“Oh, come on. I’ll tell you what I’m wearing. I’m going as Guinevere, and Dario is going as Lancelot. So?”
“So, you’ll know when you see me. It’ll be a surprise.”
They continued chatting, but the rest of what was said went unheard by Rocco.
He was thinking about that dress. He placed his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm.
It was dark green. Set against her olive skin, it made all those hills and valleys of her body even more sumptuous.
The neckline ran straight across from shoulder to shoulder. He could only catch a hint of her collarbone. The cut of the dress was slim enough to reveal her small waist and that deep arc of her hips.
It was one thing to wear a dress, another altogether to go commando while doing it.
She wouldn’t. Would she?
His blood was pumping so heavy, he felt the weight of it in his legs and especially in that area that lay between them.
“Okay, back to it!” Dario cried, clapping his hands.
Startled, Rocco’s elbow along with his head slid off the edge of the table. He almost fell out of his chair altogether but quickly righted himself.
When he was back to sitting upright, they were all staring at him.
“You all right, dude?” Dario asked.
“Yeah, sure.”
“I guess it’s my turn now,” Nico said. “Let’s see,” she said, drumming her fingers on the table. “Okay, I’ve got one. Never have I ever fake-cried to get something.”
Nico and Celeste each took a drink. But Rocco and Dario didn’t move.
Celeste prodded Dario. “Dario, do you want me to tell them about the time when you—”
“Okay, okay,” he said, taking a sip of scotch.
Rocco laughed.
Nico eyed him and his bourbon. “Never?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Never.”
Now she placed her elbows on the table and leaned toward him, smiling. “Not even as a child.”
He bit his lip and heaved a big sigh before lifting his glass.
“I thought so.” She laughed.
“Oh, you did, did you?”
“I did. You pout sometimes.”
“She’s right,” Celeste said. “You do.”
“I don’t,” Rocco insisted.
Nico grinned. “You’re doing it now.”
Dario pointed at Rocco. “Dude, she’s right!”
