Jock Romeo (Jock Hard 6)

Kind of like a shield.

I wonder what she’s up to these days—it’s been a few years since we ran into each other. I wonder if she’s still on the cheerleading squad or if she quit to pursue other passions like she wanted to. Maybe she’s still at it, cheering on the sidelines in those cold fall months.

I found it ironic at the time that she would rather craft and do art than athletics, but that’s just me stereotyping her based on her looks. There is no doubt in my mind she was stereotyping me, too, most likely pegging me as the giant nerd I am based on the information I gave her about myself.

How I love science and NASA and engineering. I left out the part about atoms and biology and neurons because that’s so beyond nerdy even I’m embarrassed by it.

Atoms turn me on, okay?

There, I said it.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, see the t-shirt I’m wearing with the galaxy emblazoned across the front of my chest, notice that it’s getting a little tighter these days. I began working out while studying overseas. The group of American guys—or lads—living in the same dorm were extremely into fitness, and eventually I began working out with them and getting into shape.

I actually have biceps now.

And abs.

Still a complete nerd, but now I’m just one that’s physically fit. Kind of an oxymoron, but I’ve always been into irony. It’s not like I’m Arnold Schwarzenegger or Fabio or an Instagram model, but I’m better off than I was before, all puny and weak.

Definitely more confident.

Mom noticed as soon as she picked me up from the airport that I looked broader in the shoulders; it took my father a little longer, mostly because he works all the time and isn’t around much. That could be because of Aunt Myrtle lingering about all the time—she likes to give him a hard time, really get his goat. Something of a heckler, she squeezed my upper bicep and chuckled that night at the dinner table like a pervy little creep.

My first night back, they threw a small welcome home party and embarrassed the crap out of me by making a fuss about my appearance.

I never really cared what I look like—still kind of don’t—but I’m certainly more conscious of it now that I’m in good shape.

Girls have noticed too. I’ve never had as many girls hit on me in my life as I have in the past few weeks—then again, I think I must look a little more European? Lankier like the English lads, and that’s what the attraction was with girls in Cambridge.

Suddenly my door flies open and Alex barges in, tossing his book bag onto my bed and flopping down as if he owns the place.

“What are you doing with your crap on my bed?” I ask him, hefting a box off the floor and setting it on top of the desk.

“I like doing my homework in here.” He makes himself comfortable, crossing his arms behind his head. “I used it as an office when you were gone.”

“You used my bedroom as your office while I was gone?” I study his face for any signs that he’s joking. “You’re twelve—what do you need an office for?”

He shrugs. “It’s nice to have a change of venue instead of staring at the same wall day in and day out. Kind of like being in prison. And this room has a better view of the backyard.”

“It’s literally the same view of the backyard,” I tell him. Our rooms are side by side at the end of the hallway, Aunt Myrtle taking over the plush guest bedroom that’s downstairs, with its huge bathroom and walk-in closets—yes, plural walk-in closets.

As in: two.

My parents were part of that McMansion boom a few years back, where everyone thought bigger was better and more space meant the house was more impressive so they built a structure with five bedrooms despite there only being two kids living at home, one of the guest bedrooms so luxurious it’s basically a hotel suite.

Now I think they must be thankful for the five rooms with Great Aunt Myrtle living here because she has room to roam and isn’t in everybody’s way all the time—even though she’s in everybody’s business.

Ha.

“Well I’m home now so you won’t be using my desk. Or my room. And since when do you enter a room without knocking? I could have been naked.”

“So? You don’t have anything I’ve never seen before,” he declares with authority. “And it’s not like you’re in here jerking off.”

“What the hell do you know about jerking off?” Alex and I have never discussed sex before, and the fact that he’s bringing up masturbating as if it’s no big deal has my eyes practically bugging out of my skull. Since when did my little brother grow up?