Jock Row (Jock Hard #1)(16)

“It’s been decided by the council. You cannot come back inside.”

“Who’s the council?”

Me.

“That’s a well-guarded secret.”

“God, you are so exasperating.”

Ooh, exasperating—good word. “Thank you.”

“I can’t go back…ever?” Her eyes get wide.

A terse jerk of my head. “We’ll see.”

“You’re going to make me stand on the porch tonight while my friends stay inside?”

I cross my arms. “I can’t make you do anything, can I?”

Her lips blow out a frustrated puff of air, sending a few loose strands wisping around her face. “Be honest: don’t you think this is kind of ridiculous?”

Yeah—but I keep that shit to myself, because tonight, when I saw her, I decided to be selfish with her time, to stand out here and try to make her laugh just so I can make that dimple appear in her cheek.

Not that my friends would have been ecstatic to see her; she would have a shit time inside since Wilson and Fitzgerald are still ten shades of pissed, the fucking tit babies.

Bros before hos and all that sexist bullshit.

At least, that’s what I’ll be telling myself later when I’m staring up at the ceiling above my bed, thinking about that little dent in her cheek same as I’ve done every damn night this past week.

“Honestly, we here at the baseball house do our best to be as difficult as possible.”

“Haven’t I been punished enough?”

“Don’t consider it a punishment—consider it banishment on a case by case basis.” I snap my fingers. “Oh! Like you’ve been voted off the Island of Hornball Dudes Who Want to Get Laid.”

“Really?” She rolls her eyes, backing away a few steps. “That’s what you’d name your island?”

I laugh. “If it were my island, it would something way cooler, like Rowdy’s Tropical Hideaway.”

“So that really is your name?”

“Yes, that really is my name.”

“Your name is Rowdy?” She repeats it, and I can’t help but be slightly insulted by her tone.

I spread my arms wide. “In the flesh.”

“Huh. Interesting.” Her hands go to the hat pulled down over her forehead, giving it a little tug upward to afford herself a better view of me.

I return the favor, giving my greedy eyes permission to wander the length of the hair peeking out from beneath her knit winter beanie; it’s long—longer than it looked pulled into a ponytail last weekend, and a dark shade of chocolate brown.

When she tilts her head, catches me staring, I refocus my attention to the yard, feigning interest in the cars parked at the curb.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

Is she being coy on purpose? “Do you have a name?”

“Of course I have a name.”

“So it’s going to be like that, huh?”

Her pretty pink lips smirk. “Yeah, it’s like that.”

“Mind if I take a guess?”

Shrug. “Be my guest.”

“Helga.”

Her brows shoot up. “That’s your guess?”

“Rudy.”

“Seriously, you’re such an asshole.” She laughs, eyes doing a sparkly little dance as she watches me. “Do I look like my name is Rudy? Rudy, jeez.”

I shrug. “Prudence?”

“I hate you so hard right now.” She laughs again. “My name is Scarlett.”

Scarlett.

Scarlett red. Scarlett fever.

“Huh. Never would have guessed.”

An ironic expression is pasted on her face. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Scarlett.

I slide the zipper of my jacket up and down to give my hands a chore, glancing at her on the sly.

“Why do you suppose, Scarlett,” I ask slowly, testing out her name, hands burrowing in my pockets, “that your friends keep abandoning you for dick?”

Her mouth twists into a bemused smile. “I don’t know, Rowdy—why do you think all women want from you and your friends is dick?”

Holy shit, this girl and her mouth.

“If you’re referring to our lack of personalities, I take offense.”

Scarlett sighs. “I can’t even be mad at you right now.”

“I don’t want you to be mad, I’m just making conversation.”

I shrug. “It’s your friends who are groupies, not you.”

“My friends aren’t groupies.” Her brows go up. “But it sounds like it’s bothering you way more than it’s bothering me.”

I do not understand girls.

I prod her. “Admit that’s what they are. Tell Uncle Rowdy your friends are gold diggers and we’ll get along just fine.”

The little burst of laughter is airy, kind of sweet, and has me puffing out my chest. I did that—she thinks I’m funny.

Most girls just see my face. The body. The uniform.

“Are you always this tenacious? You will not quit, will you?”

“Being a gold digger isn’t always a bad thing, Scarlett.”

“I know that, Rowdy.” She all but rolls her eyes toward the dark sky above. “But trust me, sometimes it has nothing to do with the fact that they play sports. Have you seen your friends? I mean, they’re good-looking. Some of them are so fracking hot.”