by Sara Ney
“Why, are you cold? Cause I’m nice and toasty.” I shoot him a wide grin to rub in the fact that I’m warm and he’s not.
“You are an asshole,” he snarks. “I’m a bit nippily, no thanks to you, but I’ll live.”
“Tell you what: let’s dash inside and grab you something warm, a jacket perhaps?” I smile sweetly, fluttering my lashes. “Promise I won’t disappear into the crowd.”
His lips twitch. “I think I’ll take my chances against the impending hypothermia. I can still have kids if my nut sac freezes off.”
He taps away at the lit screen of his phone.
“Why do you think,” he asks absentmindedly, “it bothered you so bad that your friends were getting hit on but you’re not?”
“Is that what you think?”
He does a lot of shrugging, this guy. “No judgments.”
My mouth drops open, and I slam it closed before he looks up. “I was not cock blocking my friends because I’m jealous.”
“So you admit it—you were cock blocking.”
If he wasn’t so damn cute, I’d be furious right now. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“So you’re bitter because you’re completely sober?”
“I’m not completely sober.”
“So are you drunk?”
“No, of course not.” I flip my ponytail.
“You had beer?” He’s skeptical. “How many?”
“Um…” None and a half. I use my thumb and forefinger to indicate the amount. “’Bout that much?”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I can see him hiding a smile behind the glare of his phone. “You’re completely sober.”
“I’m recovering from a cold.” I fake a cough.
With those perfectly white, straight teeth, he smiles at me again, and I can’t even take it. Ugh. He’s so stupidly good-looking and getting cuter by the minute—damn him and his magnetic personality.
Look, I’m not completely delusional; I give the guy credit for not being a complete douchebag. Scale of one to ten on the Jockhole Scale? Six—and that’s only because he kicked me out.
“Far be it from me to point out the obvious, but I bet you wouldn’t be so uptight if you had a few drops of alcohol inside you. Might be more pleasant out here for both of us, yeah?”
“That’s what your friends were saying, and you know my opinion of them.”
“You’re a little uptight.” He squints over, shielding his eyes against the porch light shining in his face. “Hasn’t anyone told you that before?”
“You know nothing about me.” I reach down for the red plastic cup I abandoned a few minutes ago so I have something to do with my hands. “What would make you say I’m uptight? What’s this oh-so-accurate assessment based on?”
“Let me count the ways.” He hums, setting his beer bottle on the step, tapping the fingers of his right hand with his left, counting. “One, I’m on this porch when I could be partying because you won’t stop cock blocking. Two, you’re wearing a fucking bear rug to a party. Three, you’re drinking water. Four, you admitted to asking for extra credit in high school. Five, you won’t stop arguing.”
The smile teasing my lips couldn’t be more inconvenient.
The bastard holds up his hand, wiggling five large fingers. “All signs point to uptight.”
“Fine. I can’t even be mad, because that was all very accurate.” I raise a finger. “But first off, your buddies didn’t give me a chance to redeem myself before sending over their henchman to axe me.”
“And second?” The cheeky ass leans his head against the newel post, coyly pinning me down with a lazy smile. I try not to stare at the huge arms crossed over his hard chest.
“Secondly, your friends were lame and not at all funny. They’re lucky they’re athletes, because if not, they’d probably never get laid.”
This makes him laugh. “I seriously doubt that.”
I continue ranting. “Their conversation would have bored me to tears. Mind-numbingly dull and unimaginative.” I pause. “Can you imagine what they’d be like in—”
I clamp my lips shut.
He leans in, waiting. Baiting me. Prompting me to finish.
“Can you imagine what they’d be like in…” He pauses then tries again. “In…” He unfolds his giant body from the steps, rising to his full height. Brushes off his jeans as if they’re covered in dust. “Go on. Say it.”
“Would you stop that? I’m not going there with you.”
“I just wanted to hear you say bed. Fuck, I must be bored if I want to play word association games. Jesus. I can fill in the blanks fine all by myself, spank you very much. I’m a big boy.”
He is a big boy.
Very big. And for the first time since stepping out onto this porch, I really wonder about him. Where he’s from. If we’ve ever crossed paths on campus. What’s he’s majoring in.
He stands over me now by a good seven inches, lean hips resting against the white railing of the baseball house. Brown hair cut short. Tan skin, no doubt from being outdoors all the time, probably on the practice field. Beautifully sculpted lips that should be permanently pressed against someone’s mouth, so pouty and defined.
His arms.
Who is this guy?
Curiously, because he seems to be inviting it, my eyes settle on those arms, peruse his wide shoulders and the muscular deltoids emphasized by his thin compression shirt. The bulge of his biceps and pec muscles. The tips of his nipples, hardened from the weather.
If he has an issue with me ogling, he doesn’t mention it or call me out, instead doing a brisk assessment of his own—though admittedly, he won’t find much on me to look at with my puffy jacket concealing most of my body.
Brown half boots. Black leggings. Thick, chunky sweater and the coat covering it all.
His green eyes flicker where my breasts are positioned, pausing before migrating up to my face and touching my lips, nose, and hair. My long dark hair is pulled back tight into a conservative, practical ponytail, almost at the top of my head, more functional for tonight than attractive.
Boring, one might suppose.
My cheeks get hot as he stares me down. I feel my chest getting blotchy too, though he couldn’t possibly see it.
Still…
I smile.
Rowdy
Jesus Christ, she has a dimple in her damn cheek.
I’m a sucker for those.
She shoots me a tentative smile, ass parked on the stoop, back propped against the wooden siding of the house.
It’s obvious that she’s blushing by the way she ducks her head, glancing down at the floor, the soft glow from the two dilapidated lamps illuminating the crown of her head.
The porch lights are busted and rusty, needing their bulbs changed, one flickering, the other just about to burn out. It makes the entire place look like a goddamn carnival fun-house, casting a weird glow on the girl’s smooth, pale skin.
And her pretty dimple.
Stop staring at it, dipshit.
I cast my glance at her outfit, doing my best to analyze her under the dim lights. She must have been sweaty inside the house. I got a good look at her before convincing her to follow me, but I still study her as if seeing her for the first time.
Both of her boots are tucked under her legs, and she sits, cross-legged on the ground. Blows out a frustrated puff of air that translates into a billowing stream of steam.
“So.” She wraps her puffy-sleeved arms around her knees, hugging them tight. Shivers. “Now what?”
Her prim ponytail is jaunty, bobbing when she tilts her head to gaze over at me.
“Now I babysit you.”
“Lovely. We can bond.”
I position my large body against the railing, giving it a gentle shake to make sure it’s sturdy before resting all my weight on it. It’s solid and secure and is going to get real uncomfortable real fucking fast if I have to stand here all night.
The girl raises her brows at
me. They appear black in this light, brows full and arched expertly. “Have you babysat anyone before?”
“No one I managed to keep alive,” I joke. “A few cousins my parents forced me to watch a few times. Never would feed them, but would occasionally throw out a dog bone so they wouldn’t get hungry.”
She smiles, dimple denting the smooth right side of her face. “Is that what you have planned for me?”
I raise my empty hands. “I’m fresh out of Scooby snacks. Guess we’ll both have to starve.”
“Sorry you have to sit out here.”
“Really?” I sound hopeful. “No one is forcing you to sit out here.”
Her light laugh is quiet. “Fine. I guess I’m not that sorry.” She bites down on her lower lip. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying your discomfort just a little bit.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“No one has texted me back yet, by the way.”
Shocker. “Your friends haven’t texted you back?”
“Nope.” She pops the P, same way I did before. “Not yet, but I’m sure they will.”
“Nice friends,” I mumble, just loud enough for her to hear.
“They actually are,” she counters. “Give them a break, would you? They’re just excited to be here.”
They let her follow a strange dude outside and she wants me to cut them some slack? Uh, okay…
“They just friends or also roommates?”
“Just friends, from freshman dorm life.”
“Ahh.” I don’t point out the fact that only a cleat chaser would leave her friend hanging for the chance to snag some baseball cock. “What are the odds they’re going to cut the evening short and come looking for you?”
“On a scale of one to ten?”
“Sure.”
“Two?” Her laugh comes easy.
“Those are terrible odds.”
“Don’t I know it.” Her sigh isn’t loud, but it’s heavy. Conflicted. “I’m not going to fault them for staying inside. Would you? It’s not worth getting pissed about, so…”
“You don’t think they’re going to make bad choices without you guard-dogging them?”
“Oh, I know for a fact they’re going to make bad choices.” She laughs again, softly, emitting a little humming sound as I throw back my head and laugh too, the frigid weather racking my body harder than what’s normal.
I have goose bumps covering my arms and chest; my nipples could cut glass.
The simple fact that her friends haven’t come outside to check on this chick speaks volumes about their character, but that’s not something I’m going to voice out loud if she wants to turn a blind eye to it. It’s none of my business, and this girl sitting across from me has taken enough hits tonight without me pointing out how craptastic her friends actually are.
I mean, they’re leaving her outside for the chance to get banged by an athlete—who does that?
Let’s face it, whatever happens with Derek or Ben or anyone from the team, it won’t lead to anything but the morning-after walk of shame.
If this girl is waiting for her friends to reappear, she’d best be in it for the long haul, which means I’m stuck out here freezing my dick off.
“How long do you think you’ll last before giving up?”
“I guess when I start getting cold?”
That, too, has me laughing like a maniac.
The balls on this chick.
“You’re not cold? What are you, made of stone?” Because my nuts are shriveling inside my jeans like two raisins about to fall off the vine.
Her head cocks to one side. “I mean, this sweater is really warm, and I have this nifty scarf in my bag if you want to borrow it?”
“Hard pass.”
When I rub my bare biceps vigorously to warm them up, her eyes follow the motion up and down—and who would blame her? My guns are huge.
I flex once for good measure, and to get a reaction.
It works. Her eyes move along my torso, lingering on the front of my shirt. “You really should have planned better. It’s cold out—why are wearing short sleeves, anyway?”
“I knew it would be hot inside, and I wasn’t planning on squatting on the damn porch all night like a hobo.”
“Still,” she hedges, “it’s practically winter.”
“Thanks. I finally got the memo.”
“Layers, at least.”
My green eyes narrow at her, just the slightest bit. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Such a pain in the ass?”
“Am I pain in the ass? Hmm.” There goes that damn dimple. “I guess it depends on who you ask. Tonight’s probably not a good night to take a poll.”
A ping fills the air, and she reaches for the cell lying next to her knees, lifts it, and taps the screen. Smiles, satisfied.
“They’ll be out in ten minutes.” The phone gets set back down after she taps out a reply. Rests her head back against the wall, smiling. “I knew they wouldn’t leave me out here all night.”
Liar. “You did not.”
This laugh is lilting. “You’re right—I was starting to get worried.”
She stands fifteen minutes later when her friends come stumbling out the door, brushing off her legs and ass. Stretches and holds out her hand to help me off the ground.
Which is so fucking ridiculous, because she’s tiny and petite and I tower over her by almost an entire foot. Nonetheless, I slide my hand into hers when she offers it, letting our palms sizzle from the contact.
Zap.
Standing on my own without her assistance, clasping her hand, I rise to my full height.
“Thank you.” She lingers a few seconds, glancing at her friends, now down in the yard, stumbling heels already clicking over the concrete of the sidewalk.
I release her hand, stuffing mine into the pocket of my jeans. Flex the fingers of my tingling flesh. “Don’t be such a pain in the ass next time.”
“I’ll try.”
She starts down the staircase, ponytail swinging in the breeze. Glances back once, over her shoulder.
And winks.
SECOND FRIDAY
“The Friday Where the Real Games Begin.”
Scarlett
Me: Hey Tess, you guys hitting Jock Row tonight?
Too desperate sounding?
I delete the message, bite down on my bottom lip, and start the message over, trying not to sound obvious. Like I’m fishing for an invitation to go out with them again.
Which I am.
Me: What are you and Cam up to tonight?
Tessa: We’re hitting Jock Row—Cameron is still totally into that Derek guy. Even though he was kind of an asshole to you last weekend?? Sorry bout that.
Kind of an asshole is kind of an understatement, but I let the comment slide. Tess has apologized a few times, even though none of it was her fault.
Me: I was thinking maybe I’d…
I hit send, even though I haven’t finished the sentence. Dammit, how do I tell her I want to go back to the house even though they kicked me out last weekend?
She spares me from asking.
Tessa: You want to come with us?? It would be so fun!
My stomach betrays my best intention to remain calm, rolling with anticipation.
Me: Would that be weird? Seeing as how they were calling me Cock Blocker and made me stay on the porch?
Tessa: I don’t think so. Those parties are so fun and there are cute guys everywhere.
Me: There sure are.
But there’s only one I’m interested in seeing tonight.
Tessa: Are you willing to take the chance that they’re not going to let you in?
Yes.
All week, all I’ve been able to think about is the guy on the porch—Rowdy, as I noticed he called himself. All week long, I’ve looked for him on campus. In the quad and in the cafeteria. The library the one night I went to study. Stared a little too long at the entrance of the workout f
acility, hoping for a glimpse.
All week long, I’ve been looking forward to Friday.
Me: The porch wasn’t the worst.
Tessa: Um, if I had to stand outside with that hot guy, I’d go back too. Like, twist my arm why don’t you, haha.
Me: So you don’t think it’s insane if I go back? I won’t look desperate?
Tessa: You’re the only SANE one between the three of us, Scarlett. Of course you should come. But maybe…
Me: Maybe what?
Tessa: Maybe dress warm? JUST in case, if you know what I mean? lol
Me: TESSA! lol. Do you really think they’ll keep me outside again?
Tessa: Do you care? Will it matter?
No. It wouldn’t matter if I had to stand outside again—that boy is worth the cold and suffering.
But god, the thought does makes me nervous.
Me: I want to see him.
There, I admitted it.
Tessa: All right, then we’ll make ourselves scares when we get there. Deal?
Me: Deal.
Me: You know, I’m still a little bitter you and Cameron fell for every one of their dumb lies. You can do WAY better than those two jockholes.
Tessa: Try telling that to Cameron. She’s been creeping on Derek since last Friday night. I swear, her fingers are going to fall off from all the Insta-stalking.
Me: All right. I know it’s crazy but I’m coming tonight.
Tessa: Well it’s not like you had anything else going on, right?
Scarlett: #realtalk
Tessa: There are worse things in the world than being stranded on a front porch with a total hottie *preach hands emoji*
Rowdy
“Rowdy.” A hand claps down on my shoulder with a jostle, prompting me to turn. “Hey man, the guys wanted me to come get ya.”
“What do you want, Keats? Spit it out.”
The rookie freshman stutters when I pin him with a hard stare for interrupting my conversation with a guy from the rugby team.
“Th-That girl is back.”
I stand a bit taller. Yank at the hem of my shirt, trying to smooth out the wrinkles.
“Which girl?” I know exactly who he’s referring to. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Uh…Ben called her Cock Blocker?”