Keeping Score Page 17

  He tugs my pajama shorts to my ankles and tosses them away. He looks almost feral as he growls and spreads my legs. Dropping down, he slides his hands under my ass, and brings my pussy to his face. My God, I love when he licks me like that. It’s hot and sexy and takes me to the edge so goddamn fast it leaves my head spinning.

  “Yes, Rocco. I love that,” I tell him.

  He doesn’t lift his face, and instead mumbles into my sex. “Me too.”

  He eats at me, sucks my clit and slides two thick fingers into me. Just like that, I shatter around his deft touch. The nicest thing about coming beneath his tongue is the sounds of pleasure it pulls from him.

  “You needed me,” he mumbles from between my legs. He’s not asking me that. I actually think he’s telling himself that, like he needs to somehow convince himself of it.

  “I needed you, Rocco.”

  His head lifts and there is a new kind of intensity about him when his gaze meets mine. “I need you too, Reagan.”

  My heart stops beating as he climbs up my body, stalking, hunting, seeking what is rightfully his. His muscles are tight, as he slides them under me and gathers me into his arms. A wild animal, yet so gentle.

  I put my mouth to his ear. “I want you inside me.”

  His muscles ripple beneath my hands as I run them around his back, lightly scratching his skin. My entire body quakes, my thighs are slick with my juices as I squirm and try to force him inside, even though we don’t have a condom.

  He presses a kiss to my breasts. “Yeah, babe. I want that too. Let me get a condom.”

  “I don’t want that.”

  He goes perfectly still, his gaze moving over my face, a check in of sorts. “You’re not protected.”

  “I know.” God, what the hell am I doing? “It’s what I want.”

  “Reagan.”

  “Please, Rocco.”

  He curses, and lightly runs his thumb over my cheek. “You know I’d give you anything you fucking wanted, but we can’t make a mistake here.”

  A mistake.

  Stupid tears fill my eyes. I know he’s not saying I’m a mistake…I just don’t know, I’m a hot freaking mess of emotions all of a sudden. “You’re right. I know. I’m just…emotional, I guess. Everything that’s happened over the weekend, and your bike…”

  He swallows, and while he’s portraying calm, the rippling of his jaw as he clamps down tells me he’s every bit as affected by all this as I am. It’s like were on a goddamn rollercoaster that’s about to run off the rail, and while we’re having fun, we know we can only crash land.

  “Why don’t you get on the pill?” he says slowly. “Then I can take you the way you want.”

  “Okay.”

  He lays over me a little longer, doing another check-in, and when I smile to let him know I’m okay—although I’m pretty sure I’ll never be okay again—he goes to his pants, finds a condom and puts it on.

  Two seconds later, he’s inside of me, and I block my mind to everything but the pleasure he brings. I move with him, our bodies linked as one, our arms holding and hugging as our hearts beat against each other.

  We don’t speak. Instead we just feel and enjoy. His mouth goes to my ear.

  “Reagan…”

  “Yeah?” I manage to get out as my pleasure peaks.

  “I love…this.”

  I gulp, my heart stilling in my chest. For the briefest of seconds, in the small pause, I thought he was going to tell me he loved me. “I love this too.”

  He moves inside me, hitting all the right spots, and I let go, soaking his pistoning cock. “Fuck yeah,” he growls and throws his head back and lets go. I ride out each glorious pulse, and he holds me tighter, squeezing the air from my lungs, but I don’t care. I can’t seem to get close enough to him, either. “I don’t ever want to stop doing this.”

  “Me either,” I say. His head lifts and eyes that hold so many questions lock on mine. I don’t want him to ask. I don’t know any of the answers. I don’t know anything at all, other than what I feel for him.

  He presses his lips to mine and doesn’t vocalize what’s all over his face. He slides out of me, disposes of the condom and grabs a few tissues. As soon as he finishes wiping us down, there’s a noise outside my window and we both freeze for a second.

  “Stay there,” he says and walks to my window to glance out. He stands there for a long time, staring out into the dark night. His body is stiff, ready for battle, and my heart jumps into my throat.

  “What is it?” I tug the blanket up to my neck.

  “Nothing.”

  He comes back to my bed, crawls in and pulls me to him. I rest my head on his shoulder and put my hand on his pounding heart. “Sleep,” he orders, and pulls the blanket over our heads, forming a tent. Something’s different. Something is wrong. What did he see out that window? I’m not sure, and while he’s with me here physically, he’s withdrawing. This tent—his treehouse—his way of keeping himself safe. Is he afraid of me hurting him? Is he afraid of hurting me?

  I lift my head to see him. “I’m going to call my Dad.”

  “Right now?”

  I chuckle. “No, tomorrow. I’m going to tell him your bike was damaged when we were away checking on the cottage. I feel responsible.”

  “Not your fault.”

  “Dad will want to pay for the damages.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Sunshine. Don’t you know I’m going to be in the NFL? Money won’t be a problem.”

  “I bet. But you can pay me back when that happens, if it’s important to you. Although you don’t have to. None of this is your fault.” He laughs, and I frown. “What’s so funny?”

  “Money. Betting.”

  “What’s so funny about those things?”

  “Cochrane owing me money because of a bet is what got us in this mess.” I freeze and he stops. “Wait, that didn’t come out right.” He shakes his head.

  “Do you wish he would have just paid you?”

  “Yeah…no…I mean…”

  He doesn’t finish and I don’t press. I lay back down on his chest, and squeeze my eyes to keep the tears back. For some unknown reason, Cochrane’s words come back to haunt me.

  “He’s not who you think he is, Reagan.”

  Maybe I should talk to Cochrane and find out exactly what he meant by that.

  21

  Rocco

  Practice ran late and I should be tired. I am tired, but there is this uneasy energy inside me. Reagan hasn’t talked to Cochrane yet. Not that I know of. Worry mushrooms inside me. What kind of lies will he spill about me? Will she believe them and go running back to him? Angsty and jittery, even though my body is exhausted, I head into Reagan’s house. It’s dark and quiet, and she’s probably fast asleep. If my bike wasn’t busted, I’d go for a long ride to push back the edginess prowling through my veins.

  I quietly go upstairs, not wanting to wake anyone. I stop outside Reagan’s door, my mind racing. Yeah, I’m going to make something of my life. But will I ever be anything but the thug from the wrong side of the tracks? What I should do is walk away. I’m not what she needs. I’m not even sure I’m what she wants. Sure, we’re having fun in bed, but sex and relationships are two different things. It’s possible that I’m just a goddamn wimp, too afraid of opening up and having her walk out of my life, straight back into the arms of Dick.

  Light fans out from beneath her door and my heart jumps. She’s been waiting up for me. I knock softly, and she welcomes me in. I open the door and find her in her bed, warm, flushed, so damn sexy it’s all I can do not to take her. Maybe I should take her. That would help with easing the strange restlessness inside me.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “No, I was awake.” She pats the bed, and I cross the room. “How was practice?”

  “Good.” I brush her hair back, lean in and press a kiss to her forehead. “How was your night?”

  She waves toward her computer. “Same old, same old.”

>   I grin, and glance out her window at the dark night. It was just last night I was sure I spotted Cochrane and his goons creeping around the property. I should have gone after him, should have pounded as many of them as I could. Maybe he heard I was looking for him, and came for me instead. Why didn’t I go out? Oh, because Reagan didn’t need that. She didn’t need to see a brawl. No, when Cochrane and I get into it, she’ll be nowhere in the vicinity.

  “Want to get out of here?” I ask.

  She frowns, and angles her head, looking at me like I might have a snake growing out of mine. I chuckle quietly. “It’s not that late.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Normally on a night like tonight, I’d go to my cave, but since Dick broke my bike, I guess I’ll have to settle for a walk. Want to join me?”

  She pushes her blankets off, showcasing her curvy body in her pajamas. No matter what this girl wears, I’m always going to want her.

  “Stare much,” she teases as she turns her back to me and pulls on a bra and sweater, following those up with panties and jeans. She puts her hair up in a ponytail and sticks a few bobby pins in to tame the wayward curls around her face. She is so fucking adorable I could sob. I am seriously the luckiest guy on the planet to be here with her. Even if it can’t be forever.

  You want forever.

  “Why are you hiding?” I ask, stepping up behind her. “I’ve been inside you, remember? I know exactly what you look like and taste like.” I pull her hair to the side and kiss her neck. A quiver goes through her and I like it. I like the way she reacts to my touch.

  “How could I forget?” She turns to me, her eyes bright with desire. “You were my first, remember, and a girl never forgets her first.”

  I stare at her, an odd little ache in my heart because the thought of her having a second, or third, doesn’t sit well with me. I put my hand on the side of her neck, brush my thumb over her cheek and lightly kiss her.

  “I’ll never forget either, Sunshine.” She smiles up at me. “Ready?”

  “Yeah.” Her eyes are dreamy her lips still poised as that one word slips from her lips.

  “Do you want my jacket?”

  She nods, and I tug off my team jacket and put it over her shoulders. I’m only in a T-shirt, but my body is hot from tonight’s practice. I take her hand in mine and we head outdoors. The refreshing night air falls over us and we both take a minute to breathe it in. We walk along the sidewalk, hand in hand, with no destination in mind. Before we know it, we’re on the football field.

  “Want to make out under the bleachers?” I tease.

  She laughs. “Yes, but no.”

  I pretend I’m throwing the ball. “Too bad I didn’t have my ball. I could teach you a few moves.”

  “That actually would have been fun.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, I like learning your moves.”

  I scratch my head as she gives me an innocent look. “Are we still talking about football?”

  “We are and you know what?” She throws her arms around me. “I love how passionate you are about football. I am so happy that you get to live your dream every day, Rocco.”

  A movement in the distance draws my attention. I look over her head, stare into the dark night, but my gaze comes up with nothing. Maybe it was just an animal.

  As I scan the campus, I notice one of the buildings. An idea hits. It’s not a great idea. In fact, it’s a very very bad idea. I’m going to do it anyway. I break from the circle of her arms, and capture her hand.

  “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see when we get there.”

  “Haven’t we already established that I hate surprises?”

  “No, we established that I’m the one who doesn’t like surprises. But trust me enough to know you’re going to like this one, right?”

  “I do.”

  My heart squeezes tight at that. She trusts me and that will always live inside me, very close to my pounding heart. We hurry across the wide football field until we’re at the back door to one of the campus’s buildings.

  “What are we doing at the art gallery?” she asks, her voice a hushed whisper.

  “What does one normally do at an art gallery, Reagan?”

  She whacks me and I feign hurt. “Smart ass.”

  “I thought we’d enjoy some art.”

  “But it’s closed.”

  “Not to us.” I pull a couple pins from her hair and drop to my knees. She gasps.

  “Rocco, we can’t break in. We’ll get in trouble.”

  “Nah, actually we won’t. I know campus security quite well.” I wink at her. “Did a guy a favor once.”

  “Chad?”

  “Yeah, you remember me mentioning him.”

  She puts a hand on her hip. “What kind of favor? Don’t tell me he’s one of the bad guys? Corrupt campus security.”

  “You clearly watch too many crime shows.” I laugh, and shove one of the pins into the lock, moving it around until I find what I’m looking for. “No. I helped him get a girl, once.”

  “A girl, really?”

  “Yeah, one of the ladies that works in the cafeteria.”

  “My, aren’t you the nice guy?”

  “Been called a lot of things.” I turn and wink at her. “But can’t say as I’ve been ever called that.”

  “You are though, Rocco.”

  My throat tightens at the way she looks at me, and I’m so far gone when it comes to her. I might be out of her league, I might not be accepted into her circle, but goddammit, I am in love with her, and I have to stop being such a chicken shit. I’m about to stand, drag her into my arms and once and for all tell her exactly how I feel.

  “Hurry,” she says, when voices reach our ears. I shove the other pin into the lock. “How are you doing that?”

  “Like this.” I move her in front of me, and she sinks to the cold ground with me. I take her hand and put it on the pin. “Move it until you feel a latch.”

  She works the lock for a second, then goes perfectly still. She glances at me over her shoulder. “Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “Don’t worry,” I say to ease her worries. “If we get caught, I’ll take all the blame. Just so you know, I’d never do anything that would put you in harm’s way or in a bad situation.” I clench down on my teeth, and resist the urge to say like your douche bag boyfriend. “I’ll say I kidnapped you and forced you to go to the art gallery.”

  She chuckles. “Yeah, that’s believable.”

  “If you spin a good enough story, you can make anything sound believable.”

  She eyes me and lifts her chin a bit, but there’s a playfulness about her. “Why do I get the sense you’re talking from experience?”

  “Probably because I am.”

  She opens her mouth like she’s about to ask something when I move my hand over hers, and click open the lock.

  “We’re in.”

  I stand and pull her up. Once we’re inside, we leave the lights off and I pull out my phone to turn on my flashlight app. I know for a fact that there are no alarms. It’s not like we’re at the Guggenheim or anything. This is the Kingston art gallery, where students show off their masterpieces.

  “Do you have any of your work in here?” I ask as we tiptoe through the building, our bodies close, constantly touching.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Too bad.” I shine my light on the wall and light up all the art. “Yours would look good right there.”

  “Is that why you brought me here, Rocco? So I could envision what my art would look like on these walls? To show me that I’m not on the path I’m supposed to be on? That I should live my own life instead of the one everyone expects of me?”

  “Wow, I just thought it would be fun.” I’m making light of it, but she’s bang on. “I didn’t know you were going to read all that into it.”

  “You’re far more transparent to me than you think.”<
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  She goes quiet again, too quiet, and I shine my light on her, find her face flushed, her eyes watery. Shit, I shouldn’t have done this. I’ve crossed a line. “Reagan—”

  “Thank you. You’re right. I do like this surprise.” She gives a big sigh. “No one’s ever cared—”

  “They care, Reagan. Don’t mistake them wanting you to get a good education that will lead to a secure career as not caring.”

  She nods, understanding exactly what I’m saying. Her gaze drops to the floor. “You’re right. They do. They just don’t understand.”

  “Maybe it’s up to you to make them understand. That’s totally up to you. If that’s what you want to do.” I’d like to tell her I have no horses in this race, but that would be a lie. I totally care about her, and her future. I want her to live the best possible life.

  With me.

  She goes silent for a second, and when she lifts her head, my light shining right into her eyes, she winces. “Can you stop blinding me?”

  “Sorry.”

  I shine the light on the wall again, and we walk closer to the displayed art. We both go quiet as we examine the paintings. We move quietly through the rooms, and stop when we come to the sculptures.

  “Great sculptures, don’t you think?” I lean against the statue of a woman, purposely placing one hand on her breast, acting all innocent. “Have you ever done one?”

  She laughs. “Are you twelve?”

  “What?” I look at the statue and jerk my hand back. “Where did that come from?”

  She whacks me and her laugh curls around me. “So juvenile.”

  “I bet that’s what you love about me.”

  She goes quiet when the word love spills from my lips and I mentally scold myself. Just because I’m in love with her doesn’t mean she’s in love with me. She has a goddamn boyfriend who’s waiting for our month to be over so he can have her back.

  Fuck me.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I don’t bet or gamble,” she says quietly. “Especially when people are putting things on the table they should never be gambling with.”

  If she’s talking about her heart, I get it. I am two seconds away from putting mine on the table, and I’m terrified. Terrified of getting hurt, terrified of her walking away. Terrified of her never knowing how I really feel. If I don’t take this chance, I’ll end up spending the rest of my life wondering what if. Which is worse.