Jock Rule (Jock Hard #2)(21)

“You’re so full of shit, Kip.”

“For real though, enlighten me. I call people all sorts of things. Shitface, doofus, fucker.”

“The P word.”

“The P word, the P word…” I scratch my beard. “Pussy? When else have I called you that?”

“Uh—the first night we met? Like, four times?”

Did I? Huh. “Really, four times? That sounds so unlike me.”

Actually it isn’t unlike me, because I really do love that word. What guy doesn’t?

Pussy, noun: a wimp or someone who’s a total chickenshit. Won’t take risks, overthinks everything. Scared of their own shadow.

Pussy, noun: a cat. Furry kitty. Pet-able. Purrs when I stroke it—if I ever wanted to stroke a pussycat, which I don’t.

Which brings me to…

Pussy, noun: female genitals. Vagina. A place I haven’t sunk myself into in far too long, and now that I’m thinking about it, the dick in my pants gets stiff.

I’m uncomfortable in these thin, mesh gym shorts, which, in hindsight, were probably a bad idea—though it’s not like I planned to get a woody after I already jerked off once tonight.

Get your damn head out of the gutter, Sasquatch—the last thing you need is sex on the brain.

And sex with Teddy? Out of the question, even though I’d fuck her any day of the week if the circumstances were different.

But they’re not, and I’m going to graduate and be out of here, and then I’ll never see this place again because I’ll be working in corporate America and probably miserable.

And clean shaven.

Yay me.

“My services are available if you want them. No pressure.”

“What services. Are you a tutor now too?”

“No—the hairy godmother thing. Those parties are boring as fuck, and helping you would give me something to do.”

“I…I’ll think about it.” She laughs, pulling her hair into a ponytail and securing it with the rubber band wrapped around her slender wrist. Glancing over her shoulder occasionally, worrying her bottom lip, eyes darting to the kitchen and up the stairs. Almost agitated.

Strange.

“Uh, are you looking for something?”

She jerks her head away from the entry of the hallway, startled. “I’m sorry, I just keep expecting your parents to walk in. It’s making me nervous.”

“They aren’t here.”

“I know, you said that—I just think it’s odd that you live here. Alone. In this gorgeous house. Alone. What are you, twenty-one?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Still not normal.”

No, it’s not her normal, but it’s mine—and it’s pretty fucking hard to explain to people, which is the exact reason I never bring anyone here, guys or girls. It’s just not worth the long, inevitable, drawn-out explanation. Plus, I don’t owe it to anyone; it’s my business, and I like keeping it that way.

“Is it making you uncomfortable being here alone with me? ’Cause I can go lock myself in the bedroom.”

“Oddly enough, no—you don’t make me uncomfortable.”

“Why is that odd?”’

“Because…look at you. You’re huge and hairy, and I don’t even think I’d recognize you if you shaved all that”—she gestures in the general direction of my face—“off.”

She sure as shit wouldn’t recognize me, which is the reason I grew this beard and keep my hair long.

“Do you ever…?”

I need more prompting. “Do I ever what?”

“Shave.”

Obviously. If I didn’t, I’d look like a ZZ Top reject. “Yes, I shave. I shaved this morning.” I run a hand down the length of my beard, satisfied with the wiry hair that took me two years to grow this long.

“No, I mean, like—off. Do you ever shave that off?”

“What’s wrong with it?” I stroke it again for good measure.

“Nothing is wrong with it, Kip. I’m just asking if it’s ever not there.”

“No.”

“Oh.” Pause. “How come?”

“Because I like it?”

“Fair enough.” Her lips purse. “It’s just…you’re a bit young for the Grizzly Adams look.”

“Who the fuck is Grizzly Adams?”

“A mountain man who wrastles grizzlies…basically.”

“Anyway.” I give my eyes a heavy roll to end the conversation, and she follows me up the stairs. I point to a closed door on my left. “Spare room here, bathroom there, but you already know this. Obviously no need to lock the door behind you.”

“Doors got deadbolts?”

I feel myself grinning. “Nope.”

“Well, I’m not worried. I’m less your type than you are mine, I think.”

That’s where she’s wrong—I’m warming to Teddy in ways I shouldn’t be. I’ll be thinking about her long and hard after we’re both locked in our bedrooms tonight.

“Not worried? You’re such a damn liar.”

“How can you tell?”

A scoff leaves my throat. “Because you keep looking for the nearest possible exit.”