Jock Rule (Jock Hard #2)(39)

I don’t exactly hate it.

“You don’t think it’s weird that we’re in bed together?” Her question comes out of nowhere.

“Why would I think it’s weird?”

“Uh, because it’s weird? We’re not even friends—not really. And we’re not dating, but you have this weird…” Pause. “I know you’re protective of me, and I can’t figure out why, but I also know I don’t hate it, either. It’s…nice.”

Right.

“I just didn’t think I’d ever be in some guy’s bed platonically, that’s all. College guys are such pigs sometimes.”

“I’m not a pig.”

“I know you’re not—that’s what I’m saying. Sometimes it’s confusing. You’re not gay, but you don’t date, and you’re not sleeping with anyone. You must spend a lot of time…you know.”

The word she’s looking for here is masturbating.

“Don’t you?” I’m curious. “Spend time doing that?”

“No!” She’s shocked.

“Why?”

“I don’t know how? God, Kip.” The answer—which is in the form of a both a question and a confession—comes out halted. “I can’t believe I just said that. I must be delirious.”

The air around us crackles. Kip bolts upright, twisting his body toward me.

“What do you mean, you don’t know how? Everyone knows how—you put your hand down your pants, move it around, and boom, orgasm.” Sounds like she needs a tutorial of Masturbating for Dummies.

“I don’t think it’s that simple.” She giggles, patronizing me.

“Oh, but Teddy, it is. It really, really is that simple.”

“Yeah, probably because you’ve been jerking off since you were like twelve, and all you really have to do is move your hand up and down on your penis. There’s barely any work involved.”

No comment.

Suddenly I twist my body to face her, bending my elbow and propping myself up in her direction. “So let me get this straight—you’ve never touched yourself?”

“Of course I’ve touched myself.”

I roll my eyes. “The shower to get clean doesn’t count.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, she says,” I tease. “You’re really missing out if you’re not rubbing one out a few times a week.”

She groans, embarrassed. “Rubbing one out? That’s one I haven’t heard before.”

“It’s all part of self-love, Teddy.”

“And I bet you love yourself a whole lot,” comes her low chuckle.

She has no idea.

“Why do you even care?” she asks.

“I don’t. You’re the one who brought it up—I’m just the one who ran with it.”

“Actually, I didn’t.”

“Yes you did. You were all”—my speech gets high-pitched as I mimic her girl voice—“You must spend a lot of time blah blah blah…you know.”

“I do not sound like that.” In the dark, I hear her eyes roll.

“But you did say it.”

“Fine. I’m curious, all right? Sue me. You’re this giant of a guy, who must be—”

She stops herself.

“Spit it out, Teddy. Stop hesitating.” It’s driving me nuts!

“Fine! You’re this giant of a guy who must get…excited a lot. There, happy now?”

“And by excited you mean…”

“Horny, okay?” The words burst out of her. “Thank god it’s dark, my face is on fire.”

Yup. I made her say the word horny, and she sounds horrified, and it’s perfect.

“And you’re not? Horny?”

“Uh…when would I have the time? And please stop saying that word—it’s awful. It’s worst than the word moist. Or squirt.”

She hates the word moist? What’s wrong with the word moist?

“You hate horny? You don’t have time to be horny?” I say it again, twice, just to embarrass her. “You’re shitting me, right? Everyone has time to be horny. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“It’s perfectly normal not to be turned on all the time.”

“No. It’s not.” At least, I don’t think it is.

“How would you even know? You’re not a female.”

“No, but I’ve seen enough of them around campus and at parties to know most are sex-crazed lunatics.”

“Are you high right now?” she barks at me through the shadows. “Who are you hanging out with? Absolutely no one is running around campus like a sex-crazed lunatic, except maybe the guys.”

“False. I am not a sex-crazed lunatic.”

“What are you then? Because I doubt you’re a virgin.”

Definitely not a virgin. “No. I just swore off girls when they became too much trouble.”

“Trouble? How?”

“You know, wanting to get serious and shit.”

“Ah, so you’re one of thooose.” She drags the word out, as if she’s finally cracked my code, satisfaction lacing every syllable. “A commitment-phobe.”