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When Mom and I enter the dining room, Dad and his business partners are sitting at the table with Rocky.
Mom takes her place at the other end of the table across from Dad, and the only seat left vacant is right beside Rocky.
My cheeks heat again. I can't believe my dad would allow me to sit next to a man like Rocky, but I'm secretly thrilled that I get to be close to him again—even if I won't really be able to talk to him.
Rocky's gaze is pinned on me again. He stands as I walk over and pulls out my chair for me.
He's the only man at the table who stands.
He pushes the chair under me, the pad of his thumb brushing gently against my shoulder as he does so, before he takes his seat again.
My dad beams at him approvingly. “Huh, so you’re a fighter with manners,” he comments with amusement, as if he’s shocked that Rocky would have manners just because he's a fighter or perhaps because he doesn't run in the same circle Dad and his associates do.
I can tell by the look on Rocky's face that he's drawn the same conclusion as me. To his credit, he doesn't say anything, though. He sits tall and straight and proud, his big shoulders taking up all the space in the room, it seems.
I feel so tiny sitting next to him. My hands shake where I have them clasped together in my lap.
Rocky’s scent wraps around me sensuously. It’s something spicy and fresh and masculine, and I almost feel dizzy with it.
I have to fight the insatiable urge to lean into his chest. I want him to wrap his arms around me while I burrow my head in his chest. These are crazy thoughts, but I can't help them.
“So, Rocky, huh?” One of Dad’s friends regards Rocky curiously. “Named after Rocky Balboa?”
“My dad was a big fan,” Rocky’s voice rumbles.
“You don’t say,” another of Dad’s friends chimes in.
Rocky doesn’t comment.
My dad and his associates pepper Rocky with questions about the match, about his process and so on.
Rocky answers their questions, but I can tell he’s just being polite. I don’t know why it gives me a rush of relief that he obviously isn’t here because he wants to be. He’s not trying to smooze my dad for a favor.
Apparently, Rocky has never lost a match, and he even has a brother who's also a fighter, but he's a boxer and not an MMA fighter like Rocky.
Whatever that means. I don't really follow sports. I suppose that's why I didn't recognize Rocky last night.
I peek a glance at him out of the corner of my eye. How stupid was I to not realize that this man is a fighter? He has “hard” and “tough” written all over him. His muscles are still bulging just as big as they were last night.
I can see them straining underneath his button-up shirt. I expect the buttons to pop free at any moment. Not that the shirt doesn't fit him. It does. It's just his muscles…my god, I've never seen muscles like that on a man before. They look like they can hardly be contained.
I wonder what his bare chest looks like without a shirt on. I feel moisture pool between my legs. I press my thighs together to try to ease the ache that suddenly starts in between my legs.
I can’t tell you what we eat. All I know is that I nibble on little bites of food, but I push most of it around on my plate.
It's not that I'm feigning a faint appetite because I can usually eat more than an entire football team and still stay tiny. I just can't focus on food or anything else with Rocky sitting right next to me taking up all the air in the room.
I can’t believe this is the same man that I sat across from last night and now here he is in the same room as my parents.
I gasp when I suddenly feel Rocky’s big thigh pressed up against mine. I peek a glance at him and see him looking at me out of the corner of his eye. He takes my hand under the table and gives it a little squeeze.
I'm surprised I don't melt into a puddle right there at the dinner table. My face must be as red as a tomato, and my breathing quickens.
I have to get out of here before my dad or someone else notices and comments on it.
I excuse myself from the table and desperately head out of the dining room and over to the balcony off the living room.
I need some fresh air before I explode.
