a few feet from the chaos of my mother passing platters to my sister. My dad wrangling the enormous pork shoulder to the table, where he would carve it for us to eat... The familiar sounds of an Ortiz-Rodriguez holiday, and I felt something powerful happening between me and Rocco.
Undeniable.
I liked this man. I wanted him, and from the way he was looking at me, he wanted me right back. If only our lives weren’t pulling us in completely different directions.
But maybe that was exactly the key to all this. We’d have to part ways no matter what. If I just let myself have him, burn out this fire that had been roaring under my skin since the moment I laid eyes on him, maybe I could move on with my life.
It wasn’t deviating from my plan; it was just a pause. Self-care. Yes, that’s what this could be.
I looked up at him, and those blue eyes were like flames licking at my skin. And it wouldn’t stop, I knew that. The only way to end this was for both of us to get this out of our systems. And then we could each part ways without wondering what could’ve been.
Chapter Twenty
Rocco
“Un poquito más pastel, Rocco?” I refrained from groaning at Julia’s grandmother’s fourth attempt to offer me more food. I thought I was going to explode from everything I’d consumed in the last hour.
“Abue dejalo! Se va a poner malo,” Julia protested, apparently concerned for my health. She sounded worried, but I was a bit confused by what she’d said, then looked at Abuela, who just waved her off and proceeded to hand me another piece of chocolate hazelnut cake.
“You told her the food is going to turn me bad? I mean, it might make me sick if I eat more—”
She laughed and ran her hand over my forearm, the third time she’d done that since we’d moved back to the living room for more game time and dessert. She’d only had a couple of glasses of wine, so I couldn’t pin it on alcohol-induced affection. But something had shifted since I’d spilled my life story before dinner. I didn’t want to make unhealthy assumptions and decide she felt pity for me. I thought too highly of her to do that. But this new closeness seemed very different.
She was still laughing at my question, but answered with a smile lifting her lips. “It’s a Dominican expression, something like ‘he’s going to get sick.’”
I looked at the chocolate cake in my hand and then at Julia and her dad, and they both shook their heads.
“Don’t eat it,” her dad warned. “The first time I met Pura, she kept handing me plates of food until I was sure I’d puke on her couch, and that’s saying a lot, I’m Puerto Rican!”
I took his advice and discreetly put the slice of cake on the coffee table.
“Good man. Sometimes my suegra’s food can be too much of a good thing, if you know what I mean. Now the rum, that’ll help.”
I liked Julia’s dad. He was kind and friendly. And he looked at his wife and daughters like they hung the moon and the stars. I wondered how he and Coach would get along—probably great. I also was not going to read too much into the fact that he compared me crashing their Thanksgiving dinner to the first time he ate at his in-laws.
That was not the place my head needed to go. I grabbed the small glass of rum I’d been nursing, to finish it before I stood up, and pulled on Julia’s hand. Her puzzled expression was adorable, but she just let me bring her with me and I wanted to kiss her. No, I wanted to ravage her. Grab her by the waist and pull her tight against me as I licked into her mouth.
Instead, I pointed at the kitchen. “Let’s go clean up.” Both Paula and Sebastian stared at me with stunned faces at the suggestion. Julia, on the other hand, was giving me a look that was very far removed from professionally friendly.
When she spoke, her voice was soft and mellow, and I wished to everything that this night could end with us wrapped up in each other, full of good food and family. “Uh-oh, you’re going to have to fight Abuela to make her leave the kitchen.” That was Paula, who seemed totally amused by my suggestion.
Julia was into it though. “We’ll go see if she’ll be