Jock Row (Jock Hard #1)(81)

A waiter walks past, and we order two drinks—what it is, I don’t care, I just want something in my hands. My freaking mother is making me nervous; I have no idea what’s going to come out of her mouth next.

“So, Scarlett,” she begins. “Sterling never really told us the entire story of how you two met.”

“Oh. Well…” Scarlett looks at me helplessly, shrugging. “I guess it was at a party?”

“Ah. At the house?” Mom makes a face.

“Yes, and our first meeting didn’t go very well.”“There was an incident,” I add drolly, taking two blended pi?a coladas when the waiter comes back. Give him fifteen bucks, tell him to keep the change. Pop the cherry off the top and suck it into my mouth, chewing.

“What incident?” Dad has his neck craned, suddenly interested in entering the conversation. “You boys better not be doing anything suspect in that place.”

“Dad, it’s nothing like that.”

“Mind if I tell the story?” Scarlett touches my thigh. “I was at the baseball house with a few of my friends, and you know how it is in those places—wall-to-wall people.” She sips from her plastic cocktail cup. “Anyway, my friends were…chatting up two players, and…I don’t know, they weren’t very friendly to me.”

“And then Sterling stepped in and set them straight?” My dad peels back the hat, squinting at me in the sun.

“Not exactly. The players wanted me out, mostly because I was being—” She turns to me for help filling in the blanks. “Would you say I was being a buzzkill?”

“No, babe, you weren’t being a buzzkill.” I shake my head, irritated, turn toward my parents. “She was giving Ben Wilson shit because he’s a straight-up liar, and Ben got pissed and wanted her kicked out of the house.”

“And then you stepped in and set them straight?” my mom asks, leaning forward, completely immersed in the story.

“Well no. I kicked her ass out.”

“Sterling!” My mother is appalled—totally appalled. “Stop it, that’s not even funny.”

“He’s not joking Mrs. Wade, he did indeed kick my ass out.” Scarlett laughs. “He spent the night policing me, and we kept arguing, and…then I went back the next weekend.”

“And he let you in, obviously.”

“Nope.

“Sterling!” Mom practically shouts, sitting up in her chair, book falling to the sand. “I raised you better than that! How utterly unromantic!”

“Mom, relax. I couldn’t shake her no matter how hard I tried. She was like a bad rash.”

Scarlett rolls her eyes. “It actually was kind of romantic. He would wait for me on the front porch every Friday, and one night I went to dinner with a bunch of my friends and I didn’t show up—I think he was jealous he wasn’t invited along.”

“I don’t think that’s what I was feeling that night—I was worried, not jealous.”

“Don’t lie, you were a little jealous.”

Yeah, fine—I was a little bit jealous of her friends.

“So you became friends first?” My mom draws out the words, and I can see an idea taking root. “Friends to lovers. Frenemies. I like it.”

No, not lovers—not yet.

But soon.

“To entertain ourselves, we sat outside and played games—”

“And she fed me.”

We’re finishing each other’s sentences now? Barf.

“What kind of games?” Dad asks, flat on his back again, eyes covered with his cap.

“Never Have I Ever.” I clear my throat. “Would You Rather.”

“Drinking games, Sterling? Where did I go wrong with you?”

“We were sober every night, Mom, relax. There was no alcohol involved.”

“Well, except for that one time…” Scarlett mutters.

Ah, that’s right—the night I went to her house, had her ass cheeks filling the palms of my giant hands, my tongue down her throat, and her back against the wall.

That was a great fucking night.

It wasn’t the night I realized I loved her, but it’s when I knew I could.

“It was good for us, I think,” Scarlett finally says. “We learned a lot about each other.”

And ourselves.

“Did you know Sterling was once slapped by a guy?”

Mom looks at me, brows raised. “No, I did not.” Her tone is clipped.

Scarlett laughs, reaching to brush my hair back. Takes a drink of pi?a colada. “You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed.”

“Did he tell you he used to wet the bed until he was eight?” My dad’s voice is half dazed, half asleep.

“Jeez Dad! Go to sleep!”

“Oh that’s right!” My mom cackles. “And he was a big kid, too, so it was a lot of pee.”

“Okay, yeah—now I’m embarrassed. You guys can stop.”

We sit here a little longer, laughing and talking beneath the palms, until eventually, Scarlett readjusts herself on the lounge chair so she’s in a position to rest her back against my chest.

“It’s so nice out here, I could stay in the sun all day. The weather is so gross back home.”