Jock Rule (Jock Hard #2)(58)

Mariah’s face is an unflattering shade of red, from her cheeks to the tips of her ears.

“This all started before I met Kip, Mariah. You can be jealous or blame me for what’s going on, but we both know none of this has anything to do with me.” My hands are on my hips, confrontationally. “If you don’t show me some respect, I’m moving out at semester—if you’re not suspended first.”

I brush past her, satisfied to have shocked her.

For the first time in our friendship, I’ve got the upper hand—and I’m keeping it.

Kip will be so proud of me.

***

I’m outside my apartment waiting for Kip; it’s warm enough tonight that I won’t freeze while I stand here—certainly not as cold as his house was the night his furnace went out. The memory puts a smile on my lips and I press a hand to my lower stomach.

Ugh. These butterflies…

My heart is still beating wildly from my argument with Mariah; I can’t believe it took me so long to stand up to her. It actually felt incredible—a giant weight lifted off my shoulder that I finally said what I’ve been wanting to say— provoked by the fact that she couldn’t have cared less that I was going out, didn’t offer to help get me ready though I’ve spent countless hours doing her hair and makeup in the past, like her personal stylist.

All she would have had to do was offer to help.

So easy. So simple.

The past few weeks have really opened my eyes to what kind of friend she has become. It makes me sad to know we’ve grown so far apart that I no longer trust her, but at the same time, I’m excited about the new friends I’ve been making lately. I have more in common with Renee and Miranda, two girls I just met yet and have been getting calls and texts from all week, and they even made a spot for me today at Kip’s game.

I have more in common with them than I do with the person I’ve spent the past three years living with.

I finally see that now.

My heels click on the pavement as I impatiently readjust my stance, the strappy leather shoes another loan from Cameron. The dress is also, a short, aqua blue shift with white trim and embroidered white flowers around the halter neckline.

I feel cute. Pretty.

Can’t quite quell the nerves bombarding me as I stand here, impatiently waiting on Kip.

This will be our first date.

The first time he’s going to see me really dressed up, wearing high heels and a fancy dress.

I fiddle with the gold hoop in my ear, glancing up when a tall, blond guy begins a steady stroll up the sidewalk to my apartment complex, heart racing a little when his face comes into the light.

He’s so handsome I dip my head, embarrassed to look directly at him, afraid I’ll get caught ogling, especially when I’m waiting on someone else.

Dark jeans. Brown dress shoes that shine under the lights. Baby blue polo shirt under a dark leather jacket.

I step aside so he can pass, brushing back my hair to busy my hands, tucking my purse more securely under my armpit.

And there go those damn butterflies.

Only…

He doesn’t pass by me.

He stops.

Reaches down and puts his hands on my shoulders, leaning in and, “Oh my god, what the hell do you think you’re doing!”

Yes, I realize I’m shouting, but that’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re assaulted on a sidewalk in front of your own damn home.

“Get your hands off me!”

“Teddy, calm down,” the hot guy’s voice instructs.

But I don’t calm down—I elbow him in the gut.

“Oof. Relax babe,” the guy croaks out, slightly bent at the waist. “It’s me. Relax, it’s me.”

Me who?

“I’m calling campus security. And…and I have a—a boyfriend you know, a really big one. He’s huge, and he’s going to kick your ass when he gets here. He’ll be here any minute.”

“God you’re cute when you’re threatening to kick my ass.”

That voice.

That laugh.

Oh.

My.

God.

“Kip?”

That handsome face contorts, amused. And so handsome. “Who the hell did you think I was?”

“A rapist.”

“Do I look like a rapist to you?” I’m so intent on studying him, I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not.

He looks hot. He is hot. Like—there are no words for it. He’s clean shaven, and his hair has been trimmed into way too trendy of a cut, short on the sides and longer on the top, combed back and styled—expensively.

Where do they even have salons around here that can cut a guy’s hair like that?

Kip spins in circle on the heel of his highly polished leather shoes and wipes a hand across his smooth, freshly shaven chin.

There’s a cleft there, and a slight dimple in his cheek.

Sweet mother of all that is holy.

“What do you think?” He spans his arms wide, inviting me to give him a once-over.

“I—I…I don’t know what I think.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” The poor guy looks genuinely confused, while I…am genuinely confused.

“Why did you do this?” I can’t stop myself from asking.