Jock Romeo (Jock Hard 6)

Awkwardly, I hold the peel between my index finger and thumb, not sure what to do with the slimy thing.

“Here.” Roman takes it from me and tosses it into a nearby trash bin before pulling out the seat next to me and joining me.

“Thanks.”

I brush a strand of hair behind my ears; I can feel them getting hot and hope they’re not beet red.

“Thanks for letting me join you—I don’t hang out here often, so it’s nice to find a familiar face.”

I fiddle with the marshmallow cereal treat in front of me, picking at the clear plastic wrapper half of it is still wrapped in. “I don’t hang out here that often, either. I was too lazy to go to the other cafeteria.”

“There’s another cafeteria?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s in the stadium for the athletic department.” My tone is apologetic, though it’s hardly my fault he’s not allowed to eat there. “It’s a hike, one I wasn’t in the mood to make even though I have practice there later.”

“Ahh.” He nods in understanding. “That’s cool.”

“Are you hungry at all?” I hold out my tasty treat as an offering. “Want some?”

Roman studies the cereal bar, shaking his head. Raises his eyes and scans the perimeter. “I should probably eat something substantial. I have a physics class in a half hour that has a lab directly afterward.”

Physics and a lab?

Blech.

“A burger sounds good, eh?”

It does. I didn’t want to wait in the line before, but I see it’s not as long now. Two people stand at the grill, patiently waiting.

Roman catches me watching. I’m positive there’s no drool coming from the side of my mouth, but to be sure, I swipe a finger there.

“Want anything?” He’s rising, pulling his student ID card from the pocket of his jeans. “My treat.”

“You can’t keep feeding me—I’m like a stray cat.” But… “Um, a burger if you don’t mind? With, um—pickles? And mayo?”

“Anything else?”

“Tomato.”

Roman laughs. “One burger with pickles, tomato, and mayo. Anything else?”

“Nope, that’s good.” My stomach growls even though I just fed it. “I’ll hold down the fort.”

I trail my gaze after him when he walks off, studying his backside. The jeans fit perfectly, not too baggy, not too long, not too tight. Bright blue hoodie. Red sneakers. Hair twisted up in a knot, pulled back off his face.

He doesn’t look like a science geek today; he looks like he could be on a team. He’s fit, that much is obvious, and not just from my observations today—I couldn’t help noticing the other night when I was in his kitchen, eating his leftovers, doing my best not to notice how fit he is.

A girl can look, can’t she?

I watch him order, gesturing and smiling.

His smile is…

Wide and friendly, and the girl at the counter dips her head, embarrassed as she punches his order into the computer, biting down on her bottom lip, sneaking a glance or two.

Yeah, he’s pretty darn cute.

I mean—if a person was looking and interested. Which I’m not.

Because I’m on a break.

I feel a certain kind of way watching Roman interact with the girl at the counter. I know he’s just ordering us something to snack on, but seeing the other girl get flustered in his presence makes me…proud or something? He’s totally oblivious to her, but I know he’s shy around girls—I know this because when I winked at him the night he dropped the box, he dropped it because I was flirting and it flustered him. A guy who does that is not overly confident when it comes to the opposite sex.

His phone rings on the table, and I see that it’s his mother.

MOM it says across the screen, a selfie of Rome and an older woman lighting up the screen. She’s a little shorter than he is, and he’s standing with his arm around her in a side hug, looking like the Roman I met three years ago with the nerdy glasses, short hair, and an awkward pose.

His mother is beautiful, with a bright vibrant smile and blonde hair.

The call disconnects and his screen goes black.

It only takes a few minutes for him to return, and when he does, he sets our burgers down along with a few napkins, a few packets of ketchup, and two knives.

“Thank you, Roman.” It was gracious of him to pay; he needn’t have.

“You’re welcome.”

Is he blushing? Looks like it.

Unwrapping his burger, he cuts it in half and politely picks up one side, gingerly taking a bite. I watch him chew before doing the same.

His phone rings again.

Rome glances down at it and raises his brows; he doesn’t answer the call from his mother.

This is the second time she’s called—I wonder if I should say something. What if there’s an emergency? Surely he sees the call from before.

It’s killing me not to point it out. Just in case. “That’s the second time your mom has called. I’m not trying to be nosey, but it rang while you were getting us lunch—I just don’t want you to miss it in case there’s an emergency.”