Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
I shrugged. “I’m tougher than I look.”
“I’m beginning to realize that. But good luck getting Tommy to actually go to bed. Aim for eight-thirty but expect a lot of diversionary tactics.”
“Will do.” My voice was hopefully more confident than I thought.
Rock was staring at my face. Self-consciously, I pushed a strand back from my ear. It kind of felt strange to have it flowing free around him. Usually, at the bar, I kept it up and out of the way.
His hand replaced mine, his long finger brushing over my hair and then trailing down my cheek. “Thank you for this tonight, Maggie.”
I froze and wasn’t able to even nod until he’d taken a step back. Then I followed him to the door and locked it behind him.
Then I went over to find out what was going on in the dinosaur world.
When the key turned in the lock, it was almost midnight. I dropped my phone and swung my feet down from the sofa, searching frantically for my shoes, but as Rocco was already striding toward me, I stood up in my bare feet.
“He asleep?” he demanded.
“Yeah.”
“How’d it go?”
“Fine. We—”
“Anything I should know about?”
Rocco seemed like he might fire an endless array of questions my way, so I decided to change up my answers. “I now know that some dinosaurs were smaller than chickens.”
The big man blinked as he raised an eyebrow.
“And some ate plants. And a pterodactyl isn’t really a dinosaur at all.”
Rock’s face broke into a crooked grin. “I should’ve known he’d like you.”
“I think he did,” I said honestly. “He told me twice that my hair was pretty.”
“That’s because it is.” Rocco reached out, but this time, he stilled his hand before it touched my hair. “You’re even shorter in your bare feet.”
He was too close. Too close, and just too big, powerful, and masculine.
“Yeah, um, that’s how it works.”
He broke the intense eye contact. “Want something to drink?”
I pulled myself together and gave him a small smile. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”
“Not tonight. Have a seat, I’ll bring it out.”
Settling back onto the sofa, I tried to figure out what was wrong with me. Eighty percent of my customers at the Rusty Bucket were guys. Why did I keep reacting so strongly to him and his men?
Rocco’s intense looks and his touch didn’t mean anything, I told myself firmly. He’d needed a favor tonight and I’d helped him. It was as simple as that.
Still, I couldn’t help wondering what we’d talk about when he came back. It was nice, getting the chance to find out more about him.
While I waited, I spotted one of my shoes under the coffee table. It had a plastic stegosaurus in it, so I decided to leave it where it was.
Rocco returned with an open bottle of Chianti Classico and two glasses.
“Nice,” I commented as he poured red wine for both of us. I’d never seen him drink wine at the bar, which made me wonder if he’d gotten it for me.
He handed me a glass and then sat down in the middle of the couch, his powerful body making the whole thing shift. I slid toward him an inch or two and was reminded of how I’d slid into Julian’s lap the other day.
Which brought me up short. If I’d almost kissed Julian—and I’d wanted to—why was I feeling this way about Rocco? But it had gotten to me, finding out that this big, tough man was a single father who clearly loved his son.
“Cheers—er, salute,” I said, clicking my glass against his.
Rock smiled at my attempt at Italian. “Salute,” he said back. “Or, cin cin. That’s less formal.” He glanced at my bare legs and grinned. “Since you’ve got your shoes off, maybe less formal is the way to go.”
“I’ll drink to that.” I took a sip, and it was delicious.
Rocco noted my reaction. “Italian wine is the best. Don’t let the French tell you otherwise.”
“I won’t,” I said, taking another sip. “Were you born in Italy?”
A shadow darkened his face. “No. Right here in Brooklyn.” He drained half his glass. “I’m trying to teach Tommy about Italian culture, but truth is, I don’t know a ton about it myself. No one ever tried to teach me when I was a kid.”
A memory surfaced. “Julian said you three met in foster care.”
“Right.” He set his glass down, and automatically, I poured him more. Apparently, you could take the woman out of the bar, but not the bartender out of the woman… or something like that. “We finally ran away from the group home and survived on our own for a while. Then we met a man named Emilio Roselli, and he took us under his wing. He was the first one to teach me about my Italian heritage. The only one.”