Keeping Score Read online

  He gulps. “She’ll agree.”

  I tap my fingers on the table. “If I agreed to this, we’d need to set rules.”

  “Yeah, of course,” he quickly agrees, a measure of relief registering on his face.

  “You owe me a shit ton of money. Reagan is going to have to work that off for as long as it takes.”

  His throat gurgles as he swallows, hard, and he tugs at the collar of his shirt as his gaze drops to my knuckles. Is he suddenly realizing the error of his ways, the precious cargo he’s putting in the hands of a guy who was dragged up on the streets? Oh, what would senator daddy think of this? Yeah, like Reagan, he too is following in his father’s footsteps.

  “What are the rules?” he asks.

  “She’s mine for one month.”

  His body stiffens. “You…want her for one month.”

  “Yeah, I think that sounds about right. One month to work off your debt.” I press my thumb into my bottom lip, like I’m considering what she might taste like.

  “You can’t touch her. It’s not like that.”

  “Like I said, I won’t, unless she wants me to.”

  “She won’t.” He shakes his phone. “Can you give me a minute to talk to her? I need to run the whole month thing by her.”

  I grin. I don’t want Reagan—don’t want to fuck her. I’m not into high maintenance princesses, but his comment about her never wanting me pisses me off enough to say, “Sure, but don’t blame me if it’s my dick she wants when the month is all over.”

  2

  Reagan

  I take one fast breath and then another as I stare at my boyfriend and take in the worried, almost pleading look in his eyes. I briefly pinch my eyes shut, sure I’m dreaming and he didn’t just show up late at night to tell me he sold me in a poker game. A hysterical laugh crawls out of my throat, because that’s insane, right? Yeah, it is. This is all just a dream. I’m really in bed, all snuggled beneath my blankets, and Cochrane isn’t here offering me up to the notorious, big bad football player who sort of scares the shit out of me.

  We had a run in once, or twice, or a dozen times. At least, I think we did. It was freshman year, the night was dark, foggy, and I could barely see where I was going. I’d tried to call campus security for an escort back to my place, but they were working overtime due to the recent rash of events on campus and I couldn’t get through. Cochrane said he was in group study and couldn’t get out of it to walk me home. I had no choice but to hightail it myself, despite the warnings that no female should be out alone after dark. There was a stalker on campus, and a girl had been attacked. She was okay, thank God, and while walking alone wasn’t my smartest move, I couldn’t stand outside the lecture hall all night.

  Keys in hand, I ran in the fog until the rumbling sound of a motorcycle engine reached my ears. My step stilled as my heart beat faster and through the haze I was sure it was Rocco Gianni, following me on his bike. Was he the stalker? I never found out, and after that I changed paths, taking an even longer way home. Nevertheless, over the years, late at night when I was all alone, I was sure I could still hear his bike, smell his scent—a mixture of freshly soaped skin, motor oil and leather. It’s lived inside my brain since I first met him at Wolf House freshman year.

  “Reagan, did you hear me?” Cochrane’s whiny voice pulls me back, and I open my eyes. Blood drains to my toes because no matter how much I want to believe I’m hallucinating, I’m not. Cochrane is standing in my kitchen, begging me to save his ass by handing mine over.

  “I heard you,” I say softly, quietly, as I back up until I fall into a kitchen chair. I lean forward, brace my elbows on my knees and bury my face in my hands. “Can’t you just ask your dad for money?”

  “He cut me off, you know that. If I ask, he’ll tear me a new one, and maybe even investigate. If he does and realizes I’ve been gambling illegally, here at Kingston…” His voice goes quiet and I spread my fingers to peek at him. He puts his finger to his throat and makes a slicing motion. “Lots of heads will roll and it probably won’t look good for you, either, you know since we’re a couple and people will think you’re guilty by association.”

  “My God, Cochrane. How could you drag me into this?” I hate conflict, any kind of conflict, and here I am being dragged into the middle of a horrible situation. I hug myself to stave off the cold that always lives inside me, more so tonight.

  He hurries up to me and sinks to his knees. He takes my hands in his, his blue eyes wide and imploring. “You’ll won’t have to do much. It’s not like you have to sleep with him or anything.”

  My heart jumps into my throat. I hadn’t even considered that sex could be part of the re-payment plan. But what if it is? What if Rocco, a brutal guy with those rough and tough hands, wants me in his bed? A strange shiver goes through me. Would he touch me brutally, tear at my clothes and forcefully devour my mouth? Or would he caress with gentle hands, a slow easy seduction that would shake the ground beneath me and send me soaring into outer space?

  Which do I want more?

  Wait, what? I don’t want either. That is not going to happen in a million years. A billion, even. Not even if we were the last two people on earth and mankind depended on us.

  “Reagan?”

  “No, just no. I am not something that can be traded for currency. I can’t even believe that crossed your mind.”

  He points to his face. “If you want to see this in one piece again…”

  My jaw drops open. “He threatened you?”

  “Not with words, but he cracked his knuckles and stared at my face.”

  “My God, Cochrane. We need to go to the police. Wait, wait…” Another thought hits. “There’s a guy threatening you with physical violence and you still thought it was a good idea to put me up for trade.”

  “He won’t hurt you, Reagan. He likes you.”

  My head rears back. “Likes me? He doesn’t even know me, and…” I pause as a shiver goes through me, memories of him watching me from the fog stealing the air from my lungs. I guess if he wanted to hurt me, he would have, right? Then again, maybe it wasn’t him following me those dark nights, keeping his distance until I locked myself in my house, and then revving his bike as he took off, me safely behind my door until the noise faded into the night.

  “Please, buttercup. Do this for me, for us. We can’t let anything stand in our way of becoming senators, getting married, having the family we always wanted.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. Right, can’t let anything get in the way of those plans—plans that had been carefully laid out for me by my parents. I think they were grooming me to follow in their footsteps the second I was born. I’ve done everything right, followed all the rules, been the good daughter and the good girlfriend, but this…this is over the top.

  I fold my hands on my lap, the fight going out of me. “What do I have to do?”

  “Whatever I tell you to.”

  The deep voice at the door has Cochrane jumping to his feet, and me nearly falling backward on my chair. I grab the table, trying to stop myself from toppling over when Rocco is right there, catching the back of my chair and righting me before I fall—while Cochrane stands there doing nothing.

  “You okay?” he asks, those translucent blue eyes of his locking on mine with genuine concern. He hovers over me, all brawn and muscle and smelling like wind and leather, like he’d just taken a long bike ride. Everything about him overwhelms me, frightens me…does weird things to my insides.

  It’s a struggle to find my voice, but when I finally do I smooth my hand over my nightie, instantly realizing how thin it is. Oh God, he can probably see my nipples. I cross my arms over my chest to hide my body from his eyes, even though they haven’t strayed from my face. He’s not interested in me sexually, otherwise he would have looked, so I guess that’s good news.

  “I am now, thanks,” I say.

  “What are you doing here?” Cochrane asks.

  Rocco doesn’t turn, not right away
. Ignoring Cochrane, his worried gaze moves over my face, like he’s making sure I’m okay, and his closeness starts messing with my brain and body.

  I push back my chair, needing a reprieve from his closeness and he finally straightens to his full height and turns. That’s when I notice the big black bag on the floor by the door.

  “Why wouldn’t I be here?” he says to Cochrane as he picks his bag up and hikes it over his shoulder, letting it dangle down his back in that rough and tumble masculine way that teases parts of my body I didn’t know existed before.

  He turns to me. “So you’re cool with this, Reagan? Cool with Dick here selling you to me for one full month?”

  “A full month,” I yell and jump up, but instantly wish I hadn’t because Rocco is right there again, my body almost flush against his, my nipples now a tiny bit harder. He dips his head, not to see my near naked body, but to meet my eyes, like he’s checking in on me. My entire body quivers.

  “There are rules,” Cochrane pipes in, and I inch back, needing to put a measure of distance between us.

  “Rules?” I squeak out.

  Rocco smirks. “Yeah, I’m not allowed to fuck you.”

  My throat tightens at his vulgar words, the world closing in on me a little. “I’m not…doing that.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t want to fuck you either, Reagan.”

  What the hell? Why am I so offended that he doesn’t want to fuck me? What’s wrong with me? Oh God! What am I even saying?

  “But you are mine for the next month. I just have to figure out what it is I want to do with you.” He looks past my shoulders. “First, I guess we should figure out where I’m going to sleep. Do you have a spare room, or will I be bunking with you?”

  “My…roommate.”

  He angles his head, and his thick dark hair falls over his eyes. “You want me to sleep with your roommate?”

  I give a fast shake of my head. “No, I mean. I have to clear this with her. We share this house.”

  He glances around. “Pretty big house for two people. You girls probably won’t even know I’m here, anyway.”

  “Oh, I’ll know,” I squeak out.

  His brow raises. “What’s that?”

  “Nothing,” I say, trying not to sound as breathless as I feel.

  Rocco is staying at my place for one full month!

  What did I ever do to deserve this?

  I lift my eyes to his. “What was that you said about rules?”

  He jerks his head toward Cochrane. “Your boyfriend said no fucking. I guess you and me will have to figure out the rest come morning.” He stretches, acting and looking like he’s always belonged in my house. “Do you want to show me the way, or should I just fall into the first bed I find?”

  My heart is crashing so hard, I’m sure the guys can hear it. “There’s a spare room, second door on the left. You can sleep there tonight. We’ll figure the rest out in the morning.”

  He nods, and walks around me. “Night.”

  As he stomps off, I turn to find Cochrane leaning against the kitchen counter, rubbing his chin hard, worry all over his face.

  “This was a mistake,” he murmurs. “A stupid fucking mistake.”

  I plant my hands on my hips. “You think?”

  He swallows, and pushes off the counter. “I shouldn’t have.”

  “Goddamn right you shouldn’t have.” It’s not like me to swear. Good Lord, proper manners have been pounded into me since I was a child. I’m sure every strand of hair on my mother’s head would fall out if she heard me. But under the circumstances, with my blood boiling in my veins, I can’t help myself. Apparently finding out I’ve been sold has reduced me to my worst.

  His eyes are wide, like he’s too shocked at my outburst, as he reaches for me. “I’m sorry, buttercup. If I could take it back, I would.”

  I shake my head. For some reason, I’m not so sure I believe him. “Yeah, well, you made your bed, Cochrane, and now Rocco is lying in it.”

  “Reagan—”

  “Out,” I snap and point to the still open door.

  He hesitates but I stand my ground. “Leave.”

  He turns and sulks to the door, his slow movements grating on my last nerve. He looks back over his shoulders. “I can come back tomorrow to help you set the rules.”

  “I’m a big girl, I can do them myself. I think you’ve done enough already.”

  He nods. “I really am sorry. The month will go fast and he’s only sleeping here tonight to piss me off. We don’t really like each other. He’ll probably leave come morning, and you’ll never have to deal with him again.”

  “And if he doesn’t? If he’s underfoot for a whole month, what am I supposed to do then?”

  He snorts and gives a humorless laugh. “I don’t know, just don’t fall for him.”

  I stand there for what feels like ten minutes staring at Cochrane, completely dumbfounded. I shake my head to pull myself together. “That’s what you’re worried about?” I ask, my voice bordering on hysteria. “You sell me to the scariest motherfucker on campus, and your biggest worry is that I might fall for him?” He takes a step toward me. “Go.” I practically shove him out the door and lock it behind him, then lean against it, trying to catch my damn breath.

  What the hell just happened, anyway? Maybe I really am dreaming all this.

  Boots shuffle in the upstairs hall and a growl crawls out of my mouth. Nope, not dreaming. Rocco Gianni, the toughest guy on the football team, a guy who is full of scars and bruises from a brutal upbringing, now owns me for one full month. The floor upstairs creaks again, and I wonder if he’s lost.

  I shut off the kitchen light and dart up the steps, coming to a resounding halt when I find him dressed only in a pair of jeans, his hand on my bedroom door handle.

  “What are you doing?”

  He turns to me, and I try hard not to let my gaze drop to take in his hard chest. “I thought I’d take a shower before bed. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Over there,” I say and point to the door to the left. “That’s my bedroom and it’s out of bounds.”

  “You a Falcons fan?”

  “No. Why?”

  He shrugs. “You just used a football term.” He hovers over me and my damn knees weaken. “In football when we go out of bounds, there’s a penalty.” He glances at my bedroom door. “What kind of penalty would I get if I crossed that threshold?”

  He’s teasing me, playing with me, trying to get to me, and he’s doing a damn fine job. I guess his hatred of Cochrane extends to me simply because we’re a couple, but I’ve never done anything to him.

  “Just don’t go in.”

  “Maybe you meant to say it’s off limits.”

  “Maybe I did.” God, this guy is throwing me off big time. I point a shaky finger. “Shower’s right there.” He turns, his chuckle reverberating through me as he walks down the hall, looking as good going as he does coming.

  Yeah, there’s no way I’m not going to know he’s here.

  3

  Rocco

  I wake up early, like I always do, and the second my eyes open, I jackknife up in bed. “Where the hell am I?” I mumble curses under my breath as I take in the room, the frilly blankets I’m under, and wonder why there isn’t a body beside me. I might not want a long-term relationship, but that doesn’t mean my Saturday nights are spent in my bed alone. I rub my eyes, and memories of last night, the card game—Reagan—and what she said to her douche bag boyfriend when I left the room, floods my brain in a whoosh.

  Scariest motherfucker.

  I honestly hate the idea that she’s afraid of me, and for the life of me, I don’t know why or what I did to frighten her. Hell, we’ve talked when I lived with Cochrane, and we even shared a class our first year. But she never really paid me much attention. Fuck, maybe I should just call this all off. None of it’s her fault, and Dick never should have dragged her into it. I showed up last night just to piss him off. I grabbed an equipment bag full
of my shit, but I wasn’t even sure I was going to stay.

  Why did you?

  I don’t know but I’m sure it had nothing to do with that flimsy nightie Reagan was wearing. It can’t be that. I don’t want her and she doesn’t want me and that’s just fine. I probably should have left last night, but seeing Dick on his knees begging his girlfriend to let him throw her to the wolves roused the beast in me and brought out the protector. I can be like that, overprotective at times—always fighting for the underdog.

  A loud noise outside my door drags my focus and my body tenses—always in fight mode. The noise is followed by a round of muffled curses. Who the hell is up at this hour on a Sunday morning? I throw the covers off, and dressed only in my boxers, I pad across the wood floor and tug open my door. The second I see the vision before me, I nearly bite off my damn tongue.

  “Having trouble?” I ask as I try not to stare at Reagan’s ass, barely covered in that sexy nightie from last night—the same one that invaded my dreams.

  Yeah, sure, you don’t want her, Rocco.

  Down on her hands and knees, Reagan turns my way. Shit, she looks so adorable, and seeing her on her knees like that takes my mind in a direction I don’t want it to go. Yeah, that’s it. I’m getting out of here while the getting is good. Before I’m tempted to take her in my arms and show her how she should be treated.

  “Oh, sorry did I wake you?” she seethes, a fire in her eyes as she glares at me.