Jock Royal (Jock Hard 4)

“You can’t have those. Sorry, put it back.”

“Why not?” He stares down at the containers with longing. “I’m hungry.”

“They’re not mine, they’re my roommate’s.”

Preston sits himself down at the counter and makes himself comfortable. “Since when do you have a roommate?”

Since when does he keep track of my business?

“Since last weekend.”

He scrunches up his face. “You have a dude living here who eats that much fruit? Bro.”

“He is a she. My roommate is a female.”

“Whoa. Hold up—you’re living with a chick?” Will cranes his neck to look around, as if Georgia will magically appear.

And she does.

She chooses that moment to walk through the kitchen door, hair down, breeze making it blow up around her like she’s got a goddamn wind machine following her around.

Pink cheeks.

Pink lips.

Surprise widening her eyes.

Crap.

“Oh hey.” She shuts the door behind her, kicking off her shoes and moving them out of the way. “Hi.”

I grunt. “That’s Preston and his roommate, Will. They stopped by but were just leaving.”

“We weren’t just leaving.” Preston grins. “Sorry, Will was going to eat your fruit, but Jones here wouldn’t let him.”

“Aww—that’s nice of you,” she says with a smile. “But you can have some, really I don’t mind.”

She can’t afford for these arseholes to be eating all her food, especially the fruit—that shite is the most expensive thing at the damn grocery store.

I glare at Will until he shrinks two sizes and leaves the barstool to put the strawberries and cantaloupe back in the fridge. He looks back at me, gesturing.

I roll my eyes. “You can make a sandwich.” All of that shite is mine: the bread, the turkey meat, the mayo and mustard.

He groans, not happy, but begins plucking the stuff out and putting it all on the counter, throwing a sandwich together for himself, never mind us.

“What’s your name?” Will asks Georgia.

“Georgia.”

“Cute.” He says it in a way and looks at her in a way that wouldn’t make you guess he just started dating someone he’s going to the doctor tomorrow for.

Wanker.

“You’re tall for a girl.”

“Um. Thanks?”

“How did you meet this scrotum?” Preston asks her, reducing me to a ball bag with absolutely no shame.

It makes Georgia giggle prettily. “We met at a party—at the rugby house.”

“And you’ve been best friends ever since.”

Another giggle. “Something like that.”

“Are you single?” Will comes out with it, not mincing words, taking his first bite of my bread and meat, leaning his hip against my counter, gazing at my roommate with interest.

“Yes I’m single.”

Both my teammate and his mate look from me to Georgia, then back again, gazes flitting back and forth.

“You’re single and he’s single and you’re not…” Will’s voice trails off.

“Hey,” I demand. “Watch it.”

His free hand goes up. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just asking if you’re banging or if she’s available to take on a date—calm your tits.”

If he’s trying to sweet-talk her, he has a shitty way of going about it. Banging and tits in the same sentence? That’s how he intends to approach her for a date?

What a fucking twat.

Even I have more wherewithal than that when it comes to women.

“I’m standing right here,” Georgia says, advancing into the kitchen with a roll of her eyes, backpack still slung over her shoulder.

She snatches up an apple and tosses it in the air as she walks out of the room.

I hear her seconds after, clomping up the steps to her room.

“Way to go, idiot.” Preston smacks his roommate on the arm.

“What? I was just asking a question.”

“Now she thinks you’re a pig.”

Will shrugs. “Plenty of fish in the sea, my friend. I cast a wide net.”

I only stand there a few more seconds before springing into action, heading to the laundry room off the kitchen. “Let me grab those shoes for you so you can be on your way.”

My tone leaves no room for discussion, but that doesn’t mean shite with these blokes sometimes.

Stubborn and oblivious as fuck.

I fetch the spare cleats—conveniently, they’re hanging on a hook where I spy them immediately—and walk them back to Will.

“Here.”

He stands and takes them. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem.”

Will nods to his roommate, giving him the universal signal for ‘Let’s get out of here.’

Fine by me; I’m knackered and want to put my pajamas on and watch the telly before heading to bed, and I don’t need these buffoons cramping my style more than they already have in the past fifteen minutes.

I bound upstairs, stopping by Georgia’s room before going into mine.

Give a knock.

“Come in.”

She’s on her floor, legs crossed, mobile in hand. I must have interrupted her playing on social media.

Also—she’s in leggings and a sports bra and nothing else.

“Hey.” She greets me with a smile. “Your friends gone?”

“Those aren’t my friends,” I clarify. “Well, Will is on my team, but his roommate is a blithering imbecile. I stake no claim to him.”