Jock Rule (Jock Hard #2)(19)

“So that’s a yes.”

Her mouth sets into a thin line, lips pursed.

“Teddy, there are rules, you know, and your friend breaks almost all of them.”

“What rules?”

“Girl code and shit. I don’t know—you should know more about this than I do. How to be a wingman and not a cock-blocker, how to date an athlete—shit like that.”

“Come on, now you’re just making stuff up.”

“Rule number two: care less about what people think and more about doing what makes you happy.”

“That’s not a rule—that’s an inspirational quote. Also, what was the first rule?”

“Don’t be a pussy.” I can tell she’s barely containing her impatience and cock my head to one side. “Why are you being like this?”

Her answer is to laugh again. “Because you’re kind of a weirdo.”

I wonder if she’d call me a weirdo—to my face—if my face wasn’t covered with enough hair to keep me warm through a blizzard on a mountaintop. What would she say if she knew I was so ridiculously good-looking beneath this beard that modeling agencies would be knocking on my door wanting to blast my picture through every major sports magazine?

But that’s just my humble opinion.

“I’m serious, Teddy—you’re not going to find a boyfriend if you keep doing the shit you’re doing at house parties.”

“Who said anything about me wanting a boyfriend?”

“So you don’t want one?”

“I mean…” She falters so long I know what her answer is going to be. “Yes, but there’s no rush.”

“Well that’s a good, because it’s certainly going to take you fucking forever to find one at the rate you’re going.”

I can’t tell in this light, but I swear she draws back. “Kip, that’s a shitty thing to say.”

“But true,” I persist, trying to put what I’m about to say next delicately. Or not. “You’re not going to get a boyfriend playing bartender at the keg every weekend or holding your friend’s beer while she’s upstairs fucking random dudes.”

“That’s not what she’s doing!” Teddy gasps.

I smirk knowingly. “It’s not?”

“No!”

How so very wrong sweet, young Teddy is. “How would you know? Did she tell you that?”

“No.”

“Peter Newton. Kyle Remington. Archer Eisenhower.” I tick the names off on my fingers, satisfaction curving my mouth into a smile. “She might not have told you, but they told me.”

“What are those, the names of future presidents?” Teddy jokes na?vely.

“No, Theodora. Those are the dudes your roommate has fucked the past three weekends while you were downstairs being all nicey nicey.” If I had a beer, this would be the time I’d take a sip of it for dramatic effect. I unclasp my fingers, uncross my legs, and lean back in the leather chair. Exhale, loud and pleased. Ahhh.

“What?”

“Peter Newton. Kyle—”

“I heard you just fine. I just… There is no way. Mariah isn’t like that.”

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

“Is she?” The question comes out slowly. Unsure.

One nod. “Yup.”

I don’t need to flip on the light to know Teddy is blushing.

“I just can’t imagine her having sex with a guy named Archer Eisenhower,” she grumbles.

“In his defense, he’s not bad to look at.”

She shoots me the stink eye. “Why do you even care, Kip?”

“I don’t.” Which must be a goddamn lie, because here I am, pressing the issue. This little slumber party of ours is turning into a goddamn therapy session, and it’s my own fucking fault for inviting her here in the first place.

I should have—could have—left her to sleep in the hallway of her building.

“When is the last time your buddy Mariah helped you out? Or told you about her sex life when she wasn’t bringing a guy home? Or waited around the house so you could get ready?”

Most guys wouldn’t notice Teddy wasn’t wearing any makeup the first night she appeared at the rugby house, but I did. And I bet the five thousand dollars cash I have stashed upstairs in a shoe box she had no time to get ready herself, because they weren’t willing to wait.

I’m one of those guys—freakishly observant.

“I can help you.” God, what am I saying? Shut the fuck up, Carmichael, or I’ll punch you in your own goddamn face.

Skepticism is etched all over her pretty face, but she sits up taller. “Help me how?”

“Well.” I settle deep into the chair, get good and comfortable. “For starters, I notice you hang back a lot. You shouldn’t be doing that—join the conversations, man.”

“You notice I hang back a lot…” She has an odd look on her face now as she tilts her chin to the side, her sentence trailing off.

“Yeah. So like, instead of talking to the dudes walking up to the keg, you’re way too shy. You should be making jokes and shit. Even lame ones are better than going full-on mute—and why are you even standing by the keg to begin with? What the fuck is that about, Teddy?”