Rocco watches TV with very little interest. It looks like his mind is ticking over and over.
Is he thinking about his parents?
He might have been very cold and matter-of-fact about it, but it must have hurt.
I can’t believe that he lost both of his parents.
Why would anyone want to walk away or put drugs before him?
“Rocco?”
He turns his head. “Hmm?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Because you just talked about your past and your mum dying!
When my family talks about Celia, it sometimes takes every ounce of my self-control not to scream at them.
“You just looked spaced then, is all.”
I want him to talk. I want him to tell me how it really made him feel when his mum died. And I’m the biggest hypocrite because I don’t want to tell him about my sister.
“What do you usually do while watching TV?” he asks.
“Huh?”
“When you watch TV, you don’t just sit there and stare at a screen, right?”
I purse my lips and glare. “No, I do not. I also regularly check my phone, flick through magazines, randomly burst into song, paint my nails—the list could go on and on.”
“Thank fuck I’m not a girl.”
“If you were a girl, you’d like it.”
“If I were a girl, I’d never leave my room.”
Gross.
“That’s lovely, Rocco,” I mutter sarcastically.
“What would you do if you were a guy for the day?”
“I’d get someone to kick me in the balls, so I can see why men turn into little bitches when that happens.”
He looks me dead in the eye. “You can’t even comprehend the pain.”
“No, I’m sure nothing a woman could ever go through would be as bad as that.”
“Don’t give me that childbirth crap. Women do that more than once. I have no desire to ever get kicked in the balls again.”
“Okay, I have no experience of childbirth, but I still think you’re full of shit right now.”
Laughing, he throws his arm over the back of the sofa. His hand brushes past my hair, and my breath catches.
“Probably.”
“You think you’ll have kids one day?” I ask.
He gasps, faking surprise. “Isabella, we barely know each other!”
I roll my eyes at his comment. Obviously, I wasn’t asking to have his children.
Rocco chuckles at his own joke. When his smile fades, he asks, “Do you want kids?”
“No, I don’t,” I say.
“I do someday.”
God, I wouldn’t know what to do with a baby. Way too much responsibility, and I saw how broken Mum and Dad were when Celia died. You couldn’t pay me enough to get me to risk that.
He smirks. “You might one day. I can see you with several kids.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Absolutely not. There’s no way I’m ruining this figure. I’ll be a cat lady. Nah, actually, that’s too cliché. I’ll have something cool, like racoons.”
Rocco’s doing that staring thing again, like he’s not quite sure what to do with me. “So, you want to be a crazy racoon lady?”
“Over cats? Sure. Or maybe I’ll just travel the world. If you don’t settle down, where do you think you’ll be?”
“Six feet under probably.”
“Death? Wow. And you think my goals are weird.”
“Why are we even talking about this?”
“Because you spaced.”
“I’ve never gotten off topic so hugely before you.”
“You’re welcome, mister.” The doorbell rings, and I give his chest a shove. “Ooh, pizza! I have some cash.”
Yep, pizza again.
I reach for my bag, but Rocco gets there first and launches it across the room. It hits the wall and lands on the carpet with a thud.
“Okay, what the actual fuck was that?” I shout in disbelief.
Chuckling, he stands up and pulls his wallet out of his pocket. “I’ve got this.”
“And you couldn’t have just said that?”
What’s wrong with him?
“I could have, but that was funnier.”
With my mouth hanging open, I watch him walk past me and out of the room. He just threw my handbag.
“If my phone is smashed, I’m going to break your dick!”
Retrieving my bag, I rifle through it until I find my beloved iPhone. I don’t know where I’d be without it. My love for my phone would be a whole lot less pathetic if I had friends to contact. But Netflix app? Hello! Plus, I can stalk beautiful celebrity men on Twitter and Instagram.
Rocco comes back through with two pizza boxes. He raises an eyebrow.
“You are lucky my baby isn’t broken,” I say, holding up my phone.
“I didn’t even throw it that hard. And, anyway, I would’ve replaced it.”
“So not the point. Would you be okay with me throwing your stuff, huh?”
“Bella, use your mouth to chew instead of talk, yeah?”
Really?
I glare at the prick.
His mouth kicks into a smirk. “Better still—”
“Don’t finish that sentence!”
Bloody dickhead was about to tell me to suck him. Not happening.
Rocco sits and opens both boxes. “It’s getting cold, Bella.”
“Ugh, fine, but I’m only still here because I’m hungry.”
“That, and whatever you’re running from.”
It’s not what I’m running from; it’s what I’m running to.
And it’s a really, really dumb idea. But, hey, it could all be worth it.
I grab a slice of pizza. When Rocco leans back, he kinda moves over, so his arm is now touching mine. There is a whole other space next to me, but we’re still sitting cramped together.
Should I move?
He can’t, but he definitely had more room before he scooted over a fraction.
Okay, I really don’t need to overthink this.
Just eat your fucking pizza, you moron.
He grabs the remote and starts flicking through the channels on Freeview. No Sky or Netflix app on his TV.
What does he do when he’s home?
Ugh, women probably.
If he thinks I’m going to be another notch on his bedpost, he’s fucking tripping.
“Hey, what’s your number?”
He abandons his quest for something less shitty than some car programme. The answer is anything.
“You want to know how many women I’ve slept with?”
I shrug. “Sure. Why not?”
“Why?”
“Er, why not?” I repeat.
He’s silent for a second, and at first, I think he’s just considering whether to tell me or not, but then I realise he’s bloody counting.
For real, he doesn’t just know that?
Stupid slut.
You don’t care. You’ve known him for a few days, and caring about how many women he’s bedded is pathetic. Don’t. Be. Pathetic.
“It’s around fifteen.”
“Around?”
“I don’t remember them all, Bella.”
I figured that much.
“Wow. You don’t even know how many women you’ve been inside.”
He rolls his eyes. “What’s your number?”
“Two. And they sucked.”
Both guys were while I was desperately trying to act like I was fine and moving on from Celia’s death. I jumped into relationships, and obviously, it didn’t go well either time. Apparently, I’m not supposed to have a normal, happy life.
So, yeah, racoons, I guess.
“Only two?”
“Are you saying I look like a slut?”
He doesn’t even flinch, so he’s clearly not worried that he’s offended me. “No.”
“Then, what do you mean by that?”
“Well, you’re sneaking out to hang around in shit neighbourhoods. Doesn’t exactly scream virgin or long-term-relationship type.”
“I don’t even know what you think it screams.”
“Just a few more men.”
Right.
“Well, at least I know my number, Mr Slut.” I take a huge, unladylike bite of pizza.
“Okay, now, I’m sure you’ve been with more than two.”
“Huh?”
“You can fit that much in your mouth, so you must be—”
I punch his arm and swallow. “Don’t even finish your sentence. You will never know how much I can fit in my mouth.”
“Yeah, of course, I won’t,” he says sarcastically.
“Wow, you’re very sure of yourself.”
I’m not sleeping with him. Not even if he begs.
Probably.
He smirks and picks up another slice of pizza. “We’re both impossibly good-looking; it’s only a matter of time.”
I can’t come up with a decent comeback quick enough because my stupid hormones are going crazy over Rocco saying I’m impossibly good-looking.
Get ahold of yourself, Bella.
“Cat got your tongue?” he says.
“No,” I reply, narrowing my eyes.
“Then, can I?”
“Oh, smooth, Rocco! Do you really think—”
He cuts me off…with his lips.
Hell yeah!
His hand wraps around the back of my neck, and he holds me still. It takes me a nanosecond to respond. I grip the muscles over his hips and hold him when I feel like I’m about to fall away. His lips are on mine, and—
Holy fuck!
They’re soft, but the way he’s kissing me is firm, and it’s so freaking maddening.
Rocco moans as his mouth guides mine in the most perfect kiss. This is doing nothing to curb my obsession with him.
Rocco’s tongue sweeps my top lip, and I almost fucking implode. My fingers dig into his skin, and it makes him kiss me deeper.
I really could get used to this.
“Bella,” he groans against my lips. “If you’re serious about that no-sex-yet thing, you need to stop me now.”
Pulling away is something I know I will regret, but I can’t let this go too far before I’m ready, so I sit up and look at him. His dark eyes look black and full of lust. He takes a breath and flops his forearm across his lap.
“That’s not the last time we’ll be doing that, Bella.”
“Let me know once you’ve calmed down,” I reply, smirking.
Inside, I’m happy-dancing and doing all that shit I mock teens for. I’m one of them now. Rocco is more than a pretty face with a body sculpted from heaven itself. He’s hope.