Jock Road (Jock Hard 3)

I’m doing this entirely the wrong way and don’t freaking care.

If my father found out, he’d tan my hide…

Your father isn’t here.

No one is.

Just you and Charlotte.

And ten other dudes, but who’s counting?

“The bathroom isn’t private, but I don’t think anyone will bother you if you want to go use it real quick. Most of the guys are still studyin’.” Enough chicks come through here that you learn to ignore them—although, if someone has to take a piss, they’re going to tell Charlie to get the fuck out of the bathroom.

It’s ours, not for the use of random women, and that’s how we treat it. Like a private sanctuary for taking shits and showering, not as a glam room for hook-ups.

“So it’s okay if I go freshen up or whatever?”

“Yeah.” I shift on the bed, sit up. “Why don’t I come with you and stand outside the door, just in case. I don’t need you gettin’ hassled.”

Charlie smiles at me like I’ve been sent from heaven. She’s sweet—goddamn angelic. Her rosy cheeks and that little dent in her cheek flirting with the insides of my stomach.

“Thank you.” When she scoots off the bed, she pecks me on the lips before hopping onto the floor and sliding her shoes back on. Makes for the door, glancing over her shoulder to see if I’m following.

I rise. Push down my semi-wood with a shrug; not much I can do about it. Lead her to the bathroom and give the door a tap before pushing it wide open. It’s empty, and clean—the cleaning people were here this morning, scrubbing the kitchen, floors, and shared bathrooms.

Breathing a sigh of relief that the place isn’t disgusting (usually there are pubes all over the toilet seat), my hand rests on the brass doorknob, poised to pull it closed behind me so Charlie can do her thing alone.

“Let me know if ya need anything, ’kay?”

“Mmkay.” She beams up at me, pushing a strand of silky blonde hair behind her ear. “Do you have a toothbrush I can borrow?”

“Sure—I mean, no. You can use mine if you don’t think it’s gross.

“It’s gross, but I’d rather not have bad breath. Haha.” She pulls the cutest sour expression, followed by a long pause. I strain to hear her muttering. “In any case, my mouth was on your dick—does it matter if I have my mouth on your toothbrush?”

Wow.

Wow, wow, wow.

“Uh…good point? My toothbrush is…” I lean into the bathroom, reaching for the closest drawer. Yank it open. “Here.” Hand her the blue toothbrush, along with the toothpaste. “All my shit is in here and on the top shelf in the closet behind the door, like towels and stuff.”

“I love how you say stuff. It’s so cute.”

I laugh—she’s so weird. “How do I say it?”

“I don’t know, like, stuuf. I can’t describe it. All I can say is that it’s adorable.”

Oh. Well in that case. “Stuff.”

Charlie shifts on the balls of her feet. “Give me five minutes.”

“Duh! Sorry.” I back out of the room, pulling the door along with me. “Knock if you need me.”

I hear her laugh through the door as I lean against it, back pressed against the wood. I cross my arms and ankles, standing vigil like a guard. The water runs. The toothbrush gets tapped on the sink.

I try not to hear her pee, but it’s impossible—the walls are thin, and the hall is quiet, so I’m relieved she doesn’t take a dump. I’d never be able to look her in the eye otherwise.

The toilet flushes.

While Charlie is washing her hands, a door at the end of the corridor opens and out walks Carlos. We regard each other, and both his black eyebrows shoot to his hairline.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He doesn’t mince words.

“Waitin’.”

“For what? Since when do we wait for someone to finish taking a dump to use the bathroom?”

A laugh escapes my throat. “I have a guest.”

I didn’t think it was possible, but his brows shoot higher. “A guest? Is it the cutie who was here carving pumpkins?”

Another laugh. “Yes.”

“What was her name again? George? Frank?”

“Charlie.”

“Right.” Now he’s standing next to me. “What’s she doing in there, shaving her pussy bald?”

“No, she’s brushin’ her teeth.”

“She brought her own toothbrush?!”

“No. She’s usin’ mine.”

“That’s asquerosa. Disgusting.”

“Tell me how you really feel.”

“You know, I can hear you,” Charlie calls through the door with a laugh—thank God.

“Sorry,” Rodrigo calls back, but he shakes his head at me. “Not sorry. It’s disgusting, sorry bro.”

“I can still hear you.” At least Charlie is giggling as she turns the sink back on. “I’m ignoring you now—you can keep talking about me!”

“I like her,” my friend says.

“Same.” He continues standing next to me, watching the wall—as if Charlie is going to materialize so he can entertain her with his wit and charm and good looks. “You can go now,” I tell him.