Jock Rule (Jock Hard #2)(10)

“I do what I can.”

I cross my arms over my breasts, mindful that my cleavage is now plumped and uncomfortably on display. I immediately uncross them—from his bird’s-eye view, no doubt he can see right down the valley between my boobs. “I didn’t ask for you to give me advice or stalk my friends or cast judgment on me.”

“Then you shouldn’t make it so damn easy.” He has the nerve to laugh, tipping back his beard-covered neck. The stubble is thick and dark blond, and I want to pull on it to get him to stop talking.

A few deeps breaths and I’ve sorted my insides out, quelling the unease that has been growing in the pit of my stomach. I smooth a hand over my abs, down the pleats in my pretty yellow sundress—a nervous habit I’ve caught myself doing on more than one occasion.

Expel a long, drawn-out breath he won’t be able to hear above the noise.

“It was nice meeting you.”

Only it wasn’t, because we didn’t actually meet. I have no idea what his name is, where he’s from, what his deal is.

He tilts his head. “Same.”

“Bye.”

When I chance a glance over my shoulder, the behemoth is watching, cup to his lips. It’s paused there, suspended, dark eyes boring into me.

Wow. He really is freaking huge. And honestly, not polite and not at all cute.

With a grimace, I give my head a shake and keep walking.





THIRD FRIDAY


“The Friday where he’s a combination of Neanderthal and Prince Charming.”


Teddy

This is the third weekend in a row we’ve been at the rugby house, and I don’t have any solid proof, but I’m almost positive Mariah is hooking up with one of them. She hasn’t said anything to me about it, but why else would we keep coming back? She either likes someone here or she’s already sleeping with them.

I fiddle with the cup in my hand, conscious of the fact that once again, I’ve been left alone to fend for myself while my childhood friend works the room, having ditched me within minutes of our arrival.

It stings a little, if I’m being honest.

I wouldn’t have come tonight if I had known she was going to once again leave me hanging.

She never used to be like this; in high school, we were inseparable. When we began applying to colleges, against her parents’ and my mom’s better judgment, we applied to all the same schools. Lived together in the dorms our freshmen and sophomore years. Now, it’s our junior year.

We used to be attached at the hip, and now it seems I’ve become a second thought where Mariah is concerned.

In any case, I’m not going to get stuck standing by the keg tonight and risk the chance of being caught by that…that…

Guy.

He weirds me out, not because he’s creepy or perverted, but because he’s way too honest, and it makes me uncomfortable. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t need to have things sugarcoated, but he did bring up a subject that’s been on my mind a lot lately and that I’ve been a bit salty about.

Mariah taking advantage of our friendship. Of me.

The fact that a complete stranger picked up on it is embarrassing. I’d like to avoid him if humanly possible. Tonight, I want to have fun, not have it thrown in my face that my friends keep throwing me over for boys.

I move along the perimeter of the room, putting up the pretense that I’m not scanning the room for him.

Him.

That guy—whatever his name is.

I wonder about that as I grip the cold red cup in my hand. Try to picture what a guy like that could possibly be named.

What would I name a lumberjack baby if I had one?

Billy Ray. John Boy? Duane.

Cooter—that one makes me laugh, and I choke on the foam rimming my cup. The name Woody makes me laugh too, and by the time I look up and meet his eyes, I’m almost stupid giddy.

He’s scowling at me, of course, and wearing a plaid flannel shirt, sleeves rolled and pushed to the elbow.

His hair is up, twisted into a messy mop, long strands escaping at his temples, curling up and around his ears. It’s a gorgeous dirty blond, naturally streaked from the sun, a hue any girl would kill for and few could recreate.

Skin tan, high cheekbones pink. Not ruddy, but close.

The beard still long, although from here, it does look like he might have cleaned it up a bit? I have no interest in finding out—the last thing I want is for him to come over.

God no.

I rotate my body, presenting him with my back, and come face to face with the keg.

Dammit.

Move to the side a few feet, creating more distance between us, not sure what to do with myself because once again, I’m standing in the middle of a party alone.

I should be pissed at my friends, but the truth is, I’m relieved; standing with them is too much pressure. Too many people coming up to chat, too many guys coming up to flirt. Drunk guys make me nervous. Guys who are hitting on us make me nervous.

Drunk guys who are hitting on us make me nervous.

Unfortunately, that’s what I’m surrounded by, and unfortunately, I’ve been left to fend for myself.

The party is packed—third weekend in a row. I make a silent vow not to return for a fourth, not if I can help it. I’m bored and, stifling a yawn, take a drag of my beer for lack of anything better to do.