Jock Rule (Jock Hard #2)(37)

“I do not.” She doesn’t sound concerned, not one bit.

“First thing Monday morning, I’m taking you to the clinic.”

I love hearing her laugh. I love the way her feet are tucked under my legs, body stretched out next to mine, our size difference conspicuous. But nice.

I might be a goddamn giant compared to her, but hell if I don’t feel protective because of it.

We stay like this for over an hour, wrapped up in furry blankets, talking through the movie, chatting and laughing until we’re both yawning.

“I don’t know if I’m tired or suffering from hypothermia,” she quips, dragging the blanket to her chin.

“Both. Definitely both,” I tease, admiring the bridge of her nose backlit by the kitchen light. It slopes gently, the tip of it pert. Cute.

The bow of her lips, bottom one full.

Wisps of hair, gathered up into a topknot just like mine—yeah, we fucking match—some falling out in messy disarray.

She doesn’t give a shit what she looks like in front of me, doesn’t care because she’s comfortable.

When her head tips back onto the couch, her cheek hits my shoulder and I catch her giving me a sniff. Catch her biting down on her bottom lip, head lifting and turning away.

Busted.

Okay, maybe not so comfortable with me after all.

No fucking way is she attracted to me; I would know.

Wouldn’t I?

Guys know this shit, and she’s definitely not interested. Her speed is more the science dorks and history geeks, lab rats and guys with middle-class parents who fish and play kickball on the weekends.

I don’t do any of that shit.

Teddy would shit a solid gold brick if she knew where I grew up and what we did for fun on the weekends, and it sure as hell wasn’t kickball.

Still…

I can’t help imagining what dating her would be like.

Nice.

Normal.

God, normal—what’s that even like?

I’ve been trying to figure that shit out for the past couple years, starting with my move from Notre Dame back to Bumblefuck, Iowa. This house I could do nothing about; my parents insisted on a place where they could install a security system in a safe, discreet neighborhood, a place where reporters and all that other bullshit weren’t likely to look for me.

For a story.

My sister has managed some normalcy in her personal life, marrying a dude she met on a dating app instead of one of the men my parents tried setting her up with—guys they’d hoped would help expand their empire.

Ronnie moved clear across the country to a small town, population three thousand. Bought a house on a lake, doing it all herself. Raising her own kids, doing her own laundry. Regular shit.

Normal shit.

The shit that I want, if even for a while.

I pluck at a strand of Teddy’s hair—the curly tendril falling to her shoulder, rubbing it between my thumb and middle finger.

I expect her to pull away and ask what the hell it is I think I’m doing, but for whatever reason, she lets me play with her hair. Watches me, a sleepy half-smile on her face.

Man she’s pretty.

***

“Teddy…you awake?”

A loud gasp comes out of the dark, from the general area of the bed, and when I flip the hall light on, I find Teddy sitting straight up, squinting toward the hallway, shielding her eyes.

“Dammit, Kip! Did you have to sneak up on me like that? You scared me half to death and jeez, turn the damn light off! You’re freaking blinding me!”

She sure is feisty when she’s woken up.

I lean against the doorjamb. “I’m six foot four—it’s humanly impossible for me to sneak up on anyone.”

“Bigfoot can sneak up on anyone he wants to sneak up on,” she grumbles, trying to burrow deeper into the pillows. “No one has caught him yet.”

“He’s not real.”

A finger flies into the air, pointed in my general direction. “Do not start that crap with me right now or I will kill you.”

“Just sayin’, I prefer the name Sasquatch if it’s all the same to you.”

“Why are you like th—” Her words cut off. “God, listen to us. It’s…what the hell time is it?” She leans toward the table next to the bed, fumbling for her phone. “One o’clock. We’ve only been in bed for half an hour—what’s going on? Why are you in here? Is the house on fire? Is the heat working again?”

“No.”

“Well—what then?” The blanket clutched to her chest gets pulled to her chin.

“Are you doin’ okay?”

“No, Kip. I’m f-freezing my ass off is what I’m doin’.” She mimics my tone. Far be it from me to point out: that is not how I sound.

“I can’t sleep either. You want me to take you home so you can sleep?”

She squints at me impatiently, shielding the light from her eyes with one hand. “Kip, it is one o’clock in the morning. By the time I get home and settle in, it’ll be two. I’ll tough it out—I’ve been camping in colder weather than this.”

“Camping in a tent?”

The look she shoots me is one of pure disgust. “What other kind of camping is there?”

“I wouldn’t know.”