Jock Row (Jock Hard #1)(19)

“Why?”

“I just am.” My stomach grumbles again, loud enough that Scarlett overhears it complaining. “Goddammit I’m getting hungry.”

“Do you always complain about it?”

“Yes.” I shoot her my most menacing hangry look. “I have to consume a shit ton of calories per day to maintain this physique.”

I realize how conceited I sound, but it’s true. This body takes a ton of work, and it’s not always a walk in the park sustaining it.

“Want to hand me my bag?” Scarlett points to the black bag she dumped on the ground earlier, lying limply on the porch near the door.

I give it a shove in her direction with my foot.

She ignores the rudeness of my gesture, losing an entire arm as she digs through it. “Lucky for you, I happen to have a few snacks with me.”

This perks my stomach up considerably as I pat it with the palm of my hand. “There, there, it’s going to be okay pal—the nice lady brought snacks.”

“What are you hungry for? I have granola, protein bars, a bag of pretzels, and those hazelnut dipping stick things.” Scarlett continues rooting around. “And one pack of fruit snacks shaped like Scooby Doo.”

My eyes get wide. “You’re turning me on.”

“My preparedness is turning you on? You’re so weird.”

She produces the promised protein bars, extending two in my direction, giving them an appealing little shake. Enticing. “Chocolate chip or oatmeal raisin, take your pick.”

“Both?” I extend a palm and wiggle my fingers like I’m about to pick up a baby, because she brought the good shit—bars with actual protein. “Come to daddy.”

We both bend forward far enough to meet halfway, far enough that Scarlett can slap the bars in my open palm then rifle through her bag again.

“I think that’s all I have for protein bars.”

“No, don’t worry about it—these are awesome. Thank you.”

“Tha—” She stops. Laughs. “Oh my god, I almost just thanked you for staying outside with me.”

As I’m tearing open the silver wrapper on protein bar number one, I glance over. “For the record, this isn’t ruining my night, Scarlett—these parties are so fucking played out.”

Jamming half the oatmeal raisin bar in my mouth, I bite down. Chew. Swallow. “Why did you come tonight if you thought you’d be sitting outside?”

“I didn’t have anything going on and thought maybe…” Her bottom lip juts out. “Thought maybe I’d wear you down with my sparkling personality and charm.”

Little does she fucking know we’re outside because I think she’s pretty and it’s too hard to talk inside with all the noise.

“So you keep saying.” I shoot her a cursory glance, eyes on her mid-length puffy coat. Knit winter hat. Mittens. “No offense—you don’t really look like you came dressed for a party.”

She rips open a pack of fruit snacks, package crinkling, popping a red one in her mouth. “I’m also a realist, Rowdy. I didn’t want to freeze my ass off if the answer was no bueno.”

Silently, we chew in tandem, legs extended in front of us. Her head rests against the house, eyes sliding closed when she swallows her first bite. “I love these stupid things. They’re so bad for you.”

In goes an orange one.

“Never have I ever taken food out of a trash can and eaten it,” I announce, taking a chug out of my water bottle like the total badass I am.

“Stop it right now! You have not!”

“I have,” I boast proudly. “I was starving and I was with a few buddies, and we were walking past a really nice restaurant. Technically we were walking in an alley past their dumpsters…”

“That is so gross—your mouth has been in the trash. What the hell did you eat?”

“Pasta with meatballs from inside a doggy bag.” I chuckle. “We were in the city and it had just been thrown out, so I figured it was clean.”

“Rowdy, that’s disgusting!” When she leans forward and taps me on the leg of my pants, chastising, my entire body goes rigid, calf burning where she poked at it with the tips of her fingers.

“It was still warm! Clearly, I didn’t die from it, so how bad could it have been?” I protest. “Plus, it had just the right amount of parmesan sprinkled on top.”

I pinch my fingers, sprinkling imaginary cheese onto an imaginary platter of spaghetti.

Scarlett plays footsies with me, urging me to quit talking about it. “I’m going to gag. Knock it off.”

Our loud laughter carries into the yard, causing the few people gathered by the road to glance up at the house.

I chomp down the last of the oatmeal bar and rip open the second one. Chew. “Okay brainiac.” Swallow. “Here’s one for you—never have I ever cheated on a test.”

Her pert nose wrinkles. “Why would you assume I’m a brainiac?”

“Uh, cause you’re the girl in class who wants extra credit.”

“You would latch onto that fact—but the truth is, I always needed extra credit because my grades were just okay, not because I loved the extra work. Let’s get real here.”

“Really?”