Jock Royal (Jock Hard 4)

That would be nice. Then neither of us have to cook.

Or DoorDash? Be lazy and have something delivered?

My phone beeps again and I palm it, glancing down, expecting Nalla or Priya or both, smile already pasted on my face.

Those two crack me up.

I’m so happy the three of us are friends.

The notification is from a number I don’t recognize and that’s not in my contacts.

Huh.

I click it open.

212-555-9093: Georgia Parker, you are the grand prize winner of the all-expenses-paid trip to fabulous Las Vegas, courtesy of Moonlight Travel!

Another text immediately pops up.

212-555-9093: No purchase necessary. Reply YES

to redeem your prize; some exclusions apply, see terms & conditions for eligibility. To opt out of these messages, reply STOP.

Opt out?! Who in their right mind would opt out!?

I won!

I won the trip to fabulous Las Vegas!

“Holy shit!” I shout, leaping up from my seat on the bleachers, causing a few people to look around, startled.

“Did I miss something?” asks the guy who told me the score.

“No. No, I…” I stare down at my phone, dumbfounded. “Oh my god!”

Overwhelmed with enthusiasm and excitement, I do what any rational person would do—I rush the field, despite the fact that the players are still congregating near the sidelines. I have no idea whether or not the game is actually over and I don’t care, so obliviously happy and excited I start screaming Ashley’s name, arms in the air, waving frantically like a madwoman.

Waving my phone.

If this was an actual stadium on campus, security guards would be taking me down with a taser to prevent me from getting to the players and possibly doing them harm.

I’m acting crazy and I don’t care!

“I won the trip!” I shout. “Ashley, I WON THE TRIP!”

I spin in circles.

From behind me, I hear someone mutter, “Is that girl okay? She looks unstable,” but it doesn’t stop me from leaping toward my roommate.

I scream out an excited shout. “I WON!”

I close the remaining few feet; everyone is staring at me now, but I don’t care, I DON’T CARE, I DON’T CARE.

I am going to Las Vegas!

“Dude, you can’t come on the field—the game’s not over yet,” one of the guys says.

Ashley rushes over to meet me.

“Georgie, are you okay?” He’s obviously confused judging by the way he’s holding on to me and staring into my eyes—as if he’s checking for signs of a concussion.

“I won. I won the trip to Vegas!” I dance around again, his friends and teammates looking on, breathing heavy with the exertion of their sport.

I’m breathless. Ecstatic.

Ashley hesitates. “You won?”

“I won!” I say it again for about the twelfth time, the sound of it never getting old, wanting to go home and pack a suitcase right this minute.

“Holy shite, no way!”

“That’s what I said!” Why isn’t he picking me up and spinning me in circles? This is the most wonderful news! “We’re going to Vegas!”

“What’s the big fucking deal?” I overhear a few of the guys talking like I’m not three feet away. “It’s Vegas, not Bali. That chick is crazy.”

Another one says, “Is that his girlfriend?”

“I think so.”

“No dude, that’s his roommate.”

I’m hopping up and down like Tigger, and in that moment, the excitement overwhelms Ashley too. He sweeps me off my feet and spins me around—the way I had envisioned him doing.

I begin laughing as he spins me in circles, feeling myself get dizzy but for all the right reasons.

And when he starts running with me while shouting “We are going to Vegas!” at the top of his lungs? Stewart and Will and a few other guys from his team all begin chasing after us as he carries me, running the perimeter of the playing field.

Whooping and hollering.

It’s the most ridiculous wonderful feeling I’ve ever felt.

Fun.

“I’m so happy right now I could kiss you!” I laugh, arms around his neck so I don’t fall on my ass to the ground, though I don’t doubt he’s strong enough to carry me.

I’m not worried he’s going to drop me, and it feels really good to be in his arms, having him hold me.

There’s nothing romantic about it.

Lord he’s strong.

“Put me down—you’re so gross!” I squeal with a laugh, the dirt on his arms and hands getting all over my legs and body as he dashes across the grass.

“We’re going to Vegas!” his buddies shout. “Road trip!”

The referee begins blowing his whistle and shaking his head, doing crisscross “foul” hand motions like this is all part of the game. The whole thing is out of hand and out of control. I wonder what’s going to happen when Ashley has to put me down and return to the game.

Shit.

I interrupted.

I caused a huge scene, which is so unlike me!

“Road trip, road trip,” one of the behemoth teammates is chanting. “Road trip!”

“You’re not coming along!” Ashley shouts back with a wide, gap-toothed grin.