Jock Rule (Jock Hard #2)(36)

“The furnace went out last night and I haven’t gotten anyone to come fix it yet.” I would think that was obvious—it’s not like I’m purposely living in a cold house. “Did I forget to mention that?”

“Yes! You forgot to mention your house was sixty degrees!”

“Huh. Well, whatever—put on a sweatshirt.”

“You invited me over to your place knowing it was an ice box? Thanks so much.”

“Relax! Relax. I’m going to try to fix it myself in the morning.”

“But it’s cold right now.”

“But it won’t be in the morning.”

Her raised brow conveys her skepticism. “Do you even know how to fix a furnace?”

Hell no.

“It’s called YouTube—ever heard of it? I’ll watch a tutorial like everyone else on the planet. How hard could it be?”

Her scowl deepens. “Do you really think fixing it yourself is a good idea?”

“It’s worth a shot before I call someone.” I toss my jacket on the chair in the kitchen and bend to untie my boots.

Teddy does the same, unzipping the gold zippers going down the back of her black boots.

“Far be it from me to judge. You look like you might know your way around a woodshed, but not a toolbox. After seeing you in your natural habitat—white marble tile and high-end everything, I’m not so sure you can fix it yourself. No offense.”

I pause to look up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean…I’m sensing you haven’t really had to lift a finger growing up.”

Obviously she’s correct—I didn’t have to lift a finger growing up. We had cooks and gardeners and maintenance crew to do those things for us. We had a cleaning staff, tutors, and…

In a nutshell, my parents weren’t doing my sister or me any favors preparing us for the real world—something I’ve grown to resent. I can’t even fucking fix a furnace, or unclog a toilet at two in the morning (another thing I had to google), or use a Skilsaw when I wanted to build a shelf in the spare room I use as an office.

I stand, crossing my arms, affronted. “Based on what?”

Her eyes dart around the room then land on the expensive faux fur throw blankets draped over the back of my couch. My mother bought them for me.

“Um…” Teddy bites her bottom lip. “Based on the fact that you probably have a cleaning lady. I bet someone does your laundry and grocery shopping.”

“I do my own grocery shopping.” Most of the time.

“But you have a cleaning lady?”

My lips pull into a tight line.

“Oh my god, stop it. You do not!” Teddy practically shouts into the otherwise silent room. “Do you? Stop. Do you?”

My cheeks flush; I can feel the heat rising up my neck, suddenly embarrassed by my privilege.

“Yes,” I grind out. “Can we not talk about it?”

Another long stretch of silence follows—and for a bit, I think she is going to say something more about it. Am pleasantly surprised when she doesn’t. Relieved, actually, when instead she laughs and says, “That would explain why there is no pee around your toilet bowl.”

I pee mostly in the toilet, thank you very much miss know-it-all.

I walk farther into the living room, knowing she’s going to trail behind after me. “I can totally take you home if you don’t think you can hack it in this cold house.”

She glances down at the leggings and hooded sweatshirt she changed into when we got home. Pulls at the thick material and huffs. “I don’t have anything on underneath—no layers, and these leggings are thin. I think I might actually die.”

“It’s called a blanket.” I lean forward, nabbing one of the fancy throws from the end of the couch, toss it at her. “Use it.”

Teddy huffs again when it pelts her in the face, throwing herself into the corner of the couch. “Fine, I’ll stay.”

“I can take you home if it’s going to be a problem,” I say firmly, repeating the offer.

“No, no, I’ll get over it. Just let me be super dramatic about it for a few more seconds—then I’ll drop the subject.”

I plop down next to her and palm the remote control, pointing it at the television while she sighs and squirms on the cushions next to me, making a bit of a racket, trying to get comfortable. Makes one or two brrr sounds.

Shivers, finally settling on her ass, arms wrapped around her legs.

The look I shoot her is one of exasperation. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I have a few more seconds, remember? Let me be.”

I grin, shaking my head. Fuck she’s sweet.

I jump when she uncurls, her feet sliding across the couch cushions in my direction, moving under the blankets like a snake, icy skin grazing mine and making me yelp.

“Get your cold feet off of me! Warn a person, Christ.”

Teddy laughs. “Let me stick them under your thighs. Please? They’re frozen.”

I can feel her wiggling them before she pokes my thigh with her big toe.

“Jesus, you should go to the doctor and have that checked out.”

“Shut up.” She laughs. “They’re not that bad.”

“Yes they are.” They really are—cold, that is, and they’re cooling down my mesh athletic pants where she’s brazenly slid them under my leg. “You clearly have poor circulation.”