Jock Rule (Jock Hard 2)

“What?”

“This isn’t going to work. You’re too confrontational, and you’re not going to like anyone who talks to me—plus none of these guys are my type. So you’re fired.”

“I’m free labor—you can’t fire me.”

“So we agree this isn’t working? And that we’re done.”

“Fine. Can we just stop arguing now and go to my house?”

He wants to leave? Fine by me, I’ve spoken to almost no guys anyway, haven’t had the chance to flirt, and haven’t seen my friends all night, either.

I’m exhausted.

“You want me to come over?” I can’t hide the surprise in my voice. He wants me to go to his place—again? I thought he didn’t like people there.

He gives me a wide-shouldered shrug. “Sure, why not. You already know where I live—not that I want you dropping by unexpectedly.”

As if I’d do that. “Like I’d be able to find it on my own.”

“Whatever. Just get your shit and let’s bounce. This party sucks but I’m not tired. We can watch a movie or play a game or something.”

Play a game?

“Yeah okay, I could do a movie. And we can leave now, because I didn’t bring any shit. I could stand to run home to grab some sweats, though.”

Kip jingles his glittery car keys. “Sure.”

“Then let’s go.”

I can text Mariah later to let her know I’m not staying.

To be honest, she won’t even notice I’m gone.

***

KIP

Ronnie: Doing

Kip: Why do you do that?

Ronnie: Do what?

Kip: Ask what I’m doing by only using that one word. It’s so freaking annoying.

Ronnie: I know LOL

Ronnie: So? What are you doing?

Kip: Why?

Ronnie: Can’t I check in on you?

Kip: It’s midnight on a Friday—what do you think I’m doing?

Ronnie: I know what you’re NOT doing—a GIRL HAHAHAHA

Kip: You’re funny.

Ronnie: Hey, speaking of girls—what happened with that stray you brought home last weekend?

Kip: Teddy isn’t a stray. And right now she’s in the bathroom peeing.

Ronnie: Whose bathroom?

Kip: Mine.

Ronnie: SHUT UP. SHE IS NOT IN YOUR HOUSE AGAIN??? What?! Stop it.

Ronnie: WHY? Who is this girl and what has she done to you?

Kip: Knock it off.

Ronnie: CLEARLY she has a magic vagina.

Kip: I wouldn’t know.

Ronnie: SHUT. UP. Two weekends in a row and you haven’t slept with her? You have issues, you know that right?

Kip: Yes, I know that.

Ronnie: So you put her in the friend zone? Is she cool with that?

Kip: Trust me, she’s not into me.

Ronnie: Hmm, are you sure?

Kip: She changed out of the dress she wore to the party and into a cow onesie. It’s really unflattering.

Ronnie: Oh. Seriously?

Kip: No. But trust me, she’s not into me.

Ronnie: Did she invite herself over or did you invite her over?

Kip: I invited her.

Ronnie: Okay…

Ronnie: Why would you do that?

Kip: I don’t fucking know, Ron—to watch movies? That’s what people do with their friends.

Ronnie: At midnight on a Friday. Because you always invite your “friends” to the house. Righhhht…

Kip: That’s what normal people do, Ronnie. They have friends over.

Ronnie: NEWSFLASH KID: You are not “normal people” and you don’t ever have people over to your house. Does she think it’s weird you’re not living in a shithole?

Kip: I think so, but she’s been cool about it. She doesn’t gush over it or anything.

Ronnie: Well that’s good.

Ronnie: Does she know what you look like without all the hair? Has she seen any photos lying around?

Kip: There are no pictures lying around, give me a damn break.

Ronnie: So she has no idea how cute you are?

Kip: How do I respond to that? No, I guess Teddy doesn’t know what I look like without the hair—and she’s not going to.

Ronnie: Hairy beast mode.

Kip: Yup.

Ronnie: Suit yourself, baby brother.

Kip: I will.

Ronnie: Still not getting any action, either, are you? Still celibate as a monk?

Kip: None LOL

Kip: TTYL she’s coming.

Ronnie: Coming! Get it! But not from you though…

Kip: **eye roll** Go to sleep.

***

“Why is it so damn cold in here? Kip, I’m freezing!”

“The furnace went out last night and I haven’t gotten anyone to come fix it yet.” I would think that was obvious—it’s not like I’m purposely living in a cold house. “Did I forget to mention that?”

“Yes! You forgot to mention your house was sixty degrees!”

“Huh. Well, whatever—put on a sweatshirt.”

“You invited me over to your place knowing it was an ice box? Thanks so much.”

“Relax! Relax. I’m going to try to fix it myself in the morning.”

“But it’s cold right now.”

“But it won’t be in the morning.”

Her raised brow conveys her skepticism. “Do you even know how to fix a furnace?”

Hell no.

“It’s called YouTube—ever heard of it? I’ll watch a tutorial like everyone else on the planet. How hard could it be?”

Her scowl deepens. “Do you really think fixing it yourself is a good idea?”

“It’s worth a shot before I call someone.” I toss my jacket on the chair in the kitchen and bend to untie my boots.

Teddy does the same, unzipping the gold zippers going down the back of her black boots.

“Far be it from me to judge. You look like you might know your way around a woodshed, but not a toolbox. After seeing you in your natural habitat—white marble tile and high-end everything, I’m not so sure you can fix it yourself. No offense.”

I pause to look up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean…I’m sensing you haven’t really had to lift a finger growing up.”

Obviously she’s correct—I didn’t have to lift a finger growing up. We had cooks and gardeners and maintenance crew to do those things for us. We had a cleaning staff, tutors, and…

In a nutshell, my parents weren’t doing my sister or me any favors preparing us for the real world—something I’ve grown to resent. I can’t even fucking fix a furnace, or unclog a toilet at two in the morning (another thing I had to google), or use a Skilsaw when I wanted to build a shelf in the spare room I use as an office.

I stand, crossing my arms, affronted. “Based on what?”

Her eyes dart around the room then land on the expensive faux fur throw blankets draped over the back of my couch. My mother bought them for me.

“Um…” Teddy bites her bottom lip. “Based on the fact that you probably have a cleaning lady. I bet someone does your laundry and grocery shopping.”

“I do my own grocery shopping.” Most of the time.

“But you have a cleaning lady?”

My lips pull into a tight line.

“Oh my god, stop it. You do not!” Teddy practically shouts into the otherwise silent room. “Do you? Stop. Do you?”

My cheeks flush; I can feel the heat rising up my neck, suddenly embarrassed by my privilege.

“Yes,” I grind out. “Can we not talk about it?”

Another long stretch of silence follows—and for a bit, I think she is going to say something more about it. Am pleasantly surprised when she doesn’t. Relieved, actually, when instead she laughs and says, “That would explain why there is no pee around your toilet bowl.”

I pee mostly in the toilet, thank you very much miss know-it-all.

I walk farther into the living room, knowing she’s going to trail behind after me. “I can totally take you home if you don’t think you can hack it in this cold house.”

She glances down at the leggings and hooded sweatshirt she changed into when we got home. Pulls at the thick material and huffs. “I don’t have anything on underneath—no layers, and these leggings are thin. I think I might actually die.”