Jock Rule (Jock Hard #2)(57)

“If I had known you were screwing Kip Carmichael, I probably would have been more worried.”

I turn to face her, aghast. “And why is that?”

“Because. He’s deplorable.”

Deplorable? I laugh again. “I can’t believe you right now. What do you have to be jealous of?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then why would you say that about my boyfriend?”

“So he’s your boyfriend now?” Mariah’s own laugher comes out cold. “Two seconds ago you were just dating.”

“Who are you?” I whisper. “I have done nothing but be a good friend. This entire year, you’ve been horrible—honestly, Mariah, you care more about parties and guys than you do about me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Liar.” I’m grateful for these heels when I stand at my full height—grateful for the added inches, so my roommate and I see eye-to-eye. “Tessa and Cameron are always happy for me. They lent me these clothes.” My hands sweep down my body, over the fabric of my dress. “They offered to come help me get dressed. You? Said you were busy, and you’re not doing anything but watching TV.”

“I have homework,” she argues.

“It’s Saturday. Since when do you study on the weekend?” The answer is never. “And how many times have I dropped everything for you? To help you. To do your makeup, or borrow a car so I can drive us places, or spot you money—money I do not have—for something when I’m broke. I always find a way, Mariah. Always. You never do the same for me anymore.” I take a breath. “I don’t know what I did to make you resent me, but I’m sick of your shitty attitude.”

There. I said it.

“Wow, Farmer Ted—tell me how you really feel.”

My nostrils flare at the moniker I hate so much; neck bristles. She knows I hate it and used it on purpose.

“I just did.”

We glare at each other, in the small bathroom of our apartment, but something in her gaze—the way she’s watching me a bit warily gives me pause.

Softens my stance a little.

I cock my head, waiting—because I know there’s something she wants to say.

“Everything is so easy for you.” Mariah says it slowly, in a low tone of voice.

It’s not what I’m expecting her to say, not at all.

“Are you insane?” I blurt, damn certain my eyes are bugging out of my skull. “Nothing comes easy for me. What are you talking about?”

Her eyes go wide too. “Are you kidding? Why does everything work out for you? I fuck everything up and you always come out smelling like roses.”

What the hell is she going on about? “You’re confusing me, Mariah.”

How is this girl jealous of me?

My mother works two jobs, and we’ve lived above a bar most of my life. I have a grant, which means I won’t have to get another job this semester, but it wasn’t always that way. For three years I’ve gone to school and worked, never having time off. I have to buy all my clothes discounted, or borrow them from friends.

I’m not sexy, or glamourous, or tall—like her.

Her parents are still married; her dad never ran out on her mom. Middle class, hard-working, and supportive, Mariah never wanted for anything.

What the hell is she resentful of me for?

“I’m flunking out, okay? My grades suck and I got put on academic probation at the end of last year—I thought I would raise them and not have to tell anyone, but that hasn’t happened. I’m still below a two point oh.”

Far be it from me to point out the fact that if she did more studying than partying, she might not be in this predicament.

“My parents always thought living with you would help my study habits, but obviously it hasn’t.” Her laugh is rueful. “I’ll probably have to move home and go to Community College— if I even get accepted.” She blows out a sigh, fingers tugging at the bun in her hair. “I have no love life. Guys are assholes, and none of them text back when they say they’re going to—and here you have this awesome, popular guy chasing after you. You got this grant, so you can at least afford the next year of tuition, and—“

“What does this have to do with me?” I interrupt, still not following. “Because it sounds like you’re blaming your problems on me, and I have zero to do with any of them.”

I refuse to be anyone’s scapegoat.

She ignores my question, continuing the pity party she’s invited me to. “I thought I could handle casual sex, but that isn’t working out for me either. I want…I’m sick of feeling used.”

“Then maybe you should stop sleeping with a new guy every weekend.” It slips out before I can stop myself and four eyes widen from surprise—hers and mine.

Oops.

“How do you know I’ve slept with a different guy every weekend?”

“I don’t?”

“Let me guess; Kip told you.”

My silence speaks volumes.

“How nice for you. Gossip from Jock Row.”

“We don’t sit and gossip about you. He just mentioned it once.”