Jock Hard

by Ney, Sara

  Me: This girl is harmless.

  Ronnie: What the hell possessed you to bring her home?

  Me: Her friends are assholes and ditched her at the house.

  Ronnie: So? Why do you even care?

  Me: I have no fucking idea. But…

  Ronnie: Don’t leave me hanging—it’s two in the morning here and if you’re going to keep me up, make it good. Your niece will be up in three hours and I’m going to look like complete shit tomorrow.

  Me: I—Jesus, I can’t believe I’m saying this.

  Ronnie: Oh damn, this is going to be good, I can feel it.

  Me: You can’t say anything to Mom and Dad. Vault

  Ronnie: **rolls eyes** Do I ever tell them anything???

  Me: Yes, last year you told them about the public indecency citation.

  Ronnie: That wasn’t to get you in trouble! That was to shock them because I wanted to see the look on Mom’s botoxed face! I JUST WANTED TO SEE IF HER FOREHEAD WOULD CREASE WHEN SHE GOT MAD!

  Ronnie: It didn’t by the way. So. Hilarious.

  Me: Goddammit Veronica…

  Ronnie: Okay, okay, I’m listening. Go.

  Me: This girl—her name is Teddy

  Ronnie: That sounds soooo East Coast, pleated skirt, cardigan-y of her.

  Me: Stop.

  Ronnie: **zips lip**

  Me: She’s been coming to the rugby house every weekend with these bitchy friends of hers, and they keep ditching her, and tonight she didn’t have a place to sleep. Like, I wasn’t going to let her sleep in the hallway of her apartment.

  Ronnie: How uncharacteristically chivalrous of you.

  Me: So I brought her home and we started talking, and the next thing I fucking knew, I was volunteering to help her out.

  Ronnie: Help her out with WHAT??? God, do I even want to know?

  Ronnie: Yes, yes I do.

  Ronnie: And for the record, I just sat up in bed and turned on the light, and now Stuart is awake and he wants to hear the end of this story too.

  Ronnie: BTW, since I woke him up, I owe him a BJ. So he says thanks.

  Me: Jesus Christ.

  Ronnie: GET ON WITH THE STORY, MY GAWD KIPLING.

  What are you helping this Teddy person with?

  Me: How to date. I told her I’d be her hairy godmother.

  Ronnie: You’re kidding me right?

  Me: No

  [five minutes later]

  Me: Are you still there?

  Ronnie: I’m sorry, hold on. Stuart and I are laughing so hard we have tears coming out of our eyes.

  Ronnie: Hairy godmother? Oh my god, Kip, where do you come up with this shit? Mom would DIE.

  Me: You said you weren’t going to say anything!

  Ronnie: I know, I know, but…

  Me: I swear to God Veronica.

  Ronnie: RELAX, bro—relax.

  Ronnie: Hairy godmother—what the hell even is that?

  Me: I told her I’d teach her to be more assertive. She’s way too nice.

  Ronnie: Omg. Do you LIKE HER?

  Me: Yeah, she’s nice.

  Ronnie: “Nice.” No. I mean—do you LIKE her, like her?

  Me: No. She’s just a friend.

  Ronnie: Kip, do you know how many great love stories start that way? “She’s just a friend.”

  Ronnie: Yeah—a friend you want to bang.

  Me: Don’t start with me. I do not want to bang her.

  Ronnie: Yet.

  Me: She’s just a friend. Barely even a friend.

  Ronnie: Mark my words, Kipling: this isn’t going to have the ending you think it will…

  * * *

  TEDDY

  I can’t sleep—no surprise—for several reasons:

  1.It’s a strange house I’ve never been in, full of noises I don’t normally have to listen to while I’m trying to fall asleep.

  2.It’s massive and I’m slightly intimidated.

  3.There’s a huge dude down the hallway.

  4.There’s a lock on my door, but he and I are alone, so this was probably one of the worst decisions I’ve made this semester besides living with Mariah.

  Mariah.

  What am I going to do about her? Do I have to do anything? I know she loves me—and the way she behaves? I’ve said it a hundred times (because lately, I’m always defending her) that’s just how she is, how she has always been, really. Since we were young, she’s always been hyper competitive, and not just with me—with everyone.

  I’ve learned that I just…have to stay out of her way. Stand back, let her do her thing, whatever that “thing” happens to be at the time.

  Sports. Extracurriculars. Boys.

  Deep down, Mariah is sweet and giving and kind. Not everyone knows her the way I do, especially guys, because she never acts like herself when she’s around them.

  No. When she’s around guys, she tends to laugh too loud, talk too loud, wear too much makeup, and dumb herself down. I don’t know why—I’ve never asked—but I’ve learned to accept it. If that’s how she wants to behave, who am I to tell her what to say and how loud?

  Not that it would matter since she hardly listens to me anyway.

  I roll toward the window in the dark guest bedroom then when the street light hits my eyes in the wrong spot, roll away, toward the door.

  Stare at it.

  I locked it, right?

  I’m tempted to throw back the covers, hop out, and double- check, but I know I’m just being paranoid.

  Besides, Kip? Grouchy, rude, crass Kip? Oddly, I feel like I can trust him.

  Stupid, I know, but there you have it.

  He brought me home because he was worried, not so he could assault me.

  And, even with the beard and the hair and the huge body, I can tell it would still be easy for him to pick up women. Even with the beard and the hair and the huge body, he’s still easy on the eyes.

  My eyes, anyway.

  I roll to my back, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about the guy a few doors down the hall.

  What is he doing in a house like this? Who owns it? Why are all the rooms professionally decorated? Did his parents die and leave him tons of money? Is he spending it wisely or blowing it all on stupid crap—like that expensive SUV of his?

  I wonder how they died. Was it in a fiery crash or something worse, like an illness or disease?

  That has to be the explanation—his parents died. Nothing else makes sense.

  God, that poor thing!

  Alone in the world and alone in this big house! No wonder he doesn’t want to talk about his parents; their loss must have been tragic.

  You know what else I wonder? If he’s lying in his giant bed, thinking about me too. I know it’s a giant bed because I snuck a peek of his bedroom when I was walking to mine, the large four-poster placed strategically between two large windows in the center of the room.

  No.

  He’s not thinking about me—no doubt he’s already passed out.

  A guy like that wouldn’t give me a second thought.

  A guy like that would have his pick of girls on campus, long hair and unruly beard or not—that shit is so trendy right now. As I flop to my side, I wonder if he realizes that. He seems to think it’s incredibly off-putting, when in reality…

  It’s growing on me.

  FIRST SATURDAY

  “Since when was Hairy AF such a bad thing?”

  TEDDY

  “I lay awake all night agonizing over something, and I feel terrible about being so insensitive.”

  Kip’s brows go up as he pours himself a cup of coffee and leans his back against the counter, legs crossed at the ankles.

  His hair is a mess, worse than mine—sweaty and sticking to his forehead, piled in a man bun, he’s added a sweat band for his early morning run.

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about your parents.”

  “Uh…why?” His voice cracks as it warms up, not having been used yet.

  “I’m really sorry about what h
appened to them, Kip.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “You know,” I hedge, waiting for him to fill in the blanks.

  Instead, his body leans forward, head tipping at an angle as he waits for me to finish my sentence.

  “You know…” I try again. “How they…”

  His head cocks. Brows go up as he sips from the white, porcelain coffee cup.

  Slurps.

  I try again. “It must not be easy living alone. Lonely, even.”

  Kip shrugs his massive shoulders. “Beats living with roommates—or with my family.”

  “Kip!” I gasp in horror. “You can’t say things like that!” I’m one step from making the sign of the cross.

  “It’s the truth.”

  “That is so wrong on so many levels!” My voice is an outraged gasp.

  “Why are you acting so strange?”

  “You’re the one being impervious!”

  He presses two fingers to his temple. “First of all, don’t use such big words so early in the morning. Second of all—what the fuck is going on right now?”

  “It must have been hard on you when they passed.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your parents…passing.”

  “Wait—you think my parents are dead?”

  “I mean, why else would you live in this house all by yourself?”

  “Because they bought it?”

  “Who did?”

  “My parents?” He’s staring at me like I’ve officially lost my mind.

  “Wait, so—they’re not dead? They haven’t passed?”

  “Stop saying passed—you sound deranged.” He laughs. “No, they’re not dead. The only thing my parents pass these days is the salt at the dinner table. Jesus Christ, Teddy, relax.”

  His voice cracks as he lets out a loud bark, bending at the waist, really milking this for all it’s worth. I feel like such an asshole.

  My eyes narrow into slits. “I hate you right now.”

  “What the hell did I do!” Kip can barely catch his breath. “I never said my freaking parents weren’t alive, you just assumed they were. Oh my god, this is too good. It’s too good.”

  “But…”

  None of this makes any sense.

  “Wow. You just made my day, I swear—goddamn you’re cute.”

  “But…why would they buy you such a nice house? Why not a dump closer to campus? Who does that?”

  When Kip presents me with his back, his shoulders give one last shake, hands busying themselves on the countertop by ripping open a packet of sugar and ignoring my question. “Let’s not get into it.”

  Okay, so he doesn’t want to talk about it. Fine.

  “Someday, though? If we’re gonna be friends, Kip, we should be able to talk.”

  “Jesus,” he mutters with a snort. “This is why I play rugby and stay away from girls.”

  “Why? Because you don’t like having friends?”

  “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 step-stool.” 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, Ve
ronica, 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 make me want to 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?”