Jock Row (Jock Hard #1)(62)

“Where would I sleep?” To my own ears, I sound breathless.

His grin is crooked, white teeth shining. “Guest room?”

He sticks his tongue out like he’s just swallowed a bug.

Even making that face, he’s good-looking. “The guest room, huh?”

“Donald and Hannah Wade said you can sleep in my room if you want to be surrounded by all my trophies.”

Heart, meet throat. “You actually asked your parents if I could come down?”

“What? Did you think I was going to surprise them with some random girl I picked up at the airport? Of course I told them about you.” He yawns again. “For your information, my mother spent an hour creeping on your Instagram. She didn’t want me to bring a cleat chaser into the house.”

His mother was looking through my pictures? Oh god.

“By the way,” he adds nonchalantly, “she thinks you’re adorable.”

“Adorable,” I deadpan.

“She thinks you’re adorable. I think you’re sexy.”

“Wait, you follow me on social media, too?” How did this never occur to me before? I follow him but hadn’t thought about him following me, and apparently I missed the notification.

I flush.

His brow furrows. “I mean…yeah?”

I shake my head; this whole situation is entirely surreal.

“I still think this whole thing is nuts.” I say it slowly, trying to convince myself but failing miserably.

Rowdy senses the weak chink in my argument and takes advantage. Cajoling with that low voice of his that makes my skin shiver.

You don’t need permission, Scarlett, you’re an adult.

“You want to say yes, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the problem? Don’t you have a passport? Because a regular ID will work, too.”

“I have a passport…”

“Then say it,” he murmurs. “Say yes, baby.”

“Yes, baby.” I can’t even tease with conviction—I want this trip so bad.

“Stop fucking with me, Scarlett. Be serious for a second.”

The poor boy, his eyes bear a guarded expression I’ve never seen from him before, and it occurs to me that he’s vulnerable. There is nothing about his gaze that says he’s messing around with me. Rowdy is dead serious; he wants to see me. He’s eyeing me so intently, I have to glance away toward my closet.

I bite down on my bottom lip. “You must miss me, huh?”

“Yes,” is his emphatic reply. “All I fucking want is to see you.”

My nod is small but firm. “All right.”

He goes still. “Wait—so you’re coming?”

“Yes.”

Brows shoot up. “Yes?”

“Yes, Rowdy—YES.” How many times do I have to say it? “I’ll come down to Florida.”

Oh god, I’m doing it! I’m going to freaking FLORIDA.

“Mom!” Rowdy suddenly shouts, holding the phone out, and I notice for the first time that his bedroom door is open. “Scarlett is coming to Florida!”

From somewhere within the recesses of his parents’ house, I hear a female voice shout back. “That’s nice, sweetie!”

I’m going to meet his parents!

I’m going to see the ocean!

I’m going to see Sterling.

That’s when I freak out—on my bed, kicking my legs like a maniac. Beneath the covers, exuberant and excited, the sheets flying all over the place as I squeal. And kick and toss and turn and squeal some more, wanting to scream for my mother, who’s probably in bed reading a romance novel.

“Did you know…when you kick your legs like that, your boobs bounce? Thanks for wearing a tank top.”

I can’t even be mad at him for being a perv.

“I’m coming to see you,” I whisper, wanting to pinch myself. Wanting to kiss his face through the phone. “I’m coming to Florida.”

If I keep saying it over and over, it’s more real by the syllable.

Rowdy’s grin is easy and beautiful.

Arrogant.

“Wow. That was way easier than I thought it would be.” He breathes a sigh of relief, running a big, tan hand through his hair. “That took less than ten minutes—you’re way too fucking easy. We need to work on your negotiation skills. Thank god you’re not a business major.”

“You asshole!” I giggle. “You knew I was going to say yes the entire time you were hassling me!”

“Yes, but I’m an asshole who’s taking you to the beach.”

Suddenly, I can’t contain my excitement. “This is going to be the best winter break.”

I kick my covers again, like a child who was just told they’re going to Disneyworld in the morning.

“Pack your shit, baby, and I’ll book your plane ticket. I’ll pick you up at the airport next Friday.”

Friday, Friday, Friday.

Our lucky day of the week.

“I’ll buy the ticket tonight and send you the flight information.”

My nod is trancelike, a blissful stupor, and I’m drunk with excitement. Rowdy and I peer at each other, through the miles, over the phone, goofy smiles impossible to contain.