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CHAPTER SEVEN

ROCCO

R occo sat tapping his foot, waiting impatiently for Dario and Celeste to show up so they could go to dinner.

He was agitated. Because of that photo. That damn photo. If Nico Angelini hadn’t pulled that stunt, her hair never would have gotten caught in his zipper, and there wouldn’t be a photo.

Ping.

He groaned.

Another comment he’d been tagged in.

Who was he kidding? It was his own damn fault. If he hadn’t called her over and then sat down, all the rest of it wouldn’t have happened.

What the hell had he been thinking?

Ping.

He hadn’t been.

Thinking.

It was that stupid dream only without the white T-shirt and the jelly doughnut. Is that what had driven him to do it?

He stood up and began pacing.

This would never do.

The first race was only a few weeks away.

He needed to focus, find his way back up on that podium.

Even though there was bigger competition for him—drivers like Ian Anker and Leo Clarke—in some ways she was more dangerous.

Not to his reaching the podium or earning a championship.

But to his pride. At least Anker and Clarke were on different teams, driving different cars.

The car might account for a loss. But she’d be driving a car built by the same engineers and mechanics that built the car he was driving.

If she beat him in a race, what would that say about him as a driver?

Ping.

He muted his phone and slammed it on the table.

She was messing with his head. And not just his head, he thought, when he recalled the way she smelled.

Was it perfume? Or her?

If she just hadn’t— She could have remained standing, and then he would have been forced to get up out of that chair. But she didn’t. Why didn’t she?

Dario walked in.

Rocco turned to him. “Who the hell took those photos when Nico Angelini pulled that stunt with the coffee? Does Celeste know? Do you?”

Dario shook his head. “I was too busy ogling the pastries in the pink boxes, and Celeste was too busy ogling the ones in the aprons.”

Rocco laughed. Sometimes he really hated Dario for getting him to laugh when he wanted so badly not to.

He sighed. “Have you seen the photo?”

Dario grinned. “Which one? There was quite a selection.”

“I’m talking about the photo.”

“What do you mean, the photo?”

“If you have to ask, then you haven’t seen it. It’s gone viral.”

“Okay, so I haven’t seen it. Why are you asking me about it?”

“Never mind. It’s not important.”

“Well, now I’m curious.”

“It’s just a photo of me sitting down and Nico Angelini standing over me.”

“And that went viral? What the— Wait a minute, why?”

“I don’t know why it went viral,” Rocco lied, knowing full well why it had.

“No. Why were you sitting down, and why was she standing over you?”

“I felt like sitting down, okay?” Rocco cried, exasperated, recalling that’s exactly what he’d been doing in that dream.

But he wasn’t about to tell Dario that.

His cousin blinked, holding up his hands as if in surrender. “Okay. You felt like sitting down. So, why was she standing over you?”

“I asked for some sugar. She brought it over.”

Dario shrugged. “Okay. Why did that go viral?”

Rocco didn’t say anything and avoided meeting Dario’s gaze.

“Let me see it,” Dario said.

Rocco hesitated.

“Come on,” Dario said, holding out his hand. “You might as well. I can just look at it on my own phone.”

Rocco handed him his phone.

Dario stared at the photo. “Hmm. Interesting.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It’s sexy. ”

Rocco groaned. He already knew that.

Dario grinned. “Do you have a magnifying glass?”

Rocco snatched the phone from him. “Give me that.”

“I’m just saying … you sitting there, and her bending over like that.”

One eyebrow hiked up Rocco’s brow as the corner of his lips slid up his cheeks. “Bending over? Dude, she’s facing the wrong direction.”

Dario laughed. “Dude, you are such a dog.”

“Dude, that is such a bad choice of words.”

Dario waved his hands. “I know. I know. It’s an insult to dogs.”

Rocco stared at the photo. Now he was trying to imagine her bending over, but the other way.

“Explain something to me,” Dario said. “Why is she bending over—wrong direction aside?”

“You wouldn’t be talking like this if Celeste was here.”

“Duh. I’m not a complete bonehead.”

“Just part bonehead.”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“I didn’t want anyone else to hear our conversation, so I just asked her to get close enough so they wouldn’t.”

“What was the conversation about?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Like hell you don’t.”

“Okay, how about this? I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay. But why didn’t you just stand up?”

Good question , thought Rocco as he stared at the photo, feeling a warmth flood his body, like that scent.

“Hey!” Dario snapped.

Rocco blinked.

“Are you okay?” Dario asked.

“Yeah, of course I’m okay.”

“All right, then answer my question. Why didn’t you just stand up?”

“I don’t know why.”

“Is there something more here? Something I, as your manager, maybe should be worried about?”

“Like what?”

“I’m not sure. All I know is, you don’t want me to know what you were talking about when the two of you were like that.” He pointed at Rocco’s phone.

“It’s not what it looks like. Her hair fell forward, and some of it got stuck in the zipper of my shirt. So, I got it—unstuck. It just took me some time.”

Dario held out his hand. “Let me see it again.”

Reluctantly, Rocco gave him his phone.

Dario stared intently at the photo. The ends of his perfectly arched black brows knitted until they nearly met up with each other. “You can’t see that in this photo.”

“I know you can’t. I’ve looked. Can we drop it already?”

“Fine with me. I’m not the one who brought it up.”

Rocco heard the door open.

“Hello!”

Celeste.

“I almost forgot,” Dario said. “I’m just giving you a heads-up. I know you hate doing photoshoots, but Celeste said something about doing one for a magazine. Someone contacted her about it. She’ll probably mention it now.”

Celeste was a prop stylist.

“Guess what?” she cried excitedly.

“Dario already told me,” Rocco said. “I’m not interested.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The photoshoot. I’m not interested.”

“Well,” Celeste said, “that’s good because neither are they. They don’t want you. They want Nico. And Nico doesn’t want you there either. So, it turns out perfect. Everyone’s happy.”

Celeste’s phone buzzed. “This is them. I’ve got to take this.” She pulled open the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the balcony.

Rocco stewed.

They only want Nico? She doesn’t want me there? Where does Nico Angelini get off, demanding I not be there?

The balcony door opened, and Celeste stepped inside.

“That was fast,” Dario said.

Celeste nodded. “Now they want Rocco to do the photospread too. Maybe because of that photo on social media and all the comments. But don’t worry, Rocco, I told them you didn’t want to do it.”

Rocco frowned. “Why’d you tell them that?”

Celeste and Dario were looking at him like he’d suddenly turned green, had horns coming out of his head and a tail sprouting out his butt.

“Uh,” Celeste said as her jaw dropped to the floor and she looked with gaping eyes over at Dario, “maybe because you hate that kind of thing; never want to do that kind of thing; and just seconds before I took the call, told me you didn’t want to do that particular kind of thing.”

“I changed my mind. Call them back and tell them I’ll do it.”