Jock Romeo (Jock Hard 6)

Look at them while they sleep? What the fuck?

He keeps reading, nodding along in agreement. “Oh, this is good. Yes.”

“What does it say?”

“It says ‘You’re all like, ex who?’”

“That’s what it says? ‘You’re all like, ex who?’” I can’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

He nods. “Yeah, I’m reading it verbatim.”

Lord.

“You’re actually entertained by their cute AF childhood pictures.” He glances up. “I mean, who wouldn’t be entertained by their girlfriend’s cute baby pictures. That one is stupid.” He scrolls. “You regularly catch yourself doing a deep dive on their social media.”

Who wrote this list, a fifteen-year-old?

I rise, wanting to go to my room, shut the door, and think. “You can stop reading, I’ve heard enough.”

Jack tosses his phone on the couch next to him. “So what are you going to do?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Avoid her forever?”

He smiles, but it’s rueful. “Not possible, mate. You best figure your shit out before the opportunity passes you by.”

Very wise words.

I only wish I knew how to take the advice.

12

LILLY

My mother didn’t bother calling to tell me she and my dad aren’t going to be around for Thanksgiving this year.

She texted.

Mom: Wanted to let you know Dad and I are going with the Parkers to Michigan this year. Linda rented a cottage and we’re going to ski if there is snow.

Me: Who is “we?”

Mom: The grown-ups.

I don’t point out the fact that I am, in fact, a grown-up, too.

It would be pointless—lost on my mother.

Me: Okay…

Me: What am I supposed to do?

Mom: Whatever you want! Don’t you kids always do that Friendsgiving thing?

Me: When have I ever not come home for the holidays?

Mom: Don’t be sarcastic—I’m just letting you know. You’re an adult now, it’s time to start your own traditions.

Wow.

I feel my face burning, from rage, disappointment, and humiliation. Briefly wonder how my dad feels about this sudden development of a trip without me during the holiday, or if she even discussed it with him. Pointless to ask; she steamrolls over everyone and wouldn’t take his opinion into consideration even if he did have one.

My nose tingles, a telltale sign that I’m about to cry.

Me: Okay.

I toss my phone to the bed and throw myself beside it, staring up at the ceiling, blinking back tears.

It’s been a shitty few days—a shitty week, really, and this news makes it all the worse.

First Roman and I aren’t talking and now I’ll be alone for Thanksgiving?

Great.

Not like it’s my favorite holiday—I don’t particularly care for turkey. But that’s hardly the point, is it? The point is, my parents are going on a vacation with their friends and don’t give a crap that I’ll be alone.

On top of that, I had sex with Roman and he’s still ignoring me, which makes me feel furious and abandoned.

Roman is my friend. Why did I have to go and ruin it by sleeping with him? Things were going great up to that point—if I hadn’t called him to come to that party, I wouldn’t have gone home with him, and if I hadn’t gone home with him, I would have been in my own bed, where I belong.

A blow to a guy’s pride when he’s not good in bed can scar him for life, or so I’ve heard.

Fine.

I know exactly why he’s avoiding me, but that doesn’t make it easier.

I want to wallow in self-pity, allowing myself to feel empty and lonely for a few minutes, accepting the things I cannot change:

My mother and her inability to be maternal.

The shift in my relationship with Roman.

The house is quiet.

I’m not sure where Kaylee has gone, but I’m certain she’s no longer home.

Rolling to the side, I groan. Beat from the workout we had this morning, my muscles are sore and could use a stretch.

A good walk will do the trick.

Yes.

I should get up and move around rather than lie here motionless.

Rising, I remove my sweatpants and swap them for blue leggings and a navy hoodie before lacing up my sneakers. I grab my earbuds, throw my hair into a ponytail, and get my rear moving.

It’s not dark out, but it will be soon. I lock the door behind me, eyes scanning the street.

The leaves on the trees have changed colors and begun falling, a sign that the cold weather of winter is approaching. I kick at a few, loving the sound of them crunching beneath my feet, keep kicking them along on my way down the sidewalk.

Somehow I find myself standing in front of Roman’s house—er, Eliza’s house—the lights inside glowing; people are home, probably doing something cute and cozy, like watching movies and eating whatever treats Eliza has put out.

I stuff my hands inside the pockets of my hoodie, debating my course as I continue standing in front like a gawker.

A gust of wind blows, leaves swirling around me.