Jock Row (Jock Hard #1)(23)

Uncouth? Honestly, what guy talks like that?

“You want to trade? Now?”

“Not right now—you eat half of yours and I’ll eat half of mine and then we’ll switch.”

“You’re not afraid of germs?”

One thick brow goes up, along with the right side of his pouty lips. “Remember that story about how I ate meatballs out of a dumpster?”

“The visual will linger in my mind forever.”

“I’m clean, promise.” Two of his fingers get lifted in the air. “STD and drug free, tested monthly.”

“My god.” I laugh, choking. Wave my hands around for air, dying dramatically. “Water! Water!”

“Watch your back, I might let you choke—I’m that hungry.”

I shoot him a glare, still coughing. “You”—cough—“are”—cough—“the worst.”

Cough.

“So you keep pointing out.”

He sees an opportunity, seizing it to capitalize on my weakness, grabbing my carton as I hunch over on the cooler, choking and laughing and gasping for breath.

Stabs his fork into my lo mein, piercing a shrimp and popping it into his fat face.

“You horse’s ass, give me back my dinner!”

I can’t even swat at him, I’m laughing so hard, eyes watering.

Rowdy pushes at my forehead to keep me at bay, to keep me from grabbing my dinner back like an annoying older brother, the palm of his giant hand singing my skin.

I can’t stop laughing, not even when he tips the container toward his face, shoveling the contents into his open mouth, spilling noodles on his jacket in his haste to beat the clock.

It’s disgusting.

It’s hilarious.

When he finally comes up for air, his face is a mess, chunks of celery and carrots stuck to his chin, just below his bottom lip.

“I can’t even look at you right now. You’re so gross.”

“I told you I was hungry. I wasn’t fucking around.”

“I’m never bringing you food again,” I lie. “You have zero manners, and I didn’t bring any napkins—I wasn’t expecting you to be such a slob.”

He couldn’t care less. “Come on, that was funny.”

“Maybe this is the reason you’re single,” I tease, watching as he tries to lick the sauce off his chin, pink tongue darting out. “Who would kiss that face?”

“I’m not single because I have bad manners, and trust me, plenty of girls have wanted to do more than kiss this face.” Sadly, he’s not even bragging; he’s just stating a fact, and we both know it.

“Everyone knows jocks make bad boyfriends.”

“What the hell would make you say that?” His head gives a sad little shake at the same time he stuffs more noodles into his waiting mouth. “Where are you getting your facts?”

“The power of observation.”

“Fact: plenty of those guys inside are in relationships.”

My brows go up, interested. “Is that so?”

“Well…no.” He laughs. “But that doesn’t mean they’d make shitty boyfriends.”

I smack his arm, palm lingering on his forearm.

“If you had to guess how many guys on the baseball team were in actual, committed relationships, how many would you say it was? Ballpark it.”

“Haha, very punny.” He tosses his white carton into a giant garbage can at the end of the porch, trying to grab mine back. “I don’t know, five?”

My laugh cuts into the dark, clear as a bell, rising above the sound of the music from inside the house. “Out of how many players?”

“Thirty?”

“Well…” I smirk, digging my plastic fork into the white container, digging around for what’s left of my noodles. “You are pretty damn adorable, I’ll give you that.”

Rowdy cups his ear with his giant man hand to better hear me with. “Say again? Talk into my good ear.”

I demure, avoiding his blazing green eyes. “Say what again?”

“You just admitted you think I’m sexy.”

“I never called you sexy.”

I laugh. Nudge him in the bicep when he scoots closer on the cooler beside me, taking up most of the space with his massive thighs.

They burn holes into the legs of my pants, from the tops of my thighs down to my ankles.

Zing.

Sizzle.

“Your mama better get you to the otolaryngologist and have your hearing checked—I said you were adorable. God, you and your giant, inflated ego. I’m surprised you haven’t drifted off into the clouds.”

“I’m sorry, but I cannot see the difference between adorable and sexy.”

I mean, really—how does a person not roll their eyes at him a million times?

“I think you’re adorable.” He’s leaning forward, hands braced on his knees. Neck craned toward me, green eyes unflinching.

“Cute adorable or sexy adorable?” I almost choke again, holding my breath, waiting for his answer, heart beating so fast I actually lose oxygen.

His nostrils flare. “Scarlett…”

But we’re interrupted, just like in every cliché movie where two people sharing Chinese takeout who are about to kiss for the first time in the freezing cold always are.