Jock Row (Jock Hard Book 1)

by Sara Ney

  Those girls she’s come with a few times are inside, having arrived the better part of an hour ago, and I debate whether I should stay standing outside longer, the conversation we had a few weeks ago playing on a loop in my mind.

  “How long would you be willing to wait for me to show up?”

  “Five minutes.”

  “Liar. Try again or I’m not showing you what’s in here.” That was the night she brought me food.

  “I don’t know, Scarlett—eight minutes.” She’d raised her brows, challenging me.

  “Fine. I’d wait an hour. Maybe a little longer if I knew for sure you were going to show up.”

  Surely her friends would have told me Scarlett wasn’t coming, right? I mean, it’s been four consecutive Fridays of the same routine. The fact that she’s deviating and didn’t have the courtesy to tell me?

  It annoys the shit out of me.

  Scares the crap out of me, too, if I’m being honest.

  Shoving through the front door, my gaze scans the perimeter of the room until they land on the familiar faces of Scarlett’s two blonde friends, whose names I have yet to catch. They’re flirting with my teammates, preening when I approach, stomping through the crowd on a mission, the taller of the two girls sticking out her ample chest when I disrupt. I reach my arm out between them, inserting myself into the conversation to stop the flow. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but I need to grab the girls for a second.”

  No one objects when I motion them aside, and I didn’t expect them to.

  “What’s up, Rowdy?” Her eyes are lined with thick black coal, lips cherry red. Way too much makeup, way too perky, way too enthusiastic.

  Drunk.

  I shove my hands in the deep recesses of my pockets, shoulders hunching. “Do you know where Scarlett is tonight? She hasn’t showed up.”

  Her black lashes flutter. “She went out—like, out out.”

  Out out? What the hell does that mean?

  “Out where?”

  “I’m not sure? A date?” She looks to her friend for confirmation. “Or am I confusing her with Natasha?”

  The girl taps her chin, surely mistaken; Scarlett wouldn’t have a date on a Friday night—not when she’s supposed to be here. With me.

  Impatiently I get out my cell. “Can I get her number so I can check in on her? I want to make sure she hasn’t been murdered or whatever.”

  “Yeah, sure. Just use it wisely, okay? Don’t go all creepy weirdo stalker after I give it to you, okay? She’ll kill me if you do.”

  I tap in the number as she rattles it off, hit save, and add it to my contacts. “Thanks.”

  “Is that all you needed?” The other blonde is fishing for something else, something I’d never give to a girl like her, and I wonder what kind of friend this one is to Scarlett. She doesn’t seem as loyal as this other one.

  My head bends in concentration as I tap on Scarlett’s number. “Yeah, thanks.”

  I’m already composing a new message, walking toward the front door, seeking the quiet comfort of the porch.

  Parking my ass on the railing, I wait impatiently for my text to be delivered. That little blue line at the top of the screen drags its sorry ass along at a glacial pace, taking its sweet time up in cyber space to reach her phone.

  Another ten minutes for three little dots to appear on the screen—the ones that tell me Scarlett is messaging me back.

  Ten. Minutes.

  Me: Hey. Where are you?

  Scarlett: Who is this?

  Me: Rowdy

  Scarlett: Oh hey! Are you at the house?

  Me: Yeah, I’ve been waiting for you. I thought you were going to show up tonight—was I wrong?

  Scarlett: Yes, I’m sorry. I had some last-minute plans.

  Me: Ah. I see.

  Scarlett: No big deal, but I’m curious—how did you get my number?

  Me: Your two friends are here. I had them give it to me.

  Scarlett: I’m sure you barely had to browbeat them for it. lol

  Me: Browbeat? All I had to do was bat my lashes. You should probably tell them not to give your number out to strange dudes—I could be a serial killer.

  Scarlett: They know you’re not a serial killer, we’ve been hanging out for weeks.

  Hanging out…is that what we’ve been doing?

  Scarlett: Tessa just texted me. She said: Rowdy Wade asked for your number, I hope it was okay for me to give it to him ha ha.

  Me: You’re not mad, are you?

  Scarlett: Of course not! Don’t you think it’s weird you don’t already have it? It HAS been a few weeks.

  Me: I was thinking the same thing.

  Me: Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. When you didn’t show up…

  Scarlett: Were you worried???

  Me: No.

  Me: Yes.

  Me: lol

  Scarlett: That’s very sweet of you to check in.

  Me: I mean, we’ve spent the last four weeks together, five if you’d have shown up tonight.

  Scarlett: I’m sorry you worried, I really didn’t think…I mean, I couldn’t have gotten ahold of you even if I wanted to because I didn’t have your number either.

  Me: It’s fine. Don’t worry about it, I just wanted to make sure you were alive.

  Scarlett: It really is very sweet of you to check in, make sure I’m not dead lol

  Me: So, are you home, or…

  Scarlett: No, I’m not home yet. Soon, though, if we don’t go downtown.

  Me: Oh?

  Scarlett: Oh? What does that mean. Lol. The way you said that…

  Me: So did you have like, a date tonight or something?

  My stomach knots up and I feel sick watching those three small dots at the bottom of my screen disappear and reappear as she types.

  Scarlett: I went out with friends—a few from my biology lab.

  Me: So not a date?

  Scarlett: No, not a date. We did get dressed up and go to dinner, though. Kind of a pre-end-of-the-semester celebration. More like an excuse to dress up.

  Me: Are you still out?

  Scarlett: Yes. We were just having dinner, and I just happened to walk into the bathroom.

  Scarlett: Not to mention, I’m in a dress and it’s freezing.

  Me: What does it look like?

  Scarlett: It’s black and lacey and shows off how great my legs are. lol

  Me: Have you had anything to drink?

  Scarlett: No, right now I’m still sober-ish

  Scarlett: Okay, fine—I’ve had one glass of wine, but I’m definitely not drunk.

  Scarlett: How long have you been outside waiting for me?

  Me: I don’t know, a few minutes.

  Scarlett: Rowdy, it’s after eleven…

  Me: Fine. I’ve been waiting an hour and change.

  An hour and forty-two minutes—but who’s keeping track?

  Scarlett: Oh god, I’m so sorry!

  Me: Don’t apologize, you don’t owe me anything.

  But then I add,

  Me: You want me to keep waiting for you?

  Scarlett: You’d do that?

  Me: If you want me to, yeah. I’ll wait for you.

  Scarlett: Thank you for checking on me tonight.

  Me: Hey wait, what did you have for dinner?

  Scarlett: Is it always about food with you? I had soup, salad, and chicken.

  Me: Goddammit I’m hungry…

  Scarlett: **laughs and laughs** I can’t stay in this bathroom stall all night texting you, my friends will think I climbed out the window to avoid paying the bill.

  Me: Brilliant idea. Stay put and I’ll back my truck up to the window. I’ll catch you.

  Scarlett: You would not do that…

  Me: Try me. I can be wherever you are in ten minutes.

  Scarlett: You’re crazy, do you know that?

  Yeah. Crazier for you every single fucking day.

  Scarlett: How about I have them drop me off at the house instead?


  Me: I’ll wait.

  Hurry.

  I don’t add that last part, instead, staring at my phone for the reply that never comes.

  ***

  I don’t recognize her at first glance.

  Dismiss her as another baseball groupie striding up the walkway when she appears, pulling up to the curb in a gray car. Watch when she slides out of the passenger side, one leg at a time, bending at the waist to speak to the driver.

  Slams the door and gracefully strides confidently up the sidewalk, hair swishing, fanning out behind her like some goddamn shampoo commercial.

  I do a double take.

  “Scarlett?”

  She raises her hand, clutching a small blue purse in the other. “I made it.”

  I stare.

  Barely recognize her. I mean—it’s her, of course I recognize her, but…

  She looks so fucking different.

  Her, but…

  More her.

  Jesus.

  Hips swaying, black skirt swishing beneath the hem of a black dress coat, she approaches the stairs, long tan legs taking the steps one by one, bright blue toenails playing peekaboo in black, open-toe heels.

  I straighten. Blink down at her, confused.

  “Did you get a spray tan?” I blurt out, fucking up my greeting. Couldn’t the first words out of my mouth been ‘Hello, you look beautiful’?

  Scarlett laughs. “Yes, I got a spray tan. I’m so pale.”

  One step, then another two.

  Four more and she’s all the way to the top.

  “What’s with the red lips?” I blurt out again, harsher than I intend. Her mouth is a sexy, glossy red, shining when she grins at me under the light gleaming off the porch. Her teeth look blaring white in contrast.

  “What’s with you tonight? You’re so crabby.” She rolls her eyes, tucking her little blue handbag under her armpit. Purses her glossy mouth. “You don’t like the red lips?”

  I do. I like them a lot.

  And why are her lashes so damn long? Jesus, her eyes look huge. I could watch them flutter at me all damn night.

  “How was dinner?”

  Another sassy grin, and her white teeth flashing get me kind of excited. “Great. Thanks for waiting on me.”

  “I would have come and picked you up.” Should have gone all chivalrous on her, pulled some knight-in-shining-armor bullshit.

  She touches my arm, giving my forearm a tap. “We were in the city—I never would have asked you to come that far.”

  But I would have; I’d have driven clear across the state to pick her up just to see the look on her face. To see that damn dimple in her pretty, sweet cheek.

  She looks so…fucking…

  Her brows, which are darker than usual, furrow. “What?”

  I blink. “You look…”

  I bask in the brilliant sight of her, from her smooth thighs to the curve of her well-shaped calves. It might not sound like the most romantic body part to wax poetic about, but I’m an athlete and notice shit like that, the little things—like how perfect her toes are, peeking out of the front of her heels.

  The place where the black belt of her dressy jacket cinches her slender waist.

  And her hair?

  It’s thick and full, falling in waves, draped over one shoulder, and I’ve never seen it down. It looks soft, sleek, and touchable, and I want to run my fingers through it.

  “Why are you looking at me like that—stop being weird.”

  Am I being weird? I do a better job schooling my expression.

  Inhale a deep breath and attempt not to be a fuckwit.

  “You look really pretty, that’s all I wanted to say. I’m not trying to be weird. And, uh, I have something for you.”

  Her delicate arched brows go up. “You do?

  “It’s not a big deal, but…” Reaching into my coat pocket, I pull out the keychain I found at the store today. It’s a starfish, covered in coral-colored rhinestones, a crappy, cheap keychain, but it reminded me of her, so before I could dwell on it, I tossed it onto the checkout counter along with my bottled water, vegetables, and protein powder.

  “I found this for you at the grocery store. Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

  Scarlett grins, her dimple the cutest little dent I ever did see, squeezing her eyes shut, long inky lashes resting on a set of smooth cheekbones. “Oh god, I’m scared. What is it?”

  “You’re so dramatic. Just hold out your hand.”

  Scarlett squeezes her eyes tighter, holding out her palm.

  Licks her bottom lip.

  It affords me a few moments to study her face under the porch light while she waits. Black inky lashes kissing her smooth, blush-covered cheekbones. Bronze skin. Glossy sapphire lips. Touchable silky hair.

  Her eyebrows are full and arched with expectation as she waits for me to set the gift in her palm.

  Even as I lay the keychain in her hand, my eyes never leave her face, laying the metal with a delicate clink on her splayed hand, the inexpensive, shiny silver winking in the light. Only when it hits her hand does she crack a lid open.

  Looks down at her hand, stares at the trinket, confused.

  The tips of my fingers linger on the pads of her palm. “I know it’s stupid, but—”

  Her head shakes, cutting me off. “It’s not stupid, Sterling. It’s wonderful.”

  She holds it aloft, pinched between two fingers, admiring it, turning it this way and that so the light hits the coral rhinestones at all angles. It sparkles and shines like her eyes and lips.

  “It’s a starfish,” I explain, stating the obvious, feeling like a complete idiot. “Because you love the ocean.”

  A grin plays at her bottom lip. “I’m in love with it. This is so sweet.”

  “I saw it today when I was running errands and it reminded me of you.”

  I’m so damn dumb. Like a boy who doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. Like I want to tug on her damn braids to get her attention.

  The grin she’s trying to contain finally sneaks across her mouth. “Thank you.”

  When the wind kicks up, her shoulders shiver, her breath a fine mist in the evening as she studies my present.

  “Shit, I’m so sorry.” I draw my gaze away, dragging it to her bare legs. Painted toes. “You shouldn’t be standing out here—it’s freezing. You’ll get sick again.”

  I shouldn’t have asked her to come; it was selfish. I should have met her at home, where it’s warm, let her change into something comfortable and settled in on the couch with her—not waited around and let her get dumped off at the goddamn baseball house.

  “It is quite cold tonight, isn’t it?”

  And yet she did come to see me, in a dress and heels, to stand on the porch in the cold fall night, knowing there was no chance she was getting inside the house.

  For a brief moment, I consider taking her in, walking her through the house on my arm and showing her off. Show everyone what they’ve been missing because they were complete fuckers.

  Still…I’m feeling selfish.

  “Do you…want to go inside?”

  “The house?”

  “Yeah. I’ll take you home, but if you want to go inside for a little bit, we can do that, too.”

  “Are you saying you’ll take me inside?” Her eyes are huge, disks of astonishment.

  “If that’s what you want, we’ll go in and stay a while.”

  Her stare is intense, the breeze kicking up her hair as she studies me, lips still parted in surprise. “And ruin a perfectly good evening?” She scoffs, breath kicking up a puff of air. “I don’t think so. Maybe next time.”

  My eyes flicker to the empty street. “Then let’s get you home.”

  “All right, Rowdy Wade, I’ll let you drive me home.” Brushes a strand of hair behind her ears. “I probably should have gone home first and thrown on some pants, huh? I don’t know what in the world I was thinking.”

  A loud banging from inside inter
rupts, followed by raucous laughter and chanting.

  “Jesus,” I groan. “They’re acting like idiots—beer pong tournament and drinking games. We’re not missing out.”

  It’s true tonight, and on any given Friday. It’s hot as hell in there, though—she’d be plenty warm in that dress and those heels.

  “You don’t think I’d enjoy a beer pong tournament or a drinking game? Shame on you—I’m so good at beer pong it’s stupid.”

  I laugh when she winks. So fucking cute.

  And pretty.

  Really stupid pretty.

  “I’m kind of hungry anyway. The restaurant we went to had tiny portions—my chicken was this small.” She makes a circle with her hands, demonstrating the size of her main course. “It was the size of an appetizer—you would have hated it, and then you would have died from starvation.”

  “So you went someplace fancy?”

  “Real fancy—hence the dress.” She does a little twirl, showing off her legs. “We’ve gone out before break the last two years. It’s kind of a tradition.”

  I should have taken her out tonight.

  Scarlett shivers. “Can we go now, please? I’m f-freezing.”

  “Shit, I’m sorry—let me tell them I’m leaving real quick. Give me one sec.” When my hand clutches the doorknob, I turn, shooting her a cocky grin, gaze raking her up and down. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  She shifts on her heels, eyes twinkling. “Very funny, wise ass. As if I’d walk the entire way home in these shoes.”

  It takes me a record sixty seconds to dash inside the house, take the stairs two at a time, and retrieve the duffle bag I threw in one of the upstairs bedrooms earlier. Another two to let my friends know I’m heading home.

  “Amado, I’m gonna bounce.” I walk through the kitchen, swiping an apple from the counter, sinking my teeth into the juicy meat and taking a huge bite. Wipe my chin when it drips juice.

  “Where the hell have you been, amigo?”

  “Front porch.”

  “For the last few hours?”

  “Look, long story, but I’m heading out. If anyone needs me for anything, do not fucking call.”

  I’ll kill anyone who interrupts me tonight.

  “Where you goin’?”

  “I’m taking Scarlett home—it’s colder than a witch’s tit outside.”

  “Wait, who?”

  “Scarlett.” I sigh. “You know, Cock Blocker.”