Keeping Score by Cathryn Fox

3

Rocco

Iwake 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.

As her gaze hits like a slap, I take a step back, and really, I shouldn’t be shocked at her angry outburst. She doesn’t want me here, and I can’t blame her. “You need some help?”

“I don’t need anything from you and perhaps you should go back to your own place if you don’t like to be woken up early.” She gathers up the laundry she dropped and shoves it back in the basket. That’s when I notice the open, double closet doors across from my room, exposing a stacked washer and dryer. A grin turns up the corner of my mouth. Oh, I get it. She’s up at the crack of dawn to do laundry to drive me from her house. I kind of like her tenacity.

Gorgeous hazel eyes narrow in on my near naked body, and she gazes at my scars, a mixture of fear and…is that concern? To be honest, last night I was hoping she’d tell Cochrane to go shove it, to clean up his own messes, but I should have known better. She jumped in to save him, despite the predicament he put her in. I shake my head. The rich protect the rich, and would go to extreme measures to help those they love. Or maybe she likes being treated like shit.

So much for me showing her how a girlfriend should really be treated. Not that I’ve ever had a steady girlfriend. I’m too focused for that, and to be honest, I’ve never loved anyone, or been in love. The only people I care about on campus are the guys on my team and the ones I share a house with. It does make me wonder what I’d do, how far I’d go, to protect a loved one.

I make a turn to gather up my stuff and get the fuck out of her place when she barks out, “Do you think you could put some clothes on?”

I spin back around, and her chest is rising and falling quickly as she tries to avert her gaze. “Actually, my clothes are dirty, since you’re doing a load…” I gesture to my equipment bag and her face twists.

“You want me to do your laundry?”

“You do have a debt to pay off, Reagan.” I slide my thumbs into the elastic of my boxers, and her eyes go wide. “You can start by washing these.” I’m goading her, simply to get a rise out of her, although I’m not sure why.

“I am not touching your…junk.”

I laugh. “It’s not my junk I’m asking you to touch, Sunshine.”

She stands, and huffs. “Don’t call me that.”

“Hey look, I wouldn’t be here if Dick hadn’t sold you out.”

“That’s not his name. Don’t call him that, either.”

“Would you prefer it if I called him Cock?”

Her cheeks go the prettiest shade of pink. “Don’t call him...him…that.”

“Cock? What, can’t you say it?”

She starts shoving clothes into the washing machine, grumbling something under her breath. She fills it with liquid detergent, and pounds on the start button, but nothing happens. She curses some more, mumbling something about the broken button and stupid washer.

“I’m sorry, Sunshine. Can you speak up? I can’t hear you.”

She turns, and her face is completely flushed when she says, “I don’t know how you beat Cochrane.”

I lean against the door jamb and cross my feet, curious as to where this is going. “Are you saying I’m stupid?”

“No, I’m just…” she bites her lip. “He’s good at cards, and you…”

“What about me?”

She waves her hand. “You’re just…you.”

I grin. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe I’m good at cards too?”

She folds her arms and leans against the machine, her eyes full of accusation. “Maybe you cheated.”

That almost makes me laugh. Yeah, I’m the one who cheated. Freshman year, Cochrane and I were in math together, and he cheated off everyone. He never cheated off me, though. He just assumed I was a loser, here on a football scholarship, and probably couldn’t add two plus two. Does she not know her boyfriend at all? One thing is for sure, she sure as shit doesn’t know anything about me, and dammit, I shouldn’t want to change that.

I take a step toward her and she stiffens. “I don’t cheat.”

She swallows, and lifts her head, her hazel eyes a bit darker as they lock on mine, unafraid…but afraid. “Yeah, well that’s what you would say.”

She’s a tiny girl, clearly frightened of me—not that I’d ever hurt her—yet her shoulders are squared as she’s standing before me holding her own. It makes me like her a little bit more. Her chest rises as she draws in a fast breath and that’s when it hits me. She might be a pampered princess, living in this big ornate house with only one roommate, but there’s this innocence about her, a vulnerability. There’s also a fire in those hazel eyes of hers, a fire that could burn bright, but she, or someone, keeps it smothered.

“That’s what I know,” I counter, and make a split-second decision to stay around a bit longer. I’m not really sure why. I don’t need to prove to her I’m an honest guy. I don’t need her approval for anything.

I step closer, crowd her, and don’t miss the quiver traveling the length of her body. I reach out, and she gasps. “What are you doing?”

I slide my hand around her and press the start button on the machine. It instantly starts, and her eyes go wide.

“Starting the machine. What did you think I was doing?”

“I…I don’t know. How…how did you do that?”

“Right touch, I guess.” I say and step back, the air between us changed, and her body vibrates against the washer and she searches the hall, like she wants to look at anything and everything except me. “Reagan.” Her focus returns to me.

“What?”

“I know you hate me, but this…” I wave my finger back and forth between the two of us. “It’s not on me. It’s on your boyfriend.”

“I never said I hated you.” Her voice is low and I have to strain to hear it over the washing machine.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I…I don’t know why you and Cochrane hate each other so much, and obviously, your hate for him extends to me too, otherwise—”

“I don’t hate you. I don’t even know you. Just like you don’t know me.” Dark lashes fall slowly over those gorgeous eyes of hers and her head bobs slowly as she glances down, like she can’t figure out why I’d want to stay and make her miserable just to get back at Cochrane. But I’m not sure I do want to make her miserable. In fact, I’m not really sure about much at the moment—what the hell am I doing and why am I doing it—and while there’s very few fucking things that scare me, that uncertainty does. “But we’ve got a whole month to rectify that, don’t we?”

“I…listen if you want to toss your laundry in with mine, you can.” I reach for my boxers again and she holds her hands up. “Don’t.”

I laugh. “You know I’m just messing with you, right?”

She laughs, an almost airy, light sound that curls around me. “Yeah, okay. But we do need to set some rules on what can and can’t be worn outside the bedroom.”

“Does that go for you, too?”

Her eyes go wide, like she’s just realizing she’s still in that sexy, almost see-through nightie from last night. She folds her hands over her chest. “Oh, I…”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

“I’m not used to guys staying overnight.”

“Are you telling me Cochrane doesn’t stay over?” My God, there is no way this girl is a virgin. She’s been with Dick since freshman year, and maybe even before that.

Before she can answer, another door opens, and I turn to find a girl standing there in a T-shirt that barely covers her ass. Her shirt lifts, as she rubs her sleepy eyes, and I catch sight of her pink underwear.

“What the hell is going on out here? I’m trying to…” Her words fall off when she finds me standing in the hall beside Reagan. Without any shame or embarrassment, she lets her gaze go from my face, down a slow, leisurely inspection all the way to my toes, and back up again. “If this is a dream, do not wake me.”

“It’s not a dream,” Reagan huffs out, her shoulders stiff. “Miranda, this is Rocco. Rocco, Miranda. Rocco will be staying with us for the next month. Some things went down last night, and I didn’t want to wake you, but I hope you’re okay with it.”

“Okay with it, why wouldn’t I be okay with it?” She continues to gaze at me, her smile reaching her eyes as she appreciates my battered and bruised body. “And you don’t have to tell me who he is. Everyone knows the Falcons bad boy, Rocco Gianni. He’s the best tight end the team has ever had, and I mean that in more ways than one.”

Reagan’s face turns blood red as Miranda steps closer and pokes me with her finger. “What is it they call you… Rock Hard Gianni?”

“He’s real, Miranda, and you can’t just touch someone without asking. It’s called consent.”

“Oops, sorry,” Miranda giggles and presses her finger to her bottom lip in a cutesy, innocent way. I don’t think there is anything cutesy or innocent about her, but I like her. Hard to believe she’s roommates with Reagan. They seem so different. Maybe that’s what makes them good together. They do say opposites attract, and you can’t get much different than Reagan and me. Not that I’m attracted to her. Well, okay, yeah, I’m a red-blooded male, and there’s no denying she’s gorgeous. But she’s not mine, and never will be, and I’m okay with that.

“How would you like it if he just touched you…never mind.” Reagan groans, exasperated and already knowing the answer to the question, much like I do. For a brief second, I wonder how Reagan would like it if I touched her.

Stop!

“She’s right,” I tell Miranda. “You can’t touch without permission.”

She chuckles. “If I ask for permission, will you grant it?”

“Ohmigod,” Reagan says and holds her hands up to cut off her friend off. “Enough. Go back to bed, Miranda. There’s nothing to see here.”

“Then you need glasses, girlfriend.” Miranda looks me over again. “I should probably ask why you’re staying here for a month, but I’m not even sure I care.”

Reagan frowns. “He’s…I’m…”

“She’s helping a guy out,” I explain, to save her from the embarrassment of explaining that Dick the Douche Bag sold her out.

“Helping a guy out, huh?” Miranda wags her brows playfully. “Is the guy helping the girl out too? ‘Cause girlfriend, you’ve been so uptight lately, it would do you good to find yourself between a rock and a hard place.”

Reagan takes a breath, like she has one last nerve and her friend is close to fraying it. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh yeah, well that’s too bad,” Miranda says and spins, an exaggerated swing of her hips as she goes back to her bedroom and closes the door, leaving us alone in the hall, my body hyper-aware of the woman next to me.

I turn back to Reagan and grin. “She seems nice.” Her eyes fall shut and she’s murmuring something under her breath about Miranda being her ex-best friend, and I can’t help but think Reagan is super intense and maybe Miranda is right.

Maybe she could use a little rock and a hard place.