me.

  Our bodies mesh, align, and a needy noise I have no control over crawls out of m
y throat. He takes a fistful of my hair, tilts my head back to look into my eyes and goes still.

  “Are you choking?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “You made a strange noise.”

  I swallow. Hard. “I know.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He lets my hair go and inches back, as my entire body burns with a deep need for him. I’ve never experienced anything like it. It rips through me, tears at me, demands to be noticed.

  “Reagan…”

  “Rocco.”

  He swallows as I pull him back toward me, letting him know in no uncertain words what I want from him. He takes a deep breath, then another, and he lets it go, air hissing from his lungs like a deflated balloon

  “Rocco,” I whisper again, the desire in my voice evident, even to my own ears.

  “I can’t.” My heart speeds up. Blue, tortured eyes meet mine. “I can’t be your rebound, Reagan. I just can’t.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “I don’t want to be that guy.” He puts his big palm over my heart, half of his hand covering my breast. “You’re hurting. We make bad choices when we’re hurting, and I don’t want you doing something you’re only going to regret come morning.”

  “I’m not looking for a rebound tonight, Rocco, and even if I am making bad choices, I want this with you tonight. I want to be held, and touched…” I run my finger over his bottom lip. “I want to be kissed.”

  His face twists, clearly tortured. The thickening between his legs tells another story, though. He wants this as much as I do, and that excites me. Thrills me. I’ve never wanted—needed—to be desired like this before.

  “Fuck, Reagan.”

  “Yeah, please.”

  He goes completely still, understanding exactly what I want. I stand there waiting. Will he flee, or will this be the man I give my virginity to?

  13

  Rocco

  She coughs, and I put my palm on the sides of her head. “Are you okay?”