Keeping Score

by Cathryn Fox

  She puts one hand on her cheek, looking all demure. “When you word it like that, all sweet and romantic, how can I possibly say no?” She grins at me and I burst out laughing, because we both know I’m being corny, and she’s mocking me.

  I put my helmet on and secure it. “You’re kind of funny, you know.”

  “Funny, stupid, a fine line, don’t you think?”

  “If you’re scared, we don’t have to do this. But I promise you I’m an excellent rider, and even more cautious when I’m carrying precious cargo.”

  She rolls her eyes, and hugs herself again. “I think you were lying when you said you weren’t good with your words. You seem to say all the right things. It’s no wonder all the girls on campus are quick to hand over their panties.” As soon as the word panties leave her mouth, a flush crawls up her neck.

  “What do you know about the girls on campus and their panties?”

  “Nothing.”

  I have a feeling she knows more about me than she lets on. “Unless…”

  “Unless nothing.”

  I smirk at her response. While I like teasing her, I let it go, wanting to get to my destination before the sun sets. “Okay.” I tap the seat. “It’s your call, but I’d love to show you something. I think you’re going to like it.” She eyes me, and I laugh. “Don’t worry, it has nothing to do with my junk.” Wait, is that disappointment in her eyes? “Unless…”

  “Unless nothing.” She eyes the bike. “How do I even get on this thing?”

  I put my leg over the seat, and tap the back. She climbs on, and I say, “Put your arms around me, and your feet on the pegs.” She does as I ask, and I tap her hands, and give them a squeeze to let her know she’s safe with me. I turn my focus to my bike and start it, but it’s so damn hard to keep my concentration on my driving with her thighs hugging my body and her hands wrapped around my chest. I drive out of Kingston and take the windy roads along the shore.

  The fresh smell of the briny ocean fills the air, and I breathe it in. The night sky is lit, a mixture of pink and purple as the sun sets, and I lean into the corners. Reagan leans with me, her body following mine. Would our bodies move in perfect sync like this if we were between the sheets? I suspect they would, but I shouldn’t be thinking like that. I am not going to fuck her. Nothing good could come from that. After a long while, when I find my favorite spot on the highway, I pull off the road and turn the bike off.

  “It’s gorgeous,” Reagan whispers in awe as she looks at the setting sun over the water. She smiles at me, and my breath catches a little. Cliché, I know, but she really is beautiful. “You’re right, I do like it.”

  “Good.” I kick my leg over the bike and hold it so she can get off. “There’s more,” I say.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, come on, I’ll show you.”

  She looks over her shoulder, at the road behind her, and then at the guardrail. “Where?”

  “You’re going to have to take my word on it.”

  She hugs herself again as a cool night breeze washes over us, and I step up to her and zip her jacket to her chin. She eyes me. “What are you up to, Rocco?”

  “You’ll see.” I step back and gesture with a nod, but she doesn’t budge.

  “You’re not some crazy kind of stalker weirdo, are you?”

  “Stalker weirdo?” I tease. “Can’t I just be one without the other?”

  Her lips quirk. “No, that’s how it works.”

  “Fine then, no, I’m not a stalker weirdo. Not since the restraining order, anyway.” I grin at her. “Are you coming or not? You know you’re safe with me.”

  “Do I now?”

  “You wouldn’t have let me into your blanket fort if you weren’t.”

  She shakes her head at me. “I bet you were an annoying kid who always got his way.” She frowns, and opens and closes her mouth, like she’s trying to backtrack.

  “Come on,” I say, and she blows a breath, relieved that I’m letting it go. She takes my hand when I hold it out to her. “I better not regret this.”

  “Life is too short for regrets, my friend.” I close my big palm over her tiny hand. She’s so delicate, I’m afraid if I squeeze too hard I’d break her bones. It brings out the protector in me, and I have to tamp down my rage when my mind circles back to her douche bag boyfriend who sold her out.

  “Friends, huh. Is that what we are now?”

  “Yeah, I like the idea of us being friends. Do you think Cochrane would hate it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” She laughs as we climb over the guardrail, and I keep her close as we go down the jagged embankment, almost all the way to the rocky shore below. Before we get there, I tug her into a crevice in the rock.

  She gasps as the rock closes in on us, and she touches the solid, damp wall as if to test it. “What is this place?”

  “Sit.” I brush the ground and she drops down next to me, our bodies close, but not touching. She stares out the mouth of the little cave.

  “Wow,” she gasps her eyes wide as we take pleasure in the scenic view through the hollowed-out hillside. “Listen.” She cocks her head to the side. “It’s like putting your ear next to a big shell.”

  I nod, and like the way she’s describing the sound. I never thought of it like that before. “Strange, isn’t it?”

  She hugs herself again, and I unzip my coat.

  “It is, but I like it. How did you ever find this?”

  I shrug out of my jacket and put it over her shoulders. “I don’t want you to get cold.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m never cold,” I tell her. She looks like she’s about to protest when I answer her question. “I was exploring one day by myself and came across it. You know what’s funny? I grew up in a concrete city and I love all the big open spaces here in Southern California, yet I still find myself searching for the comfort of the tree house. This kind of does it for me.”

  She shifts, and moves closer to me, and I put my arms around her, like that’s where it’s always been meant to be. She takes a big breath, and puts her head on my shoulder. “I don’t ever want to leave.”

  “I thought you’d like it.”

  “I don’t.”

  I glance at her, find her looking up at me, her features hidden as the sun dips below the horizon. “What?”

  “I love it,” she says with a chuckle and turns from me to stare out through the opening, the sound of the waves lapping like a soothing balm to my soul. She takes her phone from her pocket and captures a few shots. I do the same, and we both fall quiet again for a long time. She breaks the silence, “Do you come here often?”

  She’s asking a question, but there’s another question lingering below it. I learned early on how to read people, not from their words but from the way those words are said, along with body language. It kept me out of trouble in most of the foster homes. Why does every mean bastard in the country end up caring for foster kids, anyway?

  “Not as much as I like,” I answer. “School and football keep me busy. But I always come alone, to clear my head and get away from the world.”

  She goes quiet for a very long time. “Thanks for sharing this space with me.”

  “Yeah,” is all I say, not even sure why I am sharing it with her. Maybe because she invited me into her space under her blanket and shared something personal with me. Maybe not. The only thing I do know is I like her being here with me. We sit like that for a long time, until the cooler night air sends a chill through our bodies.

  “Rocco?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you know there is a rumor at school that you killed a guy?”

  “They got it all wrong, Sunshine.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Maybe there was more than just one.”

  She arches her perfectly shaped brows. “Oh, really?”

  I wink at her. “Nah, but if there had been, they would have deserved it.”

  “I’m quite sure.” She
takes my hand and runs her fingers over my knuckles. Warmth floods my blood. “Maybe it has something to do with all these cuts and bruises you have. But everyone is scared of you.”

  “Are you?”

  “I don’t think so. Not anymore.” She glances up at me. She wants to say more, but is hesitant.

  “You can ask me whatever you want, as long as that works both ways.”

  She nods, her brow furrowed, and then falls silent. I guess she’s not going to risk me asking her something she doesn’t want to answer.

  Another little chill goes through her body, and it vibrates through me. “You’re getting cold. We should head back.”

  She nods. “As much as I hate to leave, we should.”

  “We can come again, Reagan.”

  Her smile curls around my heart. “Thanks. But yeah, we should go. I have some studying to do.”

  “Under the blanket?”

  She chuckles and the sound carries in the night as I slide from the cave and hold my hand out to her. We make our way back to the bike and I help her with her helmet. She takes my coat off and hands it to me for the ride home. I tell her to keep it but she refuses, so we climb on and thirty minutes later I’m killing the ignition in her driveway. Stars light up the night sky and the streetlamps give sufficient illumination for us to find our way to her front door. She uses her key and I follow her in.

  “I guess I should get you one of these, huh?” She holds up the shiny key for me to see.

  “Unless you want me climbing in and out of my bedroom window.”

  “It’s on the second floor.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  She laughs. “Nope, I’d be wise not to put anything by you, Rocco.” Her chest expands as she yawns. “I should get up to bed, and get some studying done.”

  “Same,” I agree, and I follow her up. We hesitate in the hall. Neither of us are in a hurry to separate.

  “Thanks again,” she adds.

  “Sure.” I turn and go to my room. I close the door, lean against it, and take a few deep breaths.

  What the hell are you doing, dude?

  I bend forward and put my hands on my knees as that inner voice berates me. I know better than to get close to a girl I have no right getting close to. The problem is, I really like being around her. I kick off my boots and flop on my bed. I lay there for a long time, until the world goes silent around me, both girls asleep in their beds. I turn and check the clock. Shit, it’s past midnight, and I have early practice before classes tomorrow. Sleep won’t come, no matter how hard I try. Every time I close my eyes, I see Reagan. She’s smiling and laughing, those gorgeous plump lips waiting for my mouth.

  “Fuck,” I curse and throw my legs over the bed. Maybe a hot—or rather cold—shower will help cool the heat inside me. I tiptoe quietly to the bathroom, shut the door and turn on the shower. I strip and climb in, bracing my hand on the wall as the hot water pours over my near trembling body. I turn my back to the shower, as my hand creeps down to wrap around my thickening cock. I tug once, twice, and go perfectly still when the bathroom door creaks open. I quickly turn the water off, prepared. Always prepared for the worst. That’s what a life on the streets will do to you. But what I’m seeing isn’t the worst. Nope, I’d probably classify it as the best. Either way, worst or best, I’m still fucked.

  8

  Reagan

  With my body still shaking from a dream that should be classified as a nightmare, I push from my bed, and take a few deep breaths. How can I be shaking when my clothes are drenched? Oh, probably because I just had a ridiculously hot dream about the man sleeping one door down from me, and deep in my soul, I’m shaking because I know it’s wrong.

  I walk quietly across the room, leaving the lights out, not wanting to wake anyone in the house, and head to the bathroom. I’m not sure whether to splash my face with hot or cold water. Maybe a warm shower will do the trick to calm my body down. I walk to the sink, and look at myself in the mirror. My heart stalls. The mirror is foggy. But that’s not the only thing sending warnings to my brain. Nope, something—or someone else—is in the bathroom with me.

  “Hey,” I hear, and turn toward the shower to find Rocco standing there, the shower doors open, and he has a big towel wrapped around his waist.

  My entire body quivers, from the hair on my head to the tips of my toes. I hug myself and a strange gurgling sound crawls out of my throat. Within a second, he’s right there, standing in front of me. All big muscles full of protective instincts and worry.

  “Are you okay?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Shit, you’re shivering uncontrollably.” His brow furrows. “I never should have taken you to the ocean. You caught a chill.” He pulls me to his warm body and I melt against him. His big hands run up and down my back, creating heat with friction. But that’s not what’s really warming me as I become acutely aware that he’s nearly naked and I’m dressed only in a T-shirt and pajama shorts.

  “I…I…” I close my mouth. Really, I have no idea what I’m trying to say.

  “You need a hot shower.”

  He drags me backward, keeping my body anchored to his, and turns on the spray. Before I even realize what’s happening, I’m in the shower—with him.

  “My clothes,” I say, but the protest is feeble, even to me.

  “I didn’t think you’d want me to take them off you.”

  He’d be right.

  He’d also be wrong.

  “But they’re see-through now.”

  “I know what a woman’s naked body looks like, Reagan.”

  I nod, and a strange pang of jealousy grips my stomach. What the hell is that all about? He’s a player and I have a boyfriend. Sure, we’re broken up this month, but we’re going to get married someday.

  “Why…are you in here with me?”

  “You actually looked like you saw a ghost. You’re so shaken up, I didn’t want you slipping and cracking your head open.”

  My throat tightens at the way he’s touching me, nurturing me. For a boy who had no one, no role models to learn from, he’s sure doing a great job of caring for me. I guess it must just come naturally to him.

  “Oh, okay.”

  He pulls me tight to his body and puts me under the spray, gifting me with all the hot water. I shift a little, pulling him in with me, and at first he’s hesitant, and it’s so strange, the way his thoughtfulness gets to me. I grew up with loving, caring parents, and have a boyfriend, yet everything in the way this guy from the streets touches me, fills me with a different kind of comfort. I slide my arms around his waist, the towel wet and heavy around his hips. I wouldn’t be surprised if the knot let go and his towel fell. What would I do with a naked Rocco in the shower with me? Another stupid sound crawls out of my throat.

  Rocco inches back, his gaze moving over my face. “You want to talk about it?”

  “I had a bad dream. A nightmare, really.”

  He nods in understanding and pushes my wet hair from my face. My heart flutters a little in my chest as his big hands touch me with such tenderness. His rough calluses that could cut skin, caress lightly, carefully. I put my face on his chest, listen to the pounding of his strong heart. The chills subside, Rocco’s heat creating another kind of storm inside me.

  “Better?” he asks.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He turns the water off, and we step from the shower. I begin to shiver again, until he wraps me in a big fluffy towel. He turns me so I’m staring at the door, and my body reacts to the sound of him changing towels. I resist the urge to turn around and admire his hard body.

  “Okay, let’s get you back to bed.”

  He keeps me close as we make the short trip to my room. “You need to get out of those wet clothes.”

  I nod and step up to my dresser, and pull out a clean shirt and pajama shorts. I turn to find Rocco staring at me, his upper body damp, his eyes locked on me and I take a fast breath at the intensity in him—th
e tent in his towel.

  “Can you turn around?”

  “Yeah.” He stands there for another second, the air between us charged, and I’d have to be an idiot not to realize there’s something fierce and powerful arcing between us. He finally turns, and I struggle to get out of my wet clothes. I pull my shirt up, and get my arm tangled over my head. My God, I’m twisting and contorting, and ouch, I think I just pulled something.

  “Reagan.”

  His voice is soft, and labored and far too close.

  “What?” I ask, and try to get air.

  “Stay still.”

  I do as he says, and his big hands are on my body again, his knuckles brushing over my rib cage as he slides his hands up and peels the wet shirt from my body. I stare at him, find his eyes closed, and appreciate the privacy he’s giving me.

  I quickly tug on my dry shirt. “Thank you.”

  He opens one eye, his gaze on mine. “Do you need any help with the shorts?”

  The thoughts of his hands touching me anywhere, especially below the waist, sends heat sparking through me. I’m glad I’m not near anything combustible. Don’t sound breathless. Don’t sound breathless.

  “I think I got it.”

  Dammit, I sounded breathless.

  He nods and turns and as I switch into a pair of dry pajama shorts, he goes to my bed and fusses with the bedding. Once I’m done, he looks me over slowly, takes a huge breath and tears his gaze away.

  He holds the blankets up, the warmth of my bed inviting. “Get in,” he tells me, and I slowly walk to my bed, my arms wrapped around myself to hide my hard nipples. He’s seen nipples before, Reagan. Probably hundreds of nipples. That still doesn’t make me any less self-conscious.

  I slide into the bed, and shift to the far side. I expect him to drop the blankets and leave. Instead, I hear a rustling sound, like he’s drying his body, and the other side of the bed dips, as he crawls in and pulls the blankets up over our head, cocooning us in. His towel brushes against my body and I’m glad he’s tied it around his waist again, I think.