Jock Row (Jock Hard #1)(11)

He holds up his bear paws. “Hey, no judgments—I can tell you’re a really sensible girl. All I’m saying is, you’re wearing a sweater that could double as a parka, and you’re also wearing a parka.”

This time, I can’t stop the laugh from escaping my mouth.

“Why, are you cold? Cause I’m nice and toasty.” I shoot him a wide grin to rub in the fact that I’m warm and he’s not.

“You are an asshole,” he snarks. “I’m a bit nippily, no thanks to you, but I’ll live.”

“Tell you what: let’s dash inside and grab you something warm, a jacket perhaps?” I smile sweetly, fluttering my lashes. “Promise I won’t disappear into the crowd.”

His lips twitch. “I think I’ll take my chances against the impending hypothermia. I can still have kids if my nut sac freezes off.”

He taps away at the lit screen of his phone.

“Why do you think,” he asks absentmindedly, “it bothered you so bad that your friends were getting hit on but you’re not?”

“Is that what you think?”

He does a lot of shrugging, this guy. “No judgments.”

My mouth drops open, and I slam it closed before he looks up. “I was not cock blocking my friends because I’m jealous.”

“So you admit it—you were cock blocking.”

If he wasn’t so damn cute, I’d be furious right now. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“So you’re bitter because you’re completely sober?”

“I’m not completely sober.”

“So are you drunk?”

“No, of course not.” I flip my ponytail.

“You had beer?” He’s skeptical. “How many?”

“Um…” None and a half. I use my thumb and forefinger to indicate the amount. “’Bout that much?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I can see him hiding a smile behind the glare of his phone. “You’re completely sober.”

“I’m recovering from a cold.” I fake a cough.

With those perfectly white, straight teeth, he smiles at me again, and I can’t even take it. Ugh. He’s so stupidly good-looking and getting cuter by the minute—damn him and his magnetic personality.

Look, I’m not completely delusional; I give the guy credit for not being a complete douchebag. Scale of one to ten on the Jockhole Scale? Six—and that’s only because he kicked me out.

“Far be it from me to point out the obvious, but I bet you wouldn’t be so uptight if you had a few drops of alcohol inside you. Might be more pleasant out here for both of us, yeah?”

“That’s what your friends were saying, and you know my opinion of them.”

“You’re a little uptight.” He squints over, shielding his eyes against the porch light shining in his face. “Hasn’t anyone told you that before?”

“You know nothing about me.” I reach down for the red plastic cup I abandoned a few minutes ago so I have something to do with my hands. “What would make you say I’m uptight? What’s this oh-so-accurate assessment based on?”

“Let me count the ways.” He hums, setting his beer bottle on the step, tapping the fingers of his right hand with his left, counting. “One, I’m on this porch when I could be partying because you won’t stop cock blocking. Two, you’re wearing a fucking bear rug to a party. Three, you’re drinking water. Four, you admitted to asking for extra credit in high school. Five, you won’t stop arguing.”

The smile teasing my lips couldn’t be more inconvenient.

The bastard holds up his hand, wiggling five large fingers. “All signs point to uptight.”

“Fine. I can’t even be mad, because that was all very accurate.” I raise a finger. “But first off, your buddies didn’t give me a chance to redeem myself before sending over their henchman to axe me.”

“And second?” The cheeky ass leans his head against the newel post, coyly pinning me down with a lazy smile. I try not to stare at the huge arms crossed over his hard chest.

“Secondly, your friends were lame and not at all funny. They’re lucky they’re athletes, because if not, they’d probably never get laid.”

This makes him laugh. “I seriously doubt that.”

I continue ranting. “Their conversation would have bored me to tears. Mind-numbingly dull and unimaginative.” I pause. “Can you imagine what they’d be like in—”

I clamp my lips shut.

He leans in, waiting. Baiting me. Prompting me to finish.

“Can you imagine what they’d be like in…” He pauses then tries again. “In…” He unfolds his giant body from the steps, rising to his full height. Brushes off his jeans as if they’re covered in dust. “Go on. Say it.”

“Would you stop that? I’m not going there with you.”

“I just wanted to hear you say bed. Fuck, I must be bored if I want to play word association games. Jesus. I can fill in the blanks fine all by myself, spank you very much. I’m a big boy.”

He is a big boy.

Very big. And for the first time since stepping out onto this porch, I really wonder about him. Where he’s from. If we’ve ever crossed paths on campus. What’s he’s majoring in.