Jock Row (Jock Hard #1)(90)

He nods ever so slowly, up and down. “Scarlett.”

One word. Just my name.

He knows.

Then, “You’ve been MIA for fucking ever.” His arms cross and I note that his arms are thick, too—a trait shared by most of the players. “The guys aren’t going to like this.”

He nods in my direction. Ugh, what. An. Asshole.

Still holding my waist, Rowdy laughs. “You actually think I give a shit?”

“You should.” Ben gives me another glance. “No offense, Cock Blocker, but I didn’t expect to see you back here.”

Rowdy’s entire body stiffens. “How about you not fucking call her that?” Holy shit he sounds so pissed. “She wasn’t voted out of the house, Wilson. Stop being a petty little bitch.”

“Sorry, that’s not going to happen.”

“I suggest you figure out how to be cool with it, or it’s going to be a really long season. Scarlett is my girlfriend, not some party girl here to hook up.”

My breath catches at the sound of him sounding just a little bit protective.

Ben pales, then flushes. “Girlfriend?”

“Did I st-st-stutter?”

God, the bitchy tone of his voice is so damn hot. Sarcastic and fuming, daring Ben to challenge him a few more times. Daring Ben to defame me, wanting to get right up in his face.

Christ, it’s turning me on—what is my freaking problem? I want to shove my tongue down his throat.

I shift on my heels.

“I have an idea, Wilson, since you obviously have nothing better to do than stand here with your pants down around your ankles—run and fetch my girl a drink.”

He’s being a huge dick and I love it.

“I’m not a fucking rookie anymore,” Ben grits out tightly.

“No, but you might as well be. I don’t like your shitty attitude. And you know what else? You’ve pissed me the fuck off one too many times, and I’m your captain, so you’re going to march into the fucking kitchen and do it, yeah? Because my girlfriend wants a goddamn water.”

I want to rip his clothes off so bad right now.

With my teeth.

Seconds pass. Music thunders around us.

Then, Benjamin Wilson does the unthinkable: he stuffs his hands in his pockets and glances down at the ground. Backs up a step.

Pastes on a fake smile. “Can I get you anything to drink, Scarlett?”

I bite down on my bottom lip, feigning indecision. “Water would be so great. I’m not a big drinker, as you know.”

“Bottled water,” Rowdy’s deep voice instructs. “From the fridge.”

I lay a hand on his chest—he’s so thoughtful, getting in that tiny jab.

“Oh babe, that sounds so refreshing, thank you.” My palms give his pecs a few pats; they’re nice and firm.

Rowdy pats my ass with his large palm, two little taps.

We watch as Ben stalks away to fetch me the liquid refreshment I don’t actually really want.

“Jeez, bitter much?” my boyfriend grumbles.

I turn to face him, up on my tiptoes. “We don’t have to wait around, do we? You’re totally turning me on right now.”

His dark brows rise, hands sliding down to my ass. “That was turning you on? Wow, you’re easy.”

“I am.” I nip at his earlobe with my teeth. “Let’s go. I don’t think I can stand to be here all night. I want to go home and rip your clothes off.”

We’ve been here less than ten minutes.

“So what you’re trying to tell me is: you’re horny?”

God I hate when he uses that word. “Yes. That’s what I’m saying. And if I have to stand here another second…”

“Shh. Say no more.” His forefinger silences me. “If my baby wants to go home and screw, I’m going to take her home and screw her brains out, because that’s just the kind of guy I am.”

My vajayjay is positively tingling.

“Your place or mine?” He’s already dragging me toward the door like a caveman, minus the club and pet dinosaur.

“Someplace where no one will hear you?”

I’ve learned that when Rowdy Wade has sex, he’s vocal—louder than I am, his groans of pleasure embarrassingly dirty and noisy. He swears and grunts, headboard usually banging against the wall.

So erotic, I could orgasm just listening to him moan.

Rowdy releases me, grabbing me by the hand. “Let’s get the fuck out of here and go bang.”


Rowdy

“Are you watching me sleep?”

Scarlett’s drowsy question comes from out of the dark, the only light coming from the light in the hall. I left it on when I took a piss earlier, and the soft glow streams into her bedroom, casting a radiant filter on her smooth, bare shoulders.

She got up after we had sex to braid her hair, and now it drapes down her back like a long, silky cord.

It’s one o’clock in the morning and I haven’t been able to sleep since she shut her eyes and drifted off—hours ago.

I don’t know what woke her up, but her eyes are blinking open, lashes fluttering like butterflies.

“What’s wrong?” Her voice is laced with fatigue and concern. “Can’t you sleep?”