Jock Row

by Sara Ney

  His voice also goes up a few decibels. “The guys decided that for the rest of the night, you’re not allowed—”

  I put my hand up so he’ll shut his gorgeous face. “Why?”

  “What do you mean, why? Isn’t it obvious?”

  Uh, no. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have been dumb enough to follow you out here, would I?”

  “I’m not fucking around, sorry. You can’t go back—you’re being booted for the night.”

  “Booted.” I snort. “By who?”

  “By the guys. By me.”

  “And who are you?”

  “I’m their fearless leader—and the unlucky bastard that drew the short straw.”

  My nose crinkles like I’ve just swallowed a Sour Patch Kid. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you’re running interference and it’s driving my friends fucking nuts. They want you gone. Hope you have all your personal shit.” He smiles, eyes catching the tote bag hanging off my shoulder. “Never mind, I see you brought a giant fucking suitcase along with you.”

  “Are you for real right now?” Crap, now I sound like that asshole Derek.

  “Yeah, I’m—like—for real.” He imitates an airhead, fake twirling an invisible lock of long hair, lobbing his head from side to side rudely.

  “I’m not stupid, you don’t have to be a jerk, but what gives them the right to—”

  “Cock Blocker.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “That’s what they called you: cock blocker. You should have just left well enough alone—all you did by running interference was piss off Ben and Derek.”

  “Running interference? I was making small talk, not that those meatheads would know the difference.”

  Without warning, he plucks the red plastic cup from my fingers, sniffing the contents with that great, Greek nose of his.

  “What’s in here, vodka?” He inhales inside the cup again, taking a good long whiff—the way I sniffed him earlier—sticking his nose all the way in. “What the hell is this, boring juice?”

  My lip twitches because the way his nose twitches is kind of cute, and I try not to smile. “No, it’s water.”

  “Huh. Just water?” He looks mildly entertained, thick eyebrows raised into his hairline. “Well now it’s kind of starting to make sense.”

  My chin goes up a notch. “Your friends are ridiculous, you know that, right? It’s not my fault they can’t take a joke.”

  “Yeah, well, they’ve decided you’re grade-A pain in their ass.” He pauses, giving the yard another once-over. “Cock Blocker.” His laugh is low and deep as he recalls the nickname.

  “Please don’t call me that. It’s insulting, even though it doesn’t surprise me.”

  “You’re messing with their game.”

  “Their game? Do people actually still use that term?” I snort, so unladylike, unable to stop the sound from coming out my nose. Charming, I know. “Your friends have no game, unless you give points for lies. They weren’t impressing anyone.”

  His laugh echoes down into the yard. “Let’s face it—they were impressing your friends.”

  He’s got me there. “Tessa is too sweet for her own damn good, okay?” Why am I telling him this? “And Cameron just wants…”

  I clamp my mouth shut.

  “Just wants to get laid?”

  “No!”

  “Just wants a jock notch on her bedpost?”

  “Stop. Now you’re just trying to find creative ways to say get laid.” And I’m not supposed to be enjoying myself out here, dammit. I’m pissed at this guy—he literally just kicked me out of a house party.

  I will not allow myself to be charmed, no matter how funny he is.

  His shoulders shake in a quick shiver as he throws a thumb over his shoulder. “Wanna tell me what it was Wilson and Fitzgerald were lying about back there?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “No.” But he’s curious—I can see it in his eyes as he stares at me from across the porch, brows still imposingly arched. He’s not entirely bored.

  “Look,” I begin, hefting my bag. “The pick-up lines were terrible, and I couldn’t resist giving Derek shit about it, if you must know the truth. Like—the worst. If you were there, you would have done it too.” I pause. “Then when they started in about the College World Series, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.”

  His spine straightens. “What about the CWS?”

  “They said they won it, and we all know that’s a load of crap. All I did was call them on it! Sue me. It was dumb that they lied to impress my friends.”

  His smirk comes slowly, one side of his mouth curving into an arch. It’s more mischievous than sinister. “How are you so sure we didn’t win?”

  “Dude, stop.”

  He laughs when I call him dude, Adam’s apple bobbing. “The fact that you know that shit is so fucking random.”

  “I have a baseball-obsessed father, all right? I can’t help myself—I’m the son he never had.” Inside my warm jacket, my shoulders move up and down in a tiny shrug. “Maybe remembering weird facts is my stupid human trick.”

  The guy’s eyes stray to the window of the house, gazing through. “Look, I hate to be rude, but can you do me a favor and leave? It’s cold and I’m freezing my balls off.”

  I will my eyes not to stray down the front of his jeans, to his zipper. To his balls.

  “So this is real? You’re seriously kicking me out?”

  His nod is authoritative. “Yup. This is me, seriously kicking your scrawny ass out.”

  I do not have a scrawny ass! “That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard anyone say.”

  “Stick around long enough and it won’t be.” He’s laughing at himself again. “I say some pretty stupid shit.”

  “You’re kind of an asshole.” My conviction is weak—so weak—and more wishful thinking that anything.

  “You were disturbing the peace—the natural order of things, if you will—and I’ve been tasked with escorting you from the premises. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

  Escorting me from the premises—what a ridiculous thing to say.

  “The proverbial short straw you speak of.” I nod, knowingly, oh so wise and clever.

  “Exactly.”

  He’s pleased with himself, too, leaning against the balustrade, legs so long his ass rests comfortably on top of the rail.

  A nervous, giddy laugh escapes my lips. I can’t handle moments like this; they make me uncomfortable when I’m not prepared, and this cold weather isn’t helping matters.

  I’m laughing like an idiot, and he’s staring at me like I’ve lost my damn mind and now there is no way he’s going to let me back inside.

  “Escort me from the premises?” I muse, rubbing my chin. “What are you, an undercover cop?” I’m sassing now, turning my embarrassment into a thinly veiled joke.

  Except…

  If this is a joke, it isn’t funny—not at all. It’s awkward and inconvenient and we’re out here on the porch in the cold, shivering. Locked in a battle of wills, neither one willing to bend, my teeth chattering the slightest bit. Thoughts straying from his handsome face to the warm scarf buried in my bag.

  I wonder how tacky it would be for me to wrap it around my neck while he stands there, shuddering every so often, covered in goose bumps.

  “Can I at least go back inside and tell my friends you’re kicking me out?”

  “Nope.” He obnoxiously pops the P. “I’m under strict orders not to let you back in.”

  “Whose strict orders?”

  “Mine. Why are you arguing?” One mammoth paw scratches across his stupidly sexy square jaw. “It’s not helping your case.”

  “Oh, I have a case now?” I ask sarcastically with an eye roll heavenward. “Is this a court of law or have I somehow entered a special kind of purgatory?”

  His smile widens. “If I were actually an undercover cop, I’d have you arrested for resisting an officer.”


  “Is that a thing?”

  “Resisting an officer? Hell yeah it is.” He smirks, and god is he cute. Really, really cute. Handsome.

  I glance down at my shoes, shuffling my feet, then out toward the street to stop myself from staring directly at his white teeth and chiseled jaw and stupid, sparkling eyes.

  What a cliché he turned out to be.

  Jerk.

  “Please just let me run inside.” I try not to beg. “I’ll be quick like a bunny and tell them I’m leaving?”

  “Quick like a bunny?” He rubs his jaw, the unshaven scruff scratching. “That I might pay to see.”

  I bat my eyelashes, wishing I at least threw on one coat of mascara before leaving the house tonight. My face is naked and fresh, not likely to bend any guy to my will, let alone this one.

  “Please?”

  “Let’s try this again. Are you watching my lips? Are you paying attention? Because I’m only going to say this one more time.”

  I nod, eyes glued to his gorgeous mouth. “I’m listening.”

  “You. Are. Not. Going. Back. Inside.” His eyes trek the length of my zipper, searching for the pockets at my sides. “If you have a phone tucked away in there, get it out and text your friends. See if they give a shit you’re gone. Go ahead.”

  “I will!”

  A low chuckle. “What are you waiting for?”

  Why is he being like this? Doesn’t he know how rude it is for me to just disappear on my friends? Under any other circumstances, I never would have walked out on them and left them inside.

  I stomp my foot like a petulant child, the stubborn side of me kicking in like a knee-jerk reaction. Athletes aren’t the only ones with determination. “I am not leaving this porch until you let me back in!”

  He yawns in my direction, sounding bored, patting his mouth. “Why are you being so dramatic? You’re worse than my four-year-old cousin.”

  “Because! This goes against my…” I search for the appropriate words. “Civil rights!”

  “This goes against your civil rights,” he deadpans dryly, lip curving. “Now you just sound crazy.”

  “You can’t kick me out.”

  “Now you’re cock-blocking me from kicking you out? Do you not see the irony here?”

  I narrow my eyes. “Stop trying to make me laugh—it won’t work.”

  “But it’s so easy.”

  “I’m not standing out on this porch while my girlfriends are being taken advantage of inside. I’m not abandoning them.”

  “Uh…” he drones. “I can guarantee you it’s the other way around.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You don’t think those chicks inside aren’t taking advantage of the situation?” He throws a thumb over his shoulders, toward the house.

  “No, I don’t think they’re taking advantage of the situation. They have no clue what’s going on. In fact, they probably thought—”

  You were going to hit on me, and they weren’t going to stand in your way.

  “See how easy it is to divert your attention? You’re like a cute, fuzzy brown squirrel with no nut—was that the point?” He hugs himself, moving his hands up and down his arms. “Real talk: if you don’t leave this property, I’ll end up babysitting you, and that’s not how I want to kill time on a Friday night.”

  I pretend to ignore him, a knot of guilt tightening my stomach.

  His teeth rake over his bottom lip, back and forth, gleaming white, as he studies me.

  “Fine.” His sigh is resigned. “While you stand here being stubborn, I’ll be over on the stairs ignoring you while you ignore me.”

  Removing his cell from the back pocket of his jeans, he holds it up, thumb sliding across the screen, the glow illuminating his inconveniently attractive face. He twists his wrist in my direction, wiggling his finger in small circles. “Don’t hesitate to text your friends and tell them you’re leaving.”

  “Bossy,” I grumble, jealous he can so easily disregard me to play on his phone while I stew over my predicament. “I’m not leaving because I’m reliable, and loyal.”

  His ears don’t so much as twitch; he’s not listening.

  Three more minutes tick by.

  “You’re really not going to let me back in?”

  He barely spares me a glance. “I’m really not letting you back in.”

  “What if I promise to behave?” I run two pinched fingers across my mouth, throw away the key. “I’ll be good. No running interference.”

  “Cute.” His eyes are still fastened to his phone. “But no.”

  “I can’t be out here and leave my poor friends alone with those idiots.” I pause. “Oops, did I say that out loud?”

  His head gives a slow shake. Tsks. “It’s going to be a really long night if you keep doing that.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Begging to get back inside. It’s pitiful and annoying. Text your damn friends.”

  “I’m not begging. I’m asking.”

  His eyes leave the screen of his phone, raking my torso up and down with a dismissive brow. “It’s begging—I know what the difference is, and you’re being irksome.”

  Damn. The fact that he just used the word irksome?

  Kind of a huge turn-on.

  “I thought determination was an admirable quality.” I sound pitiful, even to my own ears. “Surely you of all people can appreciate that.”

  “Only when used in the right circumstances,” he grumbles after a long pause. “Like, say—warmer circumstances.”

  “If…” I root around in my brain for something intelligent to say, to gain equal footing, but end up with, “If you don’t let me back inside, I’m calling the cops.”

  Ugh, why can’t I just keep my mouth shut?

  “Be my guest, call the cops.” He takes a loud, slurping sip of the beer he’s been holding in his hand. “Tell them Rowdy Wade sent you.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “Trust me, doll face, I’ve been called worse.”

  “Oh god—do not call me doll face.”

  “What should I call you then? I know you don’t take kindly to Cock Blocker as an endearment.”

  I stomp my foot, frustrated. “Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

  “I’m stubborn? Uh, okay.” He mutters Jesus Christ under his breath like it’s an oath, the bright light from his phone illuminating his sharpening features.

  I backpedal.

  “I’m sorry. I just…” Feel helpless out here on the porch. “This night isn’t going anything like I planned. I haven’t been to a party in forever and I just wanted to have fun tonight, that’s all.”

  “I bet…” he beings slowly, “when you were in high school, you were one of those girls who used to raise their hand during class to ask the teacher for extra credit.”

  The “So?” slips out, and I groan while face-palming myself.

  “So? No one liked those girls.”

  My chin hitches up a notch. “I bet you were one of those jocks who barely passed their classes and cheated off of girls like me.”

  He spreads his arms, wingspan wide. Grins wickedly, his entire face lighting up. “Yet here I am with a full ride to college. Do the math on those odds.”

  Resigned, my body sags against the side of the house, the fabric of my jacket snagging on the wooden siding. “What am I supposed to do until my friends come out?”

  I swear he winks at me. “Again, not my problem.”

  “Did you just wink at me?”

  He rubs his face with the knuckle of his left hand. “No. I obviously have dust in my eye.”

  My head hits the house when I tip it to laugh. “Liar.”

  “Pollen?”

  We regard each other from our spots across the porch until he quietly asks, “Want me to walk you home?”

  He is so transparent. “So you can get me out of here quicker?”

  He laughs to himself, chest constricting. “Pretty much.”

&nb
sp; “You’re twice as big as I am—no way am I letting you walk me home in the dark.” I wasn’t born yesterday, and my mother didn’t raise a fool.

  No matter how cute this guy is.

  “Can I point out a fun fact?”

  “Can I stop you?”

  “Very cute, but no.” He takes a drag from his beer. “Your friends had no problem ignoring the fact that you disappeared when I hauled you off.”

  “Do you honestly think those jockholes inside told them I was being kicked out? No. They’re blissfully unaware.”

  Another pull from his beer. “They probably think I’m fucking you.”

  Jesus. Blunt much?

  My cheeks flush. “Don’t flatter yourself. They know me better than that.”

  “So you’re a prude?”

  I squint, ignoring him. “Remind me again why I followed you out here?”

  Answer: Because curiosity killed the cat, Scarlett. You followed a good-looking stranger out into the dark and look where it got you—on the front porch, in the bitter cold.

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it—any one of those girls would have followed me out here, too.”

  Oh brother, he’s modest too? “And why do you suppose that is?”

  His broad shoulders shrug and damn, he must be freezing his ass off. “Captain of the baseball team. Handsome as fuck. Funny as hell.”

  “I don’t…wow. I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

  He gives me a tight-lipped smile. “It’s a lot to take in all at once.”

  Cannot argue with that. “It sure is,” I agree with a laugh.

  “Can I ask you something?” He eyes me up and down from his spot on the ground. “Why are you dressed like you’re taking a trip to Antarctica?”

  I press my lips together. Part them. “For your information, smartass, I’ve been sick. I had a cold, so what was I supposed to do, wear a bandage dress to a house party? No thanks, I’m trying to get better before the break.”

  He holds up his bear paws. “Hey, no judgments—I can tell you’re a really sensible girl. All I’m saying is, you’re wearing a sweater that could double as a parka, and you’re also wearing a parka.”

  This time, I can’t stop the laugh from escaping my mouth.

  “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.