“Put that shit away,” Joaquin orders as he pulls me into the apartment. He moves to kick the door closed but I don’t turn around to acknowledge him, I’m too enthralled by the disheveled man still holding the gun.
In the last two months I can’t tell you how many times I’ve replayed that night over in my head or how many times I wanted to pick up my phone to call him. Those were the times I reminded myself we didn’t have a relationship like that, though. Rocco and I didn’t call each other to check in or shoot the shit.
So what if he sort of rescued me that night.
So what if he called me beautiful.
It didn’t mean anything—not to him.
He proved that much when he dropped me on my mother’s doorstep like I was a bag of laundry that needed washing.
“Vi, what are you doing here?” my brother questions. “Why didn’t you call me?”
That last question snaps me out of my trance and my gaze cuts to him.
He’s got to be kidding me.
“Why didn’t I call you? I’ve been calling you both for two days!” I hiss.
Okay, so I’ve been calling my brother for two days, I only started calling Rocco last night after I began to wonder if Joaquin was going to leave me stranded at the airport—he did by the way. I look from Rocco to my brother, narrowing my eyes. “I guess you’ve been too busy shooting shit to answer me, though.” I meet Rocco’s gaze, cocking my head to the side as I stare at him. “I’ve never had a gun pointed at me before. You really know how to welcome people.”
“Glad you enjoyed it, Bug,” he quips, flashing me an easy smile.
It’s such a rare sight that it temporarily becomes my undoing and I lose all train of thought. His gaze slowly rakes over me just as it did that night, only this time it feels like he’s undressing me with his eyes.
“Don’t call me that,” I snap, feeling a blush creep across my cheeks.
“You never used to mind,” he argues, causing my eyes to narrow.
When I was a kid, I didn’t mind at all. I was desperate for his attention and would’ve answered to just about anything. Back then, I even found it endearing—not so much now that I’m adult. I thought I made that clear.
“I’m not twelve anymore, Rocco.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” he volleys, licking his lips.
My cheeks flame even more. I’m certain he’s fucking with me, I’m just not sure why, but it’s time to turn the tables. Rocco Spinelli needs to be taken down a notch or two. But before I can get my jabs in, my brother appears between us.
“What’s going on here?” he questions.
Shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants, Rocco shrugs and tears his gaze away from me.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ll kill you,” Joaquin warns.
Rocco chuckles.
“Relax.” I’m just busting balls, besides….” His voice trails as he turns and lowers his voice. “I’d never fuck with your sister.”
Right…
I might believe that if he didn’t look at me like a starved man. Too bad he doesn’t have the balls to make a move, though.
“I can hear you idiots,” I mumble, plopping down on the couch. I kick my legs up. “And just to be clear,” I start, shooting Rocco a glare. “You’re not my type.”
I prefer a man who isn’t afraid to go after what he wants.
He arches an eyebrow.
“Right, you’re into men in tights these days,” he retorts, a playful smirk playing on his lips.
“Don’t knock it,” I chastise. “There’s nothing wrong with men in tights. They hug everything, leaving very little to the imagination and no room for surprises. There’s nothing worse than a guy hyping up his dick and lowering his pants to reveal one of those mini hot dogs you get at a buffet.”
Let me be clear, I’m certain Rocco isn’t carrying a mini hot dog under his dress slacks. Like tights don’t lie, neither do gray sweatpants and basketball shorts. He really should consider going back to his old attire.
“Sort of like when a girl stuffs her training bra with tissues and coincidentally gets caught in the rain,” Rocco retorts.
I cock my head to the side.
Yes, there was a time when I stuffed my bra, but that was a long time ago and we both know my girls have come a long way since then. If my brother wasn’t standing right here, I’d rip my shirt over my