Jock Rule (Jock Hard 2)

His tone makes me laugh, and I jump at the opportunity to change the subject.

“You look like Thor, for heaven’s sake. Thanks for doing yourself up tonight.”

“Doing myself.” I can hear his chuckle over the sound of the music. “Sounds about right.”

“You’re so immature.”

“You’re so welcome.”

“That wasn’t a compliment, Kip.” My eyes land on the royal blue hair band around his topknot. “How the hell did you get your hands on a scrunchie?”

“My sister is an asshole and sent me a box of them, okay? Because of my man buns.” He fingers the scrunchie in his mop. “I thought this crushed velvet one suited the occasion nicely.”

“First of all, how do you know that’s crushed vel—you know what? Never mind.” I squint up at him. “What’s the occasion?”

“Our debut as a team.”

“Jeez, please don’t call it a debut. I predict this will be our one and only hurrah.”

“It’s a debut—unless you have a better word for it?”

“No, I don’t.” Frustrated, I throw my hands in the air. “Because we do not need to be calling it anything! My god, why are you like this?”

Kip cocks a brow. “Okay, now you’re starting to sound like my sister.”

“Someone I bet I would really love from the sound of it. Tell me more.”

“I’d really rather not. She’s a pain in my ass.”

“Is she tall?”

“I guess? Five ten or something.”

“Whoa. Are you parents tall?”

“My dad is, not my mom.”

“Hmm.” I consider this. “So it’s like a family of giants.”

“Basically.”

Just then, we’re interrupted for the first time in an hour—since we’ve been here, it’s just been the two of us entertaining ourselves with beer, banter, and small talk.

The guy is tall too—though not as tall as Kip—and handsome, in a pretty boy kind of way, a gash in his lip lending a rugged air. Hair tussled, he’s got on a button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and jeans that look like they could stand to go through the wash.

“Hey Sasquatch. What’s up?” He gives me side eye and a smile, holding up two red cups.

“Not much, Lynwood.” Kip steps forward, inching farther into what’s supposed to be a three-foot chasm, chest bumping my back.

I step away.

He follows.

Dammit!

“Who’s your friend?” the guy asks.

“This is Teddy.”

Lynwood smiles. “Like the bear?”

“No, dipshit.” Kip is already irritated, and his friend has only been standing here for about seven seconds. “Like the name.”

Oh lord.

Lynwood ignores Kip, turning to me; giving me all his attention. It’s weird, in a way, his brown eyes shining a little too bright. His smile a little too wide. Wolflike.

I don’t think I trust him.

“Teddy, I’m Steve.”

I shyly brush a lock of hair behind my ear. “Hi.”

“Jesus,” I hear Kip grunt, and I want to elbow him in the abs—then I remember rule seven. I’m not allowed to punch him in the gut. Crap.

I need him to stop acting like a dick.

“You thirsty, Teddy?”

I hand Kip the cup in my hand and return my gaze to Steve. “Sure.”

He hands me one of the two red cups he brought over.

“Thanks.” I go to put it to my smiling mouth. Aww, how thoughtful of him to bring me a drink.

But it’s yanked out of my hand and away from my lips.

“What the hell, Kip?” He is such a savage.

“Give me that.”

He plucks the cup from my grasp, hands it back to Steve, and then looks down his nose at me.

Sniffs indignantly before flaring his nostrils. “Rule number eighty that everyfuckingbody knows: never accept beer from a dude handing it to you at a party. Ever. It could have drugs in it.”

My brows shoot up—I hadn’t thought of that. Then again, Kip has been with me most of the night and I haven’t had to. He’s the best watchdog a girl could have.

Steven’s lip curls up. “What the hell, Carmichael?”

“I’m not saying you drugged her, dipshit—I’m talking generalities.” Kip side-eyes Steven, shooting me a pointed look. “But still, I mean…he could have.”

“You are so unbelievably fucked up, man.” Steve huffs.

“What-the-fuck-ever, dude—she should know better.”

“You’re an asshole.”

The curse words keep coming as they begin to argue, in the middle of the living room, for the entire party to see.

“Piss off, Lynwood.”

This sure escalated quickly.

“You think you’re tough shit because you’re ten feet tall, but you ain’t shit.”

Kip’s nostrils flare. “How about you walk away—she’s too good for you anyway.”

“Fuckin’ A, Carmichael. I wasn’t even interested in her to begin with. Look at her, Jesus—she looks like a kindergarten teacher.”

Wait—what does that mean? Did he just imply that I was homely? My mouth drops open—I’ve never been insulted to my face before.

“What did you just say?” Kip moves forward, chest practically bumping Lynwood’s if not for their drastic height difference. “How about you watch your fucking mouth.”

“I’ll say whatever the hell I want, you giant freak.”

“Get the fuck out of my face,” Kip thunders.

“Not a problem, asshole.”

Kip rolls his eyes, tired of the conversation, appearing so bored I expect him to check his fingernails. “You called me an asshole already, you asshole.”

Steve storms off, weaving his way back through the crowd, and I watch his brown head bobbing above the throng until it disappears from sight.

“What. Just. Happened?”

“Not worth your time. He’s an idiot.”

Obviously.

I clear my throat, trying to appear unruffled and unaffected, even though Steve Lynwood’s drunk, biting words will haunt me the remainder of the evening: I wasn’t even interested in her to begin with. Look at her, Jesus.

What the hell did he mean by that?

“Okay, well he’s the third idiot you’ve scared away tonight.”

“Uh, yeah, because they’re all fucking idiots.”

“I’m sure not all of them are…”

“Nope. They are.”

“Including you?”

“Especially me.” Kip lifts the red cup in his hands, putting it to his lips. I watch his throat constrict as he swallows then lowers it, crushing the entire thing in his giant claw. “This party blows, and so do these guys.”

I rub my chin, tapping it. “There’s a blowjob joke in there somewhere.”

“Please don’t make it—the last thing we need is me thinking about you giving blowjobs.”

“If you knew this party was going to blow then why are we here?”

“We’re here because you need practice.”

“Or, I can just find a nice guy in one of my labs, because this…apparently this is not my scene.”

“Or you broaden your dating pool by swimming outside the dork pond.”

“Stereotype much?”

“Yes. Don’t you?”

I scoff. “Pfft, no.”

“Liar—you stereotyped me.”

“Well…how could I not? Look at you—you look like Bigfoot’s cousin.”

“Bigfoot isn’t a real person, Theodora.”

“But if he was—”

“He’s not.”

“For the sake of argument—”

“He’s not though, so we can’t argue about it.”

“Kipling, I swear on all that is holy—”

This agreement is never going to work, and why on earth I thought it would is completely lost on me.

I open my mouth and tell him, “You’re fired.”