Jock Road (Jock Hard 3)

Weird, right?

She doesn’t so much as cock her head to the side, so I have no idea what she looks like. I just know she has a few vulgar pins on her bag and a touchable blonde mop.

The chicken is flipped once more by the bored student running the cooktop, his sweaty and acne-covered face only accentuated by the thin black net covering his hair.

He uses the same spatula to turn the remaining meats, which I’m sure might be some health code violation—cross-contamination or some shit? Yes? No? Well, it should be—I don’t want hot dog jizz on my chicken.

I groan out loud when the kid presses the spatula onto the chicken breast, squeezing out all the juice. Jesus Christ, rule number one of grilling—don’t fucking dry out the meat by choking it to death.

Next, he slaps several buns onto the grill. When one is ready, he palms it, slapping the chicken into the center. Closes it, wraps it in foil. Extends his arm, holds it over the counter and into my waiting grasp.

I snatch it, immediately unwrap it, and shove the first warm bite into my mouth.

Holy shit, it’s pretty damn good.

“Hey! What the hell—that was mine!”

I look down at the girl in front of me, who has spun on her heel to give me the dirtiest look anyone has ever given me. She is as mad as a hornet.

I turn to walk away. “You snooze, you lose.”

“I was literally standing here waiting patiently for that thing!”

“How’s that workin’ for you?”

“Huh?”

“Bein’ patient.” I take another bite of my sandwich, moaning with pleasure because it’s so delightful and just what I needed. “How’s that workin’ for ya? Seems to me that maybe if you were more assertive, you’d be standin’ here eatin’ this sammich and not me.”

One more bite goes down my gullet as she stands there sputtering.

“Grab me a burger when he’s done with ’em, would ya?” This sandwich isn’t exactly going to fill me up, and my next meal won’t come for a few hours.

“Get your own sandwich, asshole.”

“Whoa, no need for name-callin’, darlin’—I’m just tryin’ to be polite.”

“Polite? You are so rude! You stole my lunch!”

“Was it yours though?” I narrow my eyes. “You didn’t pay for it.”

“Neither did you—and you didn’t order it, either.”

Gripping the chicken and bun in my giant palm, I hold it toward her. “Want a bite? It’s good.”

“Oh my god, shut up.” She spins on her heel, facing the kid behind the counter grilling the meat. He and I lock eyes, but he quickly averts his gaze, loading a hamburger patty onto the bun.

“You want cheese?” he asks the girl.

“No! And I don’t want a burger. I wanted chicken, but you gave it to this Neanderthal!”

The kid opens his mouth; no sound comes out. Good—I don’t need another opinion thrown into this conversation.

“I’ll take that burger,” I tell him over the girl’s head.

She whips around. “That burger is for the girl behind you.” She glances around me, shooting a pointed look at the mousey little co-ed standing directly behind me. “Do not let him take that hamburger.”

I shoot the girl a smile. “I’m totally taking this burger.”

She returns my smile with a feeble one of her own, her mouth contorting into…I’m not sure what the fuck her look is supposed to mean.

Little Miss Priss will not be deterred from her mission: keeping me from eating my damn lunch.

“Oh no you will not!”

“You’re cute.”

Her arms cross. “Don’t you dare insult me.”

Calling her cute is an insult? This is news to me. “Since when is it an insult to call someone cute?”

“It’s an insult when the person complimenting you is an asshole.”

“Darlin’, you’ve just got your dander up. This ain’t got nothin’ to do with me.”

Her pretty face is smug. “Ain’t got nothin’ to do with me? Oh my god, where were you raised?”

“Texas.” Don’t fucking mess with it.

She rolls her eyes.

They’re bright blue.

“I’ve been to Texas—no one there talks like that.”

I’m close to polishing off this entire chicken breast. “Talks like what?”

“Like a hick.”

A hick? The fuck… “You think name-callin’ is nice?”

“Name-cawlin’,” she mocks. Now who’s the asshole?

The kid behind the grill has two foil-wrapped burgers in his hand, suspended in midair—unsure of what the hell to do with them as I stand here verbally sparring with this little hellcat.

“I’ll take them both,” I tell him over her head.

“I’ll take them both!” she counters, leveling me with a stare.

“You said you didn’t want no burger.”

“I don’t have time to stand here and wait for another chicken sandwich, jerk—this is my only option.”

“You’re gonna eat two burgers?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“You can’t take them both just to spite me.”

“I’ll do whatever I want—I’m at the front of the line.” She turns her back on me once again. “If you give him those burgers, I will find your manager and…and…”