Jock Row (Jock Hard 1)

“Exactly.”

He’s pleased with himself, too, leaning against the balustrade, legs so long his ass rests comfortably on top of the rail.

A nervous, giddy laugh escapes my lips. I can’t handle moments like this; they make me uncomfortable when I’m not prepared, and this cold weather isn’t helping matters.

I’m laughing like an idiot, and he’s staring at me like I’ve lost my damn mind and now there is no way he’s going to let me back inside.

“Escort me from the premises?” I muse, rubbing my chin. “What are you, an undercover cop?” I’m sassing now, turning my embarrassment into a thinly veiled joke.

Except…

If this is a joke, it isn’t funny—not at all. It’s awkward and inconvenient and we’re out here on the porch in the cold, shivering. Locked in a battle of wills, neither one willing to bend, my teeth chattering the slightest bit. Thoughts straying from his handsome face to the warm scarf buried in my bag.

I wonder how tacky it would be for me to wrap it around my neck while he stands there, shuddering every so often, covered in goose bumps.

“Can I at least go back inside and tell my friends you’re kicking me out?”

“Nope.” He obnoxiously pops the P. “I’m under strict orders not to let you back in.”

“Whose strict orders?”

“Mine. Why are you arguing?” One mammoth paw scratches across his stupidly sexy square jaw. “It’s not helping your case.”

“Oh, I have a case now?” I ask sarcastically with an eye roll heavenward. “Is this a court of law or have I somehow entered a special kind of purgatory?”

His smile widens. “If I were actually an undercover cop, I’d have you arrested for resisting an officer.”

“Is that a thing?”

“Resisting an officer? Hell yeah it is.” He smirks, and god is he cute. Really, really cute. Handsome.

I glance down at my shoes, shuffling my feet, then out toward the street to stop myself from staring directly at his white teeth and chiseled jaw and stupid, sparkling eyes.

What a cliché he turned out to be.

Jerk.

“Please just let me run inside.” I try not to beg. “I’ll be quick like a bunny and tell them I’m leaving?”

“Quick like a bunny?” He rubs his jaw, the unshaven scruff scratching. “That I might pay to see.”

I bat my eyelashes, wishing I at least threw on one coat of mascara before leaving the house tonight. My face is naked and fresh, not likely to bend any guy to my will, let alone this one.

“Please?”

“Let’s try this again. Are you watching my lips? Are you paying attention? Because I’m only going to say this one more time.”

I nod, eyes glued to his gorgeous mouth. “I’m listening.”

“You. Are. Not. Going. Back. Inside.” His eyes trek the length of my zipper, searching for the pockets at my sides. “If you have a phone tucked away in there, get it out and text your friends. See if they give a shit you’re gone. Go ahead.”

“I will!”

A low chuckle. “What are you waiting for?”

Why is he being like this? Doesn’t he know how rude it is for me to just disappear on my friends? Under any other circumstances, I never would have walked out on them and left them inside.

I stomp my foot like a petulant child, the stubborn side of me kicking in like a knee-jerk reaction. Athletes aren’t the only ones with determination. “I am not leaving this porch until you let me back in!”

He yawns in my direction, sounding bored, patting his mouth. “Why are you being so dramatic? You’re worse than my four-year-old cousin.”

“Because! This goes against my…” I search for the appropriate words. “Civil rights!”

“This goes against your civil rights,” he deadpans dryly, lip curving. “Now you just sound crazy.”

“You can’t kick me out.”

“Now you’re cock-blocking me from kicking you out? Do you not see the irony here?”

I narrow my eyes. “Stop trying to make me laugh—it won’t work.”

“But it’s so easy.”

“I’m not standing out on this porch while my girlfriends are being taken advantage of inside. I’m not abandoning them.”

“Uh…” he drones. “I can guarantee you it’s the other way around.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t think those chicks inside aren’t taking advantage of the situation?” He throws a thumb over his shoulders, toward the house.

“No, I don’t think they’re taking advantage of the situation. They have no clue what’s going on. In fact, they probably thought—”

You were going to hit on me, and they weren’t going to stand in your way.

“See how easy it is to divert your attention? You’re like a cute, fuzzy brown squirrel with no nut—was that the point?” He hugs himself, moving his hands up and down his arms. “Real talk: if you don’t leave this property, I’ll end up babysitting you, and that’s not how I want to kill time on a Friday night.”

I pretend to ignore him, a knot of guilt tightening my stomach.

His teeth rake over his bottom lip, back and forth, gleaming white, as he studies me.

“Fine.” His sigh is resigned. “While you stand here being stubborn, I’ll be over on the stairs ignoring you while you ignore me.”

Removing his cell from the back pocket of his jeans, he holds it up, thumb sliding across the screen, the glow illuminating his inconveniently attractive face. He twists his wrist in my direction, wiggling his finger in small circles. “Don’t hesitate to text your friends and tell them you’re leaving.”

“Bossy,” I grumble, jealous he can so easily disregard me to play on his phone while I stew over my predicament. “I’m not leaving because I’m reliable, and loyal.”

His ears don’t so much as twitch; he’s not listening.

Three more minutes tick by.

“You’re really not going to let me back in?”

He barely spares me a glance. “I’m really not letting you back in.”

“What if I promise to behave?” I run two pinched fingers across my mouth, throw away the key. “I’ll be good. No running interference.”

“Cute.” His eyes are still fastened to his phone. “But no.”

“I can’t be out here and leave my poor friends alone with those idiots.” I pause. “Oops, did I say that out loud?”

His head gives a slow shake. Tsks. “It’s going to be a really long night if you keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Begging to get back inside. It’s pitiful and annoying. Text your damn friends.”

“I’m not begging. I’m asking.”

His eyes leave the screen of his phone, raking my torso up and down with a dismissive brow. “It’s begging—I know what the difference is, and you’re being irksome.”

Damn. The fact that he just used the word irksome?

Kind of a huge turn-on.

“I thought determination was an admirable quality.” I sound pitiful, even to my own ears. “Surely you of all people can appreciate that.”

“Only when used in the right circumstances,” he grumbles after a long pause. “Like, say—warmer circumstances.”

“If…” I root around in my brain for something intelligent to say, to gain equal footing, but end up with, “If you don’t let me back inside, I’m calling the cops.”

Ugh, why can’t I just keep my mouth shut?

“Be my guest, call the cops.” He takes a loud, slurping sip of the beer he’s been holding in his hand. “Tell them Rowdy Wade sent you.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Trust me, doll face, I’ve been called worse.”

“Oh god—do not call me doll face.”

“What should I call you then? I know you don’t take kindly to Cock Blocker as an endearment.”