Jock Rule (Jock Hard 2)

“Yes.” He turns to face me. “No, because girls make everything complicated.”

Complicated?

“Are you being serious right now? I didn’t say I wanted to marry you! I said I wanted to be friends. That wasn’t a proposal—settle down, big guy.”

God, why are guys like this? It reminds me of the time my friend Sarah invited this guy Dave to a baseball game; when she offered him one of her spare tickets, he said he couldn’t go because he wasn’t ready for a relationship.

Idiot.

We had a good laugh about it afterward, but the point is: sometimes guys are way more drama than girls are.

It seems like Kip might be one of those guys.

It takes everything I have not to keep rolling my eyes at the grown man-child standing in front of me, but I manage. He’s being so ridiculous right now.

“Fine. You want to be my hairy godmother, be my hairy godmother.” I sniff. “And if you don’t want to be friends, we won’t be friends. Gotcha. That we can do.”

Kip tips his head back and talks at the ceiling. “Now you sound butt-hurt.”

“Me? Butt-hurt? Please.” As if. “I’m just clarifying.”

There is no hiding that stupid smirk on his dumb face. “Don’t worry—I get it.”

I lean back in his kitchen chair and cross my arms. “What exactly is it you think you get?”

One of his giant paws waves in the air. “I get how girls are. You want a relationship, I’m a good-looking, single guy, I have this house…”

“Oh my god—stop before you make me laugh.”

“Whatever, Teddy. You know it’s true.”

“Are you insane? You sound crazy.”

“You see all this”—he gestures those hands up and down his upper torso—“and I become a prime target.”

I push myself up, rising from the table. “You are delusional.”

He snickers. “Then why are you getting so defensive?”

Why is he so infuriating all of a sudden? “I would strangle you right now if I could reach your throat without a stepstool.” As luck would have it, there aren’t any to be found.

Kip laughs, and I’m sure his Adam’s apple is bobbing somewhere in his stupid, bearded neck.

“You’re telling me you don’t want to date me? After seeing my house?”

“What part of anything I said this morning would make you leap to that conclusion?” I swear, guys are morons.

“When you said you wanted to be friends, you said friends—it was kind of hard to miss the inflection in your tone.”

“Oh my god. I can’t with you right now. I’m leaving.” Everything I brought with me last night is folded neat as a pin in a tote bag, ready to go. “Thanks for the hospitality. It’s been swell.”

I throw him a two-finger peace sign for good measure, starting toward the door, pulling my jacket on along the way.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

I don’t bother turning toward him. “What,” I clip out, agitated.

“You have no idea where you are.”

“Pfft. I can map it on my phone.” Duh.

“All right. Go ahead.” He slurps from his mug, loudly and obnoxiously—on purpose, no doubt.

“I’ll just do it now, if you don’t mind, since it looks a tad chilly outside.”

“A balmy forty-three degrees,” he clarifies with a bright smile, whiskers covering most of his white teeth.

Forty-three degrees?

Lord, shoot me now.

I fiddle with my phone, typing in the address to my apartment and wait for our location to populate. Glance at the screen, then up at Kip, confused.

“Three miles! What the hell! Three miles? Seriously, why do you live so far away? Are you insane?”

“Some of us have cars,” the bastard replies. One of his broad shoulders goes up then comes back down nonchalantly, mouth smug. “You still up for that walk? Or do you want me to drive you?”

“I hate you right now.”

“That’s the second time this morning you’ve said that—keep it up and I’ll almost believe you.” He sets the mug down on the white countertop. Brushes his hands off on his gray sweatpants and rises to his full height. “Let me grab a sweatshirt and we’ll go.”

Why am I powerless against this guy? He is so bizarre and bossy.

And rude.

“Fine.” If he insists on driving me home, I should shut my mouth and stop complaining about a warm, free ride.

When Kip is done gathering up a hoodie and pulling it down over his mass of messy hair, he grabs his keys and yanks the back door open. With a sweep of his hand, he ushers me through first—like a gentleman would do if one were here—and then we’re out in the frigid cold.

“Thanks for the ride,” I mutter when I’m buckling my seat belt. The least I can do is thank him for his hospitality.

“Don’t sweat it. My sister would kill me if I let you walk home by yourself—last night or right now.”

“Your sister?”

“Yeah, Veronica, but I call her Ronnie because she hates it. She’s older and into manners and all that other bullshit.”

“Ahh, I see. Did she raise you?”

“My parents are not dead, remember?” he deadpans, shooting me a raised eyebrow.

Oh shit, that’s right. Why do I keep forgetting? It’s pretty much the worst slip-up, ever. “My god, I am so sorry.”

“You’re going to give me a complex if you keep talking like that. I’m going to want to actually call my mother to hear the sound of her voice, and that will only confuse us both.”

“Why? Don’t you ever call home?”

“God no.” He pauses, hitting the turn signal and heading toward campus. “No, that’s not true. I guess I call enough—mostly texts and shit, though. My asshole sister’s favorite thing to do is put us in group texts.” Kip hangs another left, already knowing where I live and how to get there, and it feels like he’s driven it a thousand times before. “Family group texts seriously want to make me gouge my eyes out.”

“Why?”

“Dude, because. My mom never finishes her sentences. She will send three words, hit send, then type another two words and hit send. Then another two—hit send. To make one complete sentence, instead of typing the whole thing out, right? Then she’ll send a GIF. Then four more words. Send. It makes me fucking mental. Ronnie knows I can’t handle it.”

That does sound horrific, but not unlike any of the group chats I’ve ever been in with my friends.

“My mom does the same thing. Kind of. But then again, there are only two of us, so I don’t have to worry about an entire family chiming in.”

“You’re not missing out.”

“I’m not?” Honestly, it sounds kind of nice.

“Fuck no!” Kip’s SUV makes a right at the stop sign before he asks, “So, no brothers or sisters?”

“Nope. It’s just me. The lonely only.”

“And your mom.”

“Yup, just me and my mom—always has been, since, you know…my dad left.”

Most people ask what happened to my dad—or sperm donor, as I started calling him when I realized what a piece of shit he actually was—and I hope Kip isn’t one to pry.

He is.

“You said your dad left, but what happened? Did he die?”

“No, nothing like that, although I’m sure my mom wishes that were the case. Haha.”

“Hey, sue me for asking. You seem fixated on death for some reason, so I thought maybe that was why.”

He has a very good point. “My birth father and mom were never married, and he took off when I was little; I don’t remember him being around. After he left, we lived with my grandparents for a while.”

“Ah, I see.”

Yeah.

“So what’s your mom do?”

“Like, what’s her job?”

“Yeah.”

“She…” I clear my throat and straighten my spine. “She’s a bartender. And she waitresses.”