Jock Rule (Jock Hard #2)(26)

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

“Civil.” I pause. “Does that sound boring?”

“No—not at all.” He reaches over and turns down the volume on his radio. “So you have a partial, and a grant, and your mom busts her ass to pay for the rest.”

“Exactly.”

“I get it.”

“Do you?” Somehow I doubt it. I glance at Kip out of the corner of my eye, at the leather and chrome interior of his luxury vehicle, the branded logo on the sleeve of his pricey sweatshirt, not to mention his little slice of suburban heaven tucked away in a high-end neighborhood.

For a caveman, Sasquatch sure has expensive shit.

If he senses me eyeballing him, casing my surroundings, he chooses not to mention it.

“What’s your major?” I ask out of polite curiosity.

“Economics.”

“Wow. Really?” I’m sincerely surprised.

“Yeah. Business and economics seem to be in my future.”

That’s an odd way of putting it. “Why is that?”

“Family business.”

“I see. Do you have a choice?”

“Kind of, but not really.” A master of deflecting, Kip changes the subject as he slows down when we near the edge of campus.

“Have you ever lived in the dorms?” I cock a brow.

“Uh, no.”

“Why not?”

Shrug. “My parents wanted me off campus.”

That makes no sense. From my experience, most parents keep their kids on campus as long as they can—at least, that’s what my mom wanted.

“Why?”

Instead of answering, he shrugs.

Kip measures his words. “It’s complicated.”

“Then I’m not going to ask.”

“Thanks.”

I catch a smile, a flash of his straight, white teeth. “You should smile more.”

“I smile plenty.” His face scrunches up, lip furled.

“You really don’t though.”

“Sure I do—you just have to catch it at the right moment. Sometimes you don’t see it happening.”

“Because of all the hair on your face?”

“Correct.”

Despite myself, I take him in, his whiskers highlighted by the sunlight streaming into the driver’s side window and through the windshield.

“Don’t girls get whisker burn from your face?”

A short laugh. “No.”

Pfft. “Yeah right.”

“I’d have to kiss one for that to happen.”

“You haven’t kissed a girl?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Oh.” Ohhh… “Now it all makes more sense.”

“What does?”

“You being into guys.”

He shoots me a quick glance, brows furrowed. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Yeah, I know that wasn’t what he meant, but it’s fun to tease him. He’s so serious.

My laugh fills the cab of his SUV. “You should see the look on your face—you look like a serial killer.” One who’s not amused.

“Ha ha.”

“I would have said Bigfoot instead, but that seems too obvious.”

“I do get that one a lot.”

“Figured. That’s why I went with serial killer, although you don’t really look like one of those, either. You’re too tall.”

My stomach chooses that moment to growl, and it’s so loud it fills the sudden silence.

Of course it does.

“You hungry?”

There is no denying it when my stomach rumbles again. “Uh, kind of.”

“Why didn’t you eat anything?”

“I wasn’t about to go digging through your cabinets.”

“Why?”

“Because I barely know you—it would have been rude.”

“You want to stop somewhere and grab something?”

“No! No. It’s okay, I have food at home.”

“You sure? What about that little diner on the corner of South and Meridian—they make a killer omelet.”

I mentally calculate the meager change stuffed inside my wallet. It’s barely ten dollars and the only cash I have.

“Yes, I’m sure, but thank you for the offer.”

“Come on,” he urges. “Do you have somewhere else to be right now?”

“Don’t you? You’re the one with rugby practice today, right?”

“Later. At noon.” His car is no longer headed toward my apartment, damn him. He’s the shittiest listener; I’ll have to remember that from now on.

“Kip, it’s fine. Really.” I cannot spend my money on food when I need it for rent, books, and tuition. Frivolous spending is not in my budget for the month.

But for some reason, he isn’t letting it go, and he isn’t taking me home.

“My treat.”

Well. In that case. “Fine—twist my arm.” Because honestly, I’m starving, and food from an actual restaurant sounds like heaven. Cinnamon roll? Eggs? Breakfast sausages?

Yes, please.

***

KIP