Jock Row (Jock Hard #1)(36)

I raise my eyes, interested. “Do you now?”

“Do whatever I want? Heck yeah.”

“No, no, tell me more about this nudity. Do you walk around doing housecleaning and shit buck naked? Paint me a visual, and don’t spare any details.”

A pretty blush creeps up her neck. “I mean, yeah, sometimes. Doesn’t everybody?”

Uh, no. Not everyone walks around naked.

But seeing her like this, in her natural environment, removed from the porch of the house on Jock Row—knowing she probably isn’t wearing a bra even though I can’t see her nipples—my imagination takes hold faster than I can field a ground ball. Drags me by the balls and leads me on a path I probably shouldn’t be going down, skipping my dick merrily all the way.

Behind us in the kitchen, a timer dings.

I watch Scarlett rise off the sofa and pad into the kitchen. Hear a few drawers open and close. Oven creak open, one pizza sliding out after the other. I look over my shoulder, watching her cut them into slices in precise movements and slide the pieces onto two plates.

“You need help in there?”

“Nope, I got it. You just sit there and relax.”

Is this girl for real? I’ve been here less than an hour and already she’s spoiling me rotten.

Scarlett returns moments later carrying two plates topped with pizza. Hands one to me, a goddess bearing gifts.

“Can we talk about this naked thing again?”

“I don’t understand why you’re so fascinated by it.”

I shoot hear a look that says, Really?

“Sorry, but I just can’t let the subject go. And for the record, I have a roommate, so—no, I don’t walk around naked.”

Scarlett’s still standing in front of me, holding her plate. Leans toward me, dipping to hand me the pizza until the neckline of her shirt drops, to mutter, “But you walk around naked in the locker room, right?”

“Oh yeah—for sure.”

“Mmm.” Scarlett draws out the sound, like she’s just popped something savory into her mouth and it tastes like heaven. “All those athletic, naked, toned bodies showering in one spot.”

Whoa. Hold up.

My head lifts. “You care about athletic, toned bodies?”

In case she hasn’t fucking noticed, there’s a perfectly serviceable male specimen sitting right on her goddamn living room sofa that she’s barely spared a second glance at the entire time we’ve been here.

If Scarlett keeps acting like I’m resistible, quite frankly, I’m going to become insulted.

“I mean, just because I’m not on Jock Row with the sole purpose of finding my next lay like some girls doesn’t mean my brain isn’t triggered by the sight of your friends’ physical…attributes. Believe me, it’s been triggered.” She laughs. “I’m human for god’s sake.” She grabs a slice of pizza. Takes a bite of its end and slowly chews, thoughtfully. “And anyway, you brought it up.”

Something I’ll later identify as jealousy wells up and makes me blurt out, “I said nothing about wet dudes in the locker room.”

“Wet dudes.” Her brows shoot up. Wiggle.

I narrow my eyes, irritated. “Would you knock that shit off?”

Jesus. Scarlett is kind of a pervert.

She bends her torso forward, toward me, and I finally get the boob shot I’ve been looking for: cleavage with the shadow of her nipples.

While I’m gawking down her shirt, Scarlett lowers her voice conspiratorially to a near whisper; obviously, I’m hanging on her every word.

“You wanna to hear a fun little factoid about women?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“We’re more perverted than guys.”

Bullshit. “How is that possible?”

She leans back, relaxing against a pillow with a satisfied sigh, queen of her domain. “We just are.” Her eyes rake up and down my torso, flickering briefly over the bulge of my crotch. “Trust me.”

I spread my legs a little wider. “Not buying it.”

“Just because we don’t run around making innuendos and grabbing our junk doesn’t mean some of us aren’t closet perverts.”

My eyes skim over her junk.

I study her hard. “So what you’re saying is, you’re a pervert.”

“Kind of.” Affirmative nod. “Eighty percent.”

“What a load of horse crap.”

Shrug. “You don’t have to believe me.” Takes a dainty bite of her crust, her dimple contracting with every nibble. “You have no idea what goes through my head half the time.”

“Oh yeah?” Did my voice just fucking crack? Jesus. “Like what?”

“Pfft, like I’d tell you.”

“You’re full of shit, that’s why.”

“I have nothing to prove.” Casually, she takes another bite of pizza, brows raised, smiling while she chews. “Except…”

She swallows, takes her sweet time, chugging a sip of water and setting the bottle down on the coffee table.

“Except?” Goddammit, I wish she’d finish her sentence and put me out of my misery.

“Well.” Her pink tongue darts out, licking a crumb off the corner of her mouth. “Don’t think for one second that while you’re throwing down words like hard, or taste, or moist, my mind hasn’t flown straight into the gutter and I don’t want to laugh like a teenage boy.” She licks her lips again and I swear it’s just to taunt me. “And you know, those aren’t even pervy words. They’re ordinary adjectives.”