Jock Row (Jock Hard #1)(24)

Two girls push through the front door, and for a split second I think it’s Tessa and Cam. It’s not. Both girls are decked out in high heels and short dresses, way too skimpy for the cold, pre-winter weather we’ve been having, and I bury myself deeper into my puffy coat, self-conscious.

These girls are blatantly flaunting their sexuality while I’m bundled up like I’m waiting for the blizzard of the century to hit town, holding a steaming pile of carbs with a side of soy sauce.

Slightly embarrassed for the first time in three weeks, I pull at my gray knit cap, annoyed that I even care, that I’m having insecure thoughts in the first place—it’s so unlike me.

One of the girls—she’s beautiful and willowy and aggressive, if her stance is any indication—stops when she sees Rowdy, jutting out her hip, posing, toe of her high heel pointed at the floor.

“How’s it going Rowdy?” She’s chewing gum and lets it snap.

He takes a few seconds to reply, whole demeanor changing. “Vanessa, right?”

She nods, pleased when Rowdy spares her a glance, flipping her platinum blonde locks to one side. Posturing.

“You inside with Levinson?” he asks the question slowly, deliberately.

Vanessa’s red-lipped, self-righteous smile falters. Fades like the ombre tips of her hair. “Yeah.”

I dig into my Chinese food with my fork, pretending not to listen—but if I were a GIF, I’d be the Michael Jackson eating popcorn in a movie theater one, so engrossed am I.

Rowdy shifts on our makeshift bench, his thigh pressing tighter alongside mine. It’s thick and warm and—right there. Touching me.

He covers my hand with his, stealing away my fork, eyes never leaving Vanessa’s face as he delivers his next line:

“Want me to tell his girlfriend you say hello? She’s out of town with the cheer team—but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Stabs my fork into a shrimp, lifting it to his lips with a wolfish smirk.

Jesus.

Her dark lips part, throat chuffs. “You are such a dick.”

Vanessa grabs her friend by the arm, dragging her toward the steps, hightailing it down the stairs, lumbering on their perilously unsteady shoes.

Only when they’re finally out of sight do I speak.

“Wow.” I steal back my fork. “You really go for the jugular.”

He shrugs. Brushes his jacket against mine, the two fabrics scratching together. “The dude Vanessa is fooling around with has a fucking girlfriend. I can’t stand girls like that—she pisses me off.”

“He’s the one cheating.”

The glare he gives me is sharp. “Right, but she knows his girlfriend personally and just keeps on fucking him. That’s what pisses me off. No loyalty.” I jam a shrimp into my mouth, chewing as he continues venting. “I really fucking like Holly. I just wish she’d wise up and dump Levinson’s useless ass.”

“Why doesn’t she?”

He pauses, leveling me with a blank stare. “Seriously Scarlett? Why do you think?”

Why is he staring at me like that?

“What did I say?” I ask in a small voice.

“Levinson is going to the major leagues. Holly is never going to dump him—he’s her golden ticket to WAG status. Everyone knows it.”

I feel my mouth turn downward into a frown. “I don’t know what that means.”

“You don’t know what a WAG is? God, you’re so na?vely sweet.” He pitches a thumb over his shoulder, toward the two girls who just walked off. “Why do you think that girl Vanessa is all over Levinson’s jock strap? He’s not even that fucking great. Gold digger. What do you think your friends keep coming back for, week after week? Gold diggers. Some of them are ‘lucky’ enough to get themselves knocked up—meal ticket for life in the form of child support payments.”

“Girls get pregnant on purpose?” I sound appalled because I genuinely am.

“Haven’t you ever heard the stories about girls poking holes into condoms?”

“Um…no.”

“Yeah, well.”

More food gets shoveled into his mouth from my container. He chews. I chew.

We both swallow.

Rowdy takes a swig of beer, washing it all down, while I take a chug of my water.

Then, “That’s the way it goes around here.”

“That’s really depressing.” I pause, trying to catch a glimpse of his profile. “Doesn’t it get old?”

“Real fast.” He stabs his fork into the rice. “Why do you think I moved out of this house?”

“You don’t live here?”

“Nope.”

“Why did I think you did?”

Rowdy stands, walking to the edge of the porch, peering off into the yard, though it’s hard to make out anything past the street.

He speaks with his back to me, hands braced on the bannister rail. “Communal living is fine when you’re a freshman or sophomore, but athletes on this row party a little too fucking hard. The random people hanging out at all fucking hours of the night are fun for one hot minute. The noise and…well, all the bullshit that comes along with living here? Not fun. Not anymore.”

He turns, raking his gaze over me, scanning me from head to toe—from the ankles of my brown boots to the long tips of my glossy hair, half hidden under my gray winter hat.