Jock Rule (Jock Hard 2)

I’ve never seen it, so I have no clue.

The air outside is cold, or maybe it just feels like it because I’m drenched in alcohol, the yellow stain on my pretty dress running the entire length of the now sheer cotton.

The best part? I’m not wearing a bra.

Shit.

“I should text my friends to let them know I’m outside.”

A curt nod. “You do what you gotta do.”

Me: Outside

A few minutes slowly tick by before Mariah replies: Outside where?

Me: The party.

Mariah: I left.

What does she mean, she left? Without telling me?

Me: Where are you?

Mariah: I left like, an hour ago?

Me: Why didn’t you tell me???

Mariah: You were busy filling beer cups and stuff.

Me: No, I wasn’t. I’ve been waiting for you all night. I didn’t even want to be here.

Mariah: Whatever. The point is, I’ll be home in 20. Right now we’re at some guy Lance’s house and then I’m bringing him home.

Me: What am I supposed to do while you have some guy in our apartment?

Mariah and I share a room because we pay our own rent, live in a one-bedroom, and can’t afford anything bigger. It sucks, but at least we have our own place and don’t have to live in the traditional dorms—or one of those horrible off-campus rental houses infested with bats and outdated everything.

I grew up living like that; I’m not doing it anymore.

Mariah: It’s not a big deal, Teddy—just stay out on the couch.

Me: And listen to sex noises all night?

Mariah: I mean…don’t you have those noise-canceling headphones?

Mariah: Shit, GTG. See you in like, half hour. K bye.

There is no way I can spend the night at home if she has a guy there! No freaking way do I want to listen to them banging all night—Mariah is stupidly loud when she has sex, I don’t think I could stand her bringing someone home tonight. She thinks being loud is a huge turn-on for guys, but really it sounds fake and porny, and I can’t believe she’d bring someone home without discussing it with me first.

That’s always been our rule: before bringing home guests, male or female, give the other roomie a heads-up first.

My brows furrow, dipping deep, creasing my forehead.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I spit it out in the way girls do when they’re pissed but don’t want to admit it.

A snort. “Is it really nothing? Or are you doing that thing girls do where they say it’s nothing when it’s actually something, and deep down inside you’re pissed off and want to explode?”

I can’t help it—I laugh because he’s right. It is something, and I am kind of pissed.

“My roommate left an hour ago, went to a guy’s house, and didn’t tell me.” I give him the abbreviated version. He doesn’t need to know there is going to be a dude in my room having sex with my roommate in less than an hour.

“Well let’s get you home then.”

I wave him off with a sigh. “I can’t go home. She’s bringing the guy back to our place.”

He glances toward the rugby house, gives his beard a few strokes. “So?”

“She and I…share a bedroom.”

“Well shit.” His drawl drags out, and this time he does sound like a hillbilly. It sounds like he’s saying whale sheet. “That ain’t cool.”

No, it’s really not. Mariah knows I won’t want to be in the apartment with a strange guy there. She knows this and yet she’s doing it anyway instead of staying at his place. Or asking me first.

“It’s fine. I’ll sleep on the floor in the hall outside our apartment.”

Fluorescent lights. A stiff couch thousands of people have sat on. Probably a student or two or fifty will see me sleeping there and think I’m a loser.

Awesome.

The guy’s chuckle is deep, vibrating deep in his broad chest. He’s thoroughly amused. “You’re not sleeping in the GD hallway.”

“The GD what?”

“God damn.”

The amused look on his bushy face turns to unexpected irritation, making me laugh despite myself and the circumstances, one of my shoulders shrugging. Pulling at the wet dress plastered to my chest, sending a cool shiver down my spine.

I hug myself, rubbing at my upper arms. Shiver. “It’s not like I’ve never done it before. It’s only one night, and I can take a nap tomorrow.”

“No. Fuck that.” He runs a hand through his hair, fiddling with the rubber band holding it back. Yanks it out, pulling it loose and shaking out his hair.

It’s a lion’s mane, hitting just below his shoulders, wild and tangled and beautiful. A beautiful mess.

With two hands, he scoops it back up, twisting it into a knot, the black rubber band looping around the strands as he mumbles, “Your friends are assholes, I swear to fucking God. Why do you put up with their shit?”

I allow my mouth to fall open, because honestly? This night has gone to complete shit.

“Please don’t start with that again. You don’t know them—or me.”

“I know enough. They’ve ditched you three weekends in a row. If those were my friends, I would have told them to fuck off by now.”

“Just like that?”

“Yup.” His nod is terse. “Just like that.”

“I’m not you—I’m not a barbarian, I can’t just…” I wave my hand in the air aimlessly, searching for words. “I can’t.”

He turns his broad back, starting toward the stairs leading down into the yard, long strides taking them one at a time. When he glances back at me, he says, “Are you coming with me or not?” I hesitate, one foot inching forward. “Yes or no?”

Seconds pass and I bite down on my bottom lip. Where is he going?

It’s dark out, obviously, and the only thing in the yard is him, some trash, and a few cars parked along the curb.

Still, I haven’t gotten any creeper vibes from him; if anything, he’s been strangely…protective? Considering we don’t know each other whatsoever, it’s strange that the way my friends have been treating me lately seems to annoy him to no end.

So weird.

So…intriguing.

I hustle down the steps after him, trying not to trip and kill myself once I hit the bottom, my shoe catching on the lip of the concrete slab anyway. Thankfully, I keep my balance.

Look up, watching as he cuts across the grass, hands reaching for the hem of his black T-shirt, pulling the fabric up and over his long torso, presenting me with his bare back.

His toned, ripped back.

Muscles defined, his lattisimus dorsi is…

Is…

Um.

I try not to stare even though he can’t see me, afraid that when he does finally whip around, he’ll find my eyes molesting his front side the way they’re molesting his rhomboid and trapezius, and holy shit, I can’t believe I know what these muscles are actually called.

I also can’t believe how incredible his body is.

It flexes when he balls up his shirt, walking to a shiny, black, luxury SUV parked at the curb. Its headlights flash brightly when he hits the remote to unlock it, cab illuminating as his voice calls out, “Get in.”

Wow he’s bossy.

And yet, before I know it, I’m inside the lavish vehicle, buckling the seat belt over my soaking wet dress, eyes fixed straight ahead out the window, carefully avoiding the naked upper torso he’s strapped in on the driver’s side.

The engine roars to life, purring. “Where are we going?” I ask quickly.

A long stretch of silence follows as he hits his turn signal and eases into the street. “My place.”

What? No!

“To do what exactly?”

“Sleep?”

“No! No, it’s fine, really. Just take me to the dorms—I’m in the upperclassman apartments on McClintock.”

“I have a really nice place. You can crash with me. I really don’t give a shit.”

“I-I can’t do that. I thought maybe we were going for cheeseburgers or something.” God I’m an idiot.

“Why?” His face is contorted. “All we’re going to do is sleep.”