Chapter 6
Chapter Six
“Tiff! It’s not tackle football!” Jill calls out.
I know that.
And I didn’t intentionally tackle Rocco.
Rocco had reached for the ball and was about to catch it, and I leapt forward to snatch it away.
Only, I stumbled, and we both ended up on the ground. With me on top of Rocco.
“If you want to straddle me, we should go somewhere private,” he says for only me to hear.
My jaw drops. He winks.
I fly off of him faster than if he’d been a snake that bit me. And then I fake a limp.
“Ow, ow, ow,” I wince, hobbling to the sideline.
“What’s wrong, Tiff?” Jen asks.
“Nothing! I’m fine.”
“Go rub it out, honey,” Mom shouts across the field.
Rocco pops up and follows me to the sideline, chuckling about my mother’s choice of words.
Ugh. Phrasing, Mother. Phrasing.
I want to get away from this game and go and hide somewhere, but Rocco is right on my heels. I limp toward the fire pit, away from the view of the field of play.
Rocco lights the gas fire and plants himself in an Adirondack chair next to me. He pats his knee. “Let’s take a look at that foot.”
“It’s fine.”
“Tiffany,” he warns, and I do as I’m told.
Rocco carefully removes my shoe and rolls my sock down. His rough fingers brush over my bare ankle. Heat pulses between my legs, and my mouth dries up.
“Wiggle your toes,” he says.
I do, and I start to feel self-conscious about how my foot might smell.
He rotates my foot, testing my perfectly intact ankle. “We should go put some ice on it, to be safe.”
I can’t keep this lie going any longer. “I faked it.”
Rocco blinks. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t want to listen to any teasing about how I landed on top of you after that tackle.”
He grimaces. “Sorry for teasing.”
“Not you!” I exclaim, shaking my head. “My sister. Everybody. My pushy parents. I feel like everyone is watching and…”
He leans forward, not taking his big hand off my foot. “Say what you need to say, Tiffany.”
I blurt it all out at once. “Everyone can see that I like you, and everyone has an opinion about everyone I’ve ever dated. I want to decide something on my own.”
The hand on my foot gently creeps up my shin, pushing past the hem of my jeans.
Rocco’s voice drops to a low growl, with deadly severe intensity. “From this day forward, I don’t want to hear about anyone else you’ve dated. And I don’t give a fuck about anyone’s opinions.”
I’m too taken aback for words. In the empty space, he continues, “And most of all, I don’t want you thinking it was your parents who pushed me to spend time with you.”
My nipples react to the hard look in Rocco’s eyes.
I don’t dare tear my gaze away from his.
“Rocco…” I start, but I don’t think I can breathe. “Why did you offer to pick me up?”
His grip on my leg softens, and his hand is now at the curve at the back of my knee. His thumb lightly strokes the bare skin inside my knee, back and forth, making me quiver. Making me wet.
“Because I detest that drive. But the thought of spending those two hours with you changed everything.”
“How?”
His chest rises and falls more rapidly than a moment ago. “It made me realize I had wasted enough time. Just being with you, sitting next to you, listening to you talk, is everything. And this has been the best holiday of my whole fucking life.”
The lump in my throat is a dry ache.
“You were always invited,” I remind him.
“No,” he says. A cold breeze blows my hair in my eyes. My breath catches as his fingers brush it away. “I couldn’t stand myself after what could have happened to you on that awful night. I didn’t deserve to be around you.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Rocco.”
“I thought you hated me. You never cashed the check.”
I shake my head, recalling that night I watched him from my window as he stood on my parents’ porch. He had looked so shaken.
I’m scared to ask the question, but it must be asked. It’s something I’ve always wondered about. “Rocco, why would you try to pay me off?”
“Pay you off? Is that what you thought the check was about?”
It doesn’t matter now, I think. What’s past is past. “If I’d been asked to give a deposition about the events of that night, I would have told the truth either way.”
Rocco leans back, his hand on my leg scraping back down over my shin.
He looks surprised. “I wasn’t trying to pay you off. I felt partially responsible that your big night was ruined and I…didn’t know what else to do.”
So he wasn’t trying to silence me. He was trying to make things right. I let that sink in. I’m sad that he felt so ashamed, but also moved by the kind gesture.
Giving him a wry smile, I explain, “As nice as that was, I still could never accept that.”
“I know.”
“And this misunderstanding could have been resolved years ago if you had come around more often.”
Rocco shakes his head, and his eyes bore into me. “On top of everything else, I couldn’t watch you with them. Other guys. It hurt too much.”
“You must be exaggerating.” My voice quakes.
“You’re really going to make me spell it out? It hurt because I wanted you, Tiffany. And I was waiting for my moment.”
I close my eyes against the flood welling up.
Despite my efforts, a single tear falls down my cheek. A rough, warm thumb brushes against my skin, wiping away the tear.
“Tiffany.”
“Rocco.”
His hand moves to the outside of my jeans, this time dragging upward past my knee as he leans in. His warm lips sweep over mine. Softly. Sweetly. And too, too quickly.
That hand squeezes my thigh, causing a crackle of lightning to my core.
I fist the front of his sweater and pull him back to me, pressing my lips harder this time, tasting more. He pulls back. A low growl escapes him, and I open my eyes.
“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” I say.
“Can you put weight on that phony injury?”
“Let’s find out.”
Rocco’s eyes darken, and he pulls me to standing. He closes in, claiming my mouth with his.
The kiss is not soft and sweet this time.
We lock together in a dance of lips and tongues and teeth.
He tastes like cider and cinnamon. I melt into him, fitting my body against his like it was always meant to be there.
Rocco’s scruff tickles my skin. His hand cups the back of my neck while his mouth owns me.
“Auntie Tiffany, what are you doing to Uncle Rocco?”
Breaking away from the kiss, I look down to find the pint-sized Elizabeth watching us. I give a dopey smile.
“I’m kissing him.”
Her cinnamon-sugar-covered hands go to her cheeks. “Are you gonna get married?”
Mortified, I cut my eyes to Rocco. Without missing a beat, Rocco slips his arm around my waist and says, “Do you think we should?” With that, he gives me a squeeze.
Elizabeth squeals and runs away toward the crowd of family and friends making their way back to the house for dessert.
The November sun is quickly dropping behind the woods, and soon the backyard will be lit by bonfire, halogen heat lamps and strings of party lights.
The night already feels magical as Rocco takes me by the hand and leads me up the rear terrace stairs of his house.
Hopefully, they’ll save us some pumpkin pie.