Jock Row (Jock Hard 1)

“Thanks for waiting for us tonight—you didn’t have to,” Scarlett finally says, her friends booking it a few feet in front of us with newfound urgency.

Not them—you.

I waited for you.

I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. Scarlett would have gotten there, seen there was no party, and within minutes, found out where everyone was through the power of social media, like everyone else tonight did when they arrived tonight.

“I know I didn’t have to.”

Without realizing it, our pace has slackened from a brisk walk to keep up with the group to a slow stroll, and soon, we’re a good hundred paces behind her friends, almost an entire block separating us, Scarlett’s tote bag swinging along with her stride.

“What’s inside your bag? It’s been driving me nuts.”

“Oh!” She perks up, remembering herself. “I made brownies yesterday and wanted to get them out of my house before I ate them all myself.”

“Liar. You made these for me.”

“Pfft.” When she doesn’t deny it, goddamn if my heart doesn’t flutter.

I poke at her bag. “Are you going to make me beg for a taste?”

I have to admit, I threw down that innuendo to measure her aversion, grinning when she shoots me a sardonic sideways glance, clamping her lips shut, tempted to retort.

Scarlett isn’t the conservative she appears to be; I would bet money on it. She just hides it better than others, burying it beneath that damn jacket.

I wonder what her body looks like under all those layers. Is she skinny or curvy? Big boobs or flat-chested? Is she shy and modest or self-confident?

Jesus, I want to find out so damn bad.

“No. Of course I’m not going to make you beg.” Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, and husky, like she’s having dirty thoughts about me, too.

We stop onto the sidewalk so she can rifle through her tote, pulling out a clear Tupperware container with a red lid and handing it to me. I pop the lid, inhaling the smell of rich chocolate.

“Fuck yeah. I love brownies.”

“Me too.”

We resume our walk.

I bite down into a large square, groaning. “Goddamn this is good.”

“Thank you.”

“Moist,” I can’t help adding, just to see what she’ll say.

Scarlett groans. “God, I hate that word.”

Yeah, I figured—who doesn’t?

“You hate the word moist?”

“Stop saying it,” she says on a laugh, the dimple in her cheek winking at me.

“I would if these brownies weren’t so…moist.” Her laughter is low as we resume walking, side by side, in the dark. “You want a bite?”

Her teeth rake her bottom lip indecisively. “I probably shouldn’t.”

“Just a little. Here, nibble some of mine.”

We pause under a streetlight, and I raise my arm, brownie pinched between my fingers, offering her some.

“Try it,” I cajole, pulling back with a warning. “Just a bite—don’t hog it all.”

Scarlett steps closer, leaning in, breath a billow of steam into the cold, fall air. Her lips part, teeth nipping at the corner of the chocolate confection, doing her damnedest to avoid my fingers with her mouth.

Eyes slide closed. “Mmm.”

Mmm is right.

Her pretty pink tongue darts out, licking her lips.

“Want more?”

Scarlett touches her finger to her mouth just then, hesitating. “I’m good, but thank you.”

“I’ve got a whole container of them if you change your mind,” I tease, patting the plastic container riding her hip. “Made them last night.”

I take the opportunity to stuff another chunk into my mouth, teeth hitting a chocolate chip. It melts unhurriedly on my tongue before I swallow.

Heaven. So fucking delicious.

“Wow, look at all those people,” Scarlett mutters, slowing her pace as the Lambda house comes into full view, up front and center of the show. We’ve rounded the corner and it seems the whole block has ignited, blazing lights beckoning everyone to the enormous, red brick fraternity house.

It’s located in the middle of the street, a massive monolith with Palladian white columns. The house is so fucking cool it ought to be a crime for these drunken idiots to live here.

Scarlett takes a few steps back instead of forward, hands clutching the strap on her tote.

“Uh, you know what? On second thought, I don’t think I want to hit a frat party tonight.”

“You don’t want to go in? Why not?”

“Rowdy, look at me.” She makes a jerky gesture down her torso. “Look at my outfit.”

“I am looking at you.” And I see nothing wrong with what she’s wearing—nothing at all. She’s adorable with her hair all rolled up into those cute motherfucking buns. Face flushed, eyes bright. And when she bites down on her bottom lip?

Totally makes me want to kiss her.

Still, we’re stuck standing in the middle of the sidewalk, in front of a fraternity party, and she doesn’t want to stay.

“I can walk you home.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod. “Where do you live?”

“Back the way we came, closer to the baseball house, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yup. About three blocks toward campus.” Scarlett hikes her bag. “What about you?”

“I’m across from the stadium.”

“Which stadium?”

If this was anyone else, I’d throw my head back and laugh in their face for asking such a dumb fucking question. But this is Scarlett, and somehow she’s managed to weasel her way into my life like a bad habit.

“The baseball stadium.”

“Oh.” She laughs nervously, miming smacking a palm to her forehead. “Duh.”

God she’s adorably clueless.

“Here, let me take your bag.” I reach for it. “I’ll walk you home.”

“No, no! Gosh, you don’t have to carry it,” she demurs.

I grab her tote, ending whatever other argument or protests are about to come out of her gorgeous mouth, giving her hip a little bump in the process to nudge her along.

“Never have I ever—”

Scarlett’s groan interrupts me, and now that her hands are free, she throws them in the air,. “Oh lord, here we go.”

I glance down at her. “What? Would you rather play something else?”

“We can’t play Never Have I Ever—we don’t have anything to chug down if we lose.”

“But we have brownies.” I hold up her bag containing the tub of desserts, giving it a shake, totally willing to sacrifice the lot of them on our walk back to her place.

“If I eat all those chocolate brownies, I will barf.”

“Are you that confident you’re going to have to eat them?”

“With the questions you like to ask? Definitely.”

“It’s not that many blocks. You’ll live.” Once we fall into line, I dig into her bag to retrieve the container, our steps in sync. “Never have I ever read anyone’s diary.

“Ugh, dammit Rowdy!”

I pop the top so Scarlett can retrieve a small piece from the plastic container and pop it in her mouth. Chew and swallow.

“Whose diary?” I want to know.

“My older sister’s when we were younger. She had some damn good stuff in it, too, like the first time she got felt up by a guy, she detailed the entire experience and I got to read about it.”

“You sneaky little shit.”

Scarlett shrugs. “It’s not like she hid it—kept it on her bookshelf along with her other junk. But honestly, I was notorious for going through her stuff. It was all just too good to keep my hands off of.” She sighs, and then smirks. “Have you ever been slapped across the face?”

I hesitate then bite off a chunk of chewy, moist brownie. “Yes.” A smug grin spreads across her mouth, and it makes me scowl. “You don’t have to be self-righteous about it, smartass. I wasn’t slapped by a pissed-off girl.”

“Stop it right now. You’re telling me you were slapped by a guy?” Her skepticism is spread across her entire face.