Jock Royal (Jock Hard 4)

Sheesh.

It’s a shocker he still has all his teeth. Honestly.

I lean over to the same guy who gave me the score to ask, “Does rugby have halves or quarters?”

He gazes back at me like I have three heads. “Halves.”

“How many?”

Another odd look. “Two.”

“Okay, thanks.” I should have googled it instead. “Um. Where are we at in this game?”

“Ten minutes left in the second half.”

“Awesome. Thanks.”

I rest back against the cold metal bleacher behind me, doing my best to identify Ashley on the field.

In a strange way, all the players look the same.

Big.

Covered in mud.

Why are they covered in mud—it hasn’t rained outside. Do they drench the field with water before each match? There’s no other explanation for it!

What an odd game this is.

Only a few of them are wearing helmets with ear guards. The others are insane, no doubt, not afraid of having their brains addled by an errant knee to the cranium.

Most—from what I can see at this vantage point—are wearing mouth guards.

Spit. Blood.

I lean over again. “Excuse me—sorry. Would you happen to know which player is Ashley Jones?”

My bench partner scans the field, squinting. Searching. “Uh, yeah, he’s number nine I think.”

Number nine.

Tall, muscular, filthy.

Clearly out of his damn mind because he has no safety gear on his head, hair mussed and shooting in different directions, perspiration dripping down his forehead.

I can see it from here.

Ew.

So sweaty.

So gross.

He’s dodging and weaving on the field, headed straight for the kid with the ball, a messy tangle of competitors running like a herd of bulls through the wilderness.

They huddle.

“What on earth are they doing?” I wonder out loud to no one in particular.

“That’s a scrum.”

Oh. Okayyy…

I stop asking questions; it’s pointless—I will never grasp the rules of this game.

My head whips back and forth as I watch the action down in front of me, occasionally googling how things work so I can leave the poor guy next to me alone.

Mostly I just watch Ashley.

Check him out as he runs, huddles, takes hits.

His calf muscles are ridiculous.

Sweaty arms a work of art.

He is a wet dream personified out on that playing field, and he jerked off to the thought of me the other night.

Some girls would be disgusted by the idea of their roommate fantasizing about them to wank off, but not me, not when I harbor my own dreams of him.

And there he is, looking all kinds of masculine and rugged and badass.

When I sigh out loud, I receive a few looks, giving an awkward smile back in return.

Oops.

I fiddle with my phone.

Type out a message in my group chat with Nalla and Priya.

Me: I’m at Ashley’s rugby match—have you ever been to one? This is crazy.

Nalla: I haven’t but isn’t it just like football?

Me: Um, kind of? But with no pads and they’re jumping on each other and it’s CRAZY. Someone just lost a tooth and none of them seem to care!

Me: It’s barbaric!

Priya: I dated a rugby player once. He used to pour beer into a frisbee and drink from it. That relationship didn’t last long, but he always wanted to go down on me, soooo…I stuck it out LOL.

Nalla: Those are goals.

Me: Would it be weird if I admitted right now that I’ve never had a guy go down on me?

Nalla: WHAT?!?!

Priya: Girl, you are missing out. We’ll go out this weekend and find you someone.

Me: Lol stop it, we are NOT doing that.

Priya: OH that’s right, you’re going to sit around your house waiting for your roommate to accidentally walk out of his bedroom wrapped in a towel.

Nalla: …and then tell us all about it.

The person who said girls aren’t as perverted as guys was a damn liar, because we are—at least my two new friends are, and you’d never know that by first glance at them.

Prim and proper is how I originally would have described these two. Studious. Serious.

The more I learn about them, the more I’m proven wrong.

They’re upbeat and fun. Goofy and playful.

And.

Sex positive, apparently.

Me: First of all, I would NEVER kiss and tell. Even if I was kissing.

Priya: Which you’re not because you FRIEND-ZONED YOURSELF.

Me: You can’t friend-zone yourself…can you???

Priya: Yes, you can, and you did it by moving in with the boy.

Nalla: Haha there’s nothing BOYish about Ashley Jones.

Me: And SECOND OF ALL…The odds of me seeing him naked are slim to none.

Nalla: Actually the odds are pretty high you’re going to see him naked if you’re living together—they just shot up exponentially.

Me: I DON’T WANT TO SEE HIM NAKED.

Priya: Oh. Well that’s a bummer…

Nalla: Totally.

Priya: But for real, you would tell us, right? If you kissed him?

Me: Yeah, probably LOL.

Priya: Good because we’d tell you. By the way, who’s winning the game?

Me: I think we are, it’s almost over.

Thank god.

My stomach is starting to grumble and it’s definitely nearly dinnertime and I have no idea what I’m eating. Or maybe Ashley and I can go somewhere once he’s taken a shower.