Scarlett
“No offense, Scarlett, but if you didn’t feel good when I invited you to come with us tonight, you should have said something. Now I feel terrible.”
Tessa—a girl I lived next door to in the dorms freshman and sophomore year and remained friends with—flips her perfectly coifed hair, eyeing up my soft sweater, the one I always wear when I’m getting over a cold, or sick, because it’s cozy, oversized, and comforting. It’s more appropriate for a bonfire or night at home than a college party, and when Tessa shoots me that sympathetic face—lips turned down at the corners, eying me skeptically—I manage a soft laugh.
“Trust me, I’ve been home for the past few weekends—I needed this night out.”
Two to be exact, couch surfing and binging on random TV shows, consuming copious amounts of hot tea and chicken noodle soup.
“Are you sure? Because if you’re not…”
“I’m fine—that’s why I wore this sweater. It’s going to keep me toasty warm tonight so I don’t catch a chill.”
The last thing I want is her changing her plans because of me.
“But that sweater…” Tessa worries her bottom lip, chewing off some of the lipstick. “It gets so warm inside those parties…maybe just take the scarf off? And the jacket?”
Fingering the gray, cable knit length around my neck, I breathe in the merino wool that’s the only thing keeping my neck warm and my cough from coming back.
“My scarf? What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it, but we’re going to the baseball house—you know, on Jock Row.”
When she says Jock Row, her voice changes, fills with this weird wistfulness and a playful giddiness, like we’re heading to some magical place. We’re not.
Jock Row: the off-campus housing block where student athletes live and party. Similar to Greek Row, each sport has its own designated apartment or house, spanning an entire city block. They study together, play together, live together. Hell, they even eat together in a special cafeteria I’ve only heard whispers about, with super special, healthy jock food.
How nice for them.
I remember listening to her talk about it in the dorms when we were new students; she’d babble for hours about wanting to date an athlete, explaining which ones she thought were cute, trolling them online. Crushing hard, wondering what it was like to date one but never having the lady balls to go to one of their parties.
Well, we have the courage now.
Tessa still has the same stars in her eyes when she talks about it, still has that same breathiness in her voice.
In a way, I don’t blame her, because the guys on Jock Row?
They aren’t boys—they’re a different breed of student body altogether.
These boys don’t compare to the guys from back home that I’m used to flirting with: the gangly, juvenile boys I grew up with who went to college but still haven’t matured—they are nothing like the boys of Jock Row.
Not physically.
Not mentally.
These guys? They’re men, with actual responsibilities and obligations. They work hard and play hard.
Bigger.
Brawny.
In peak physical condition—probably the best shape they’ll ever be in their lives.
Cocky.
Quick.
I’ve seen them in action on the baseball field; I know the team is good, and damn, they look good, too.
Smell good.
How do I know? I got close to one once, rooting around for a beverage at the football house one weekend a while back. A big, burly player cut me off in line at the keg, leaning over to grab the beer tap with his meaty fingers, and I accidentally caught a whiff—a long, deep whiff, one that ended with an internal ‘ahhh’ that only comes when we appreciate something truly delicious.
Obviously, being a warm-blooded female, I checked out his upper torso, muscular forearms, and thick neck in the process—like every other female in the room with a set of functioning eyes had been doing.
Every female, like Tessa and her roommate, Cameron, who’s still in their bathroom primping.
I know what these two want: they’re hoping to sink their hot pink talons into some unsuspecting athlete. They’re older, wiser, and more confident. They’re also wearing less clothes.
Tonight, Tessa has been prattling on about the baseball team’s catcher. She bumped into him earlier this week on campus and has been social media stalking him since. Discovered that if she timed it just right, he’d be walking out of the science building at the same time she’d be walking out of the international studies building.
Guess I can’t fault her; I’ve laid eyes on the guy a few times myself and don’t blame her for fawning over him. He’s dark, broody, and extremely good-looking, plus Latino to boot.
Muy caliente.
“Please trust me,” Tessa is saying. “I’m no nursing major, but I know this: if you wear that outfit to the party, you’re going to have a stroke, and there won’t be anyone there to revive you.”
“You don’t think there will be any pre-med students there?”
“Pfft, nooo—they’re probably studying right now.”
“Thank god—saving lives takes some learn-ed learning.”
She doesn’t get my joke.
“I’m serious, Scarlett. You’re literally going to die if you wear that. Plus…”
Her sentence trails off, blue eyes—the color of ocean breeze contact lenses—raking up and down my body for the second time. Cringing when they reach my scarf.
She hates my outfit but is too sweet to tell me.
“Do you not like my outfit?”
“It might be freezing outside, but it’s not going to be cold inside—the house is hot, and the guys are hotter.”
I wrap the scarf tighter, giving her arm a gentle pat. “We’re walking there and it’s freezing and I’ve been sick—I love you, Tess, but I’m not jeopardizing my health for one party.”
I forgot how caring her blue eyes could be, and I’m surprised to see her blink with all the mascara clumped on her lashes, mouth downturned. “What about your sniffles?”
“The worst of my cold is over.” I fake a cough. “Can we go? Otherwise I’m going to end up reading at home.”
“Don’t do that! You’ve turned into such a hermit since you got your own apartment.”
“Nerd alert!” I tease, pointing a finger at myself. “I just bought a new book, and I’ve been waiting for it to release for nine months—nine! That’s a damn eternity in romance novel years. You’re lucky I dragged myself off the couch,” I protest, head tilting toward their bathroom. “What is taking Cameron so long?”
“One of her hair extensions was loose. She had to add extra adhesive.”
“Ah.” I nod knowingly—as if that makes any sense.
Lucky for me, Cameron chooses that moment to come sashaying down the hallway as if she’s on a fashion runway, thumbing a long strand of platinum blonde hair, curls sprayed into submission. The rest of them lie in silky waves, and I briefly wonder how she’s going to walk the entire way on those four-inch heels.
Dark eyes, glossy lips, and black dress, Cam is ready to hit the Row.
Finally.
She halts when she sees me, pointing an accusatory finger at my boots. Practically hisses. “You are not wearing that outfit. It’s butt ugly.”
Tessa pipes up. “Save your breath—if we make her change she won’t come out with us, and I haven’t seen her in ages.”
“Aww, you are too sweet.” I wrap an arm around her slim waist, squeezing her in a side hug. “I kind of missed you two weirdos.”
***
Oh shit.
They were right—I’m sweltering and this entire outfit was a terrible idea.
Why didn’t they try harder to make me change into something new? I swear, Tessa is an abysmal friend.
I’m dying. I am going to have heat stroke.
It’s hot as Hades, the hundred bodies overcrowding the small space creating a blasted inferno, despite the freezing temperatures outdoors.
I pull off my jacket. Have no choice but to loosen the scarf clinging to my perspiring neck, a second skin, damp with my sweat.
Jerking at the end of it with my left hand, I pull it slack, lifting it over my head, relieving myself of one round mohair loop after another. Stuff the entire thing in my purse—which is more of a cumbersome tote—all the while holding a red cup in my right hand.
Drinking tonight wouldn’t be doing myself any favors with this cold still lingering, so it’s copious amounts of water disguised as alcohol instead.
And can I just say, finding a liquid in this house that isn’t beer was damn near impossible. I had to leave Tessa and Cam to their own devices to scavenge the kitchen, raiding the fridge.
There was a note taped to the door that said, Off limits, but it was old, and faded, and I was way too parched to care.
Inside, a treasure trove of water, juice, and power beverages, even some protein shakes.
Snagging two bottles of ice-cold water (one for now and one for later), I stuffed them into my tote, grateful I had a purse along and wondering why they don’t have water at the makeshift bar in their living room.
Is it stealing if the fridge was open?
I meander from room to room, searching for the two blondes I came here with, their pretty blonde heads having gone astray in the short amount of time it took for me to find two water bottles. I fidget, airing myself out by tugging at the neckline of my sweater, and take a few refreshing sips of my pilfered beverage.
Cold.
Delicious.
I fan myself idly, standing off to one side of the living room, doing my best not to faint dead away. A melodramatic statement, even for me, but if I manage not to pass out from overheating, it will be a damn miracle.
Three more sweeps of the room and I locate them near the front windows. My upper torso is so unbelievably itchy.
Stupid and scorching. I’m sweaty and irritable and oh my freaking god why am I freaking wearing this!
I slide a finger inside the furry collar to alleviate my crawling skin, lower my body temperature, giving it yet another tug. But, it’s no use—I’m boiling in this godforsaken potato sack.
I need the porch, porch, porch.
No one hears my loud sigh over the music; how could they? It’s turned up so loud the windows shake with the base, floor quaking with tiny vibrations.
Hating myself just a lil bit, I join the girls; they’re both having more fun and better luck tonight than I, cloistered in a huddle and chatting it up with two insanely attractive young men.
Tessa is batting her lash extensions at the blond one—he’s a tall, lanky guy, his winning feature a lazy smile he’s freely throwing her way. Perfect teeth.
Boyish, in a way, but I can see why she’s attracted to him, though my type is more rugged and rough around the edges. Someone large and strapping with a killer personality would win me over in a heartbeat.
“Hey guys—thought I lost you.” I raise my water and take a long, refreshing drag. “What did I miss?”
“Scar, this is Derek and Ben,” Tessa says, introducing us. “They’re both on the team. Guys, this is Scarlett.”
“I’m sorry, which team are we talking about?” I can’t help teasing, just can’t.
“The baseball team,” the dark-haired guy mutters, running his brown gaze up and down my outfit. He’s not entertained—not in the least—and stares at me like I’m an idiot.
Huh.
Can’t please everyone, I guess.
“We were just about to take a selfie,” Cameron adds. “Scar, will you take it for us?” She unceremoniously thrusts her phone at me, fluffing her beautiful, wavy hair.
I fiddle with the flash, flipping the camera toward me and sticking out my tongue before clicking away. Take a few selfies before righting the camera and getting down to the business at hand.
“Would you quit screwing around?” Tessa prompts through clenched teeth, lips curved into a seductive smile. “I can’t keep my face like this much longer.”
“You can delete those.” I thumb through the pictures before turning the camera back on my friends. “Well not this one—I look adorable. Can you text it to me?”
I giggle.
“Everyone say ‘Balls!’” I take another six photos before slapping the cell into Cameron’s waiting palm. She immediately starts shuffling through them, dissecting herself in every one, huge smile plastered on her pretty face.
“So, it turns out you were right about the sweater.” I give Tessa a bump with my hip. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready to get going.”
Everyone stares.
“I’m hot and itchy, but thank god it’s not a rash, ha ha.” I’m the only one who laughs.
Ben, the guy wearing a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and a baseball cap I want to knock off his head, points a finger in my direction. “Are you for real?”
“You have no idea how hot this shirt is, buddy.” I pull a long face, emphasizing my plight. Hold up my hands in mock defeat. “We’ve been here a few hours, and I wouldn’t hate it if we left. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
“How bad are you feeling really?” She reaches to feel my forehead. “You do feel warm, but it could just be the temperature in here.”
“Guys, we came together and we should leave together.”
“Tessa here can’t leave until she helps me with my little problem,” Ben says, eyes dropping down into her cleavage.
“Little problem?” My eyes drop unceremoniously down to the crotch of his jeans.
“My phone.” He holds his jet black cell in front of him like an offering. Tessa’s blue eyes land on the illuminated screen, her teeth raking across her bottom lip playfully. “There’s a problem with it.”
“What’s wrong?” she asks, tilting her head.
“I keep searching and searching but can’t find the number I’m looking for.” His big hand palms the device, thumb stroking up and down the screen, and I think he’s trying to be sexy? Or something?
“What number?” Tessa coos.
“You know—the number I’m missing.”
“Did it disappear?”
“No, baby, I’m trying to put it in here.” His thumb slides up and down the flat surface, stroking idly.
“But is it—”
Oh my god, I can’t take it anymore.
“I get it. I get it.” I step forward to finish the tease he’s trying his damnedest to deliver, dragging out the pick-up line in a painfully slow fashion. “There’s a problem with his phone, Tess, because your number isn’t in it.”
“Huh?” Tessa wrinkles her brow, confused, while the guy stares me down, mouth set into a hard line.
I pull a face like a grade-school student who’s just blurted out the answer in class without raising their hand, my cheeks getting hotter.
Clearing my throat, I’m too embarrassed to glace up at Ben.
“Tessa, it’s…you know—a pick-up line? It goes like this.” I lower my voice, doing my best impression of a man. “There’s something wrong with my phone—because your name isn’t in it.” My head wobbles back and forth as I deliver the moronic sentence. “Get it? I read it online, probably Buzzfeed? There was this whole long list of the world’s shittiest pick-up lines, and that one topped it.”
When I do happen a glance up, it’s into a set of scowling eyes.
“Don’t get mad.” I awkwardly laugh, pulling at my neckline. “Get better lines. Those are awful.” My flirtatious giggle goes unappreciated. “Oh come on, I’m trying to help you! That was a pro tip.”
The guy opens his mouth. “Do you not realize you’re a fucking buzzkill? What the hell are you wearing?”
His tone is no longer friendly, no longer flirty. He’s no longer interested in being a team player; I’ve unintentionally pissed him off by stealing his thunder.
Tessa, bless her kind heart, breaks through the tension with a lighthearted laugh, giving Benny boy a few flirtatious pats on the cheek. Diverts his attention.
“You want my number?” She sounds positively giddy. “Why didn’t you just say so, silly?” She plucks the phone out of his hands, tapping her digits into the contacts as he shoots another distrustful glance in my direction.
Looks down his nose at me.
I clutch my cup tighter; it wasn’t my intention to offend or piss anyone off. All I want to do is have a good time and laugh a little after being sick for so long—is that a crime?
He’s certainly staring at me like it is.
“You know what you could do, Stacey?” Derek intentionally butchers my name; I can see in his steely gaze that he’s trying to belittle me, the dickhead. “Run along and get yourself another beer.” He’s on his tiptoes, pretending to stare down into my red cup. “Looks like yours is half empty.”
Ben nods, drinking from his cup. “We’d hate for our guests to be thirsty, especially the ones who need booze the most.”
“You’re not trying to get rid of me, are you?” My laugh is nervous.
“Us?” He manages to look affronted. “No, babe, I live here. It’s my job to make sure everyone is having a good time, and you definitely don’t seem like a good time. Ha. Ha.”
I catch his dig. Try not to let it sting.
“I’m good, but thank you for the offer.” I swirl the contents of my cup, peering into it with one eye closed. “Besides, this isn’t beer. It’s water with a little lemon and it’s still pretty cold.”
“Water?”
I scrunch up my nose. “Yeah, I’m not really much of a drinker, and I’ve been sick, so is it really a smart idea to get drunk?” My chin goes up a notch. “I don’t think so.”
Derek’s face contorts. “Where’d you find water around here?”
“Uh, the kitchen?”
“Where in the kitchen?”
Is this a trick question? “Uh…the fridge?”
His eyes narrow. “We keep the fridge locked during parties.”
My brows rise into my hairline. “You do?”
“Yeah. So no one takes shit.” Like you just did. “Did you miss the big sign that says OFF LIMITS?”
My cheeks are on fire. No way is he accusing me of stealing from the house; it’s just a bottle of water, from a fridge that was open. Sure, it had a lock on it, and sure, there might have been a sign, but the fridge was open nonetheless.
Crap.
“I’m sorry,” I say sincerely. “I didn’t realize it was supposed to be locked. It opened right up.” All I had to do was fiddle with the handle a few seconds, and presto—all the drinks for me!
He glances down his nose at me for the second time tonight, silently judging me. “Maybe instead of sucking down that stolen water, you should have a beer—or five, since—”
“You seem so uptight,” Ben finishes.
“Thanks, I’m good,” I insist, pulling at my sweater, peeling it away from my scorching skin, needing room to breathe. The room seems to be getting hotter by the second—or it it just me? Normally, guys like this wouldn’t bother me—I can handle a little unease like a champ—but coupled with how warm I am, and the heat these guys are throwing off…
I’ll admit to being more than a little uncomfortable, and not just from the sweater.
Cameron pipes up then, unwittingly rescuing me, resting her hand on his meaty bicep, displayed beneath a black, short sleeve shirt. Changes the topic. “Before when you were getting water, Derek was telling us before how the baseball team won the College World Series last year. That’s the World Series of Baseball, but for college.”
My brows go up, holding back a look of disbelief. “Yes, I know what the CWS is, Cameron, and Iowa didn’t win it.”
“Yes they did!” She laughs. “Derek threw the winning pitch—he’s seriously amazing. Scarlett, you should hear the story.” She has her entire arm wrapped around his, giving him an encouraging squeeze. “Tell her the story Derek.”
I look at Ben. Glance at Derek. Back at these two naïve girls, and shake my head, dismayed. Literally can no longer handle their amount of bullshit.
“You realize these two are…teasing you, right?” The red cup hits my lips and I take a swig, readjusting the jacket and scarf I’ve been holding in my other hand. “USC won the College World Series last year—they win it almost every year.” The water tastes warm now, tepid at best, as it flows down my throat.
“How the hell would you know that, Miss Know-It-All?” Ben, challenges me.
Miss Know-It-All? Wow. I don’t think anyone has ever called me that a day in my life.
“My dad. He’s not a huge fan of major league baseball, but he loves watching college ball—loves it.” I tap my chin with a forefinger. “I remember last summer, he had the damn finals on for an entire week, on every TV in the house. We all had to watch that dumb game—no offense. The College World series is in June, right? I think I’m remembering that right…”
When my sentence trails off, Derek jerks his head in a terse nod at Ben, crossing his arms and spreading his legs in a defensive pose.
Raises his brows. Nods toward the kitchen.
“Anyway,” I chatter in an attempt to redeem myself, filling the silence with my babble. “I just remember being home and my dad watching that game. The highlights would be on when I left for work, and the game would be on when I got home from work. USC won that tournament, I’m sure of it.”
Both Cam and Tessa are having a hard time following the conversation. “Why would you say you won?”
I blow out a puff of air, gently tugging the sweater from my skin and giving it a few shakes to let the cooler air get in. “They lied because they’re trying to impress you, Tessa—kind of ridiculous if you ask me. I mean, honestly, you guys are really good-looking, you shouldn’t have to make shit up.” I push out a laugh—it comes out sounding strangled. “Weak. So. Weak.”
I push out another one, hoping to smooth things over, hoping they’ll be amused by the teasing tone of my voice and take pity on me.
“You’re not going to stand here with us all night, are you?” one of the guys asks.
“What else would I do?”
“I can call one of the rookies to take you home so you don’t have to keep standing here.” Ben drapes his arm around Tessa’s shoulders. “Besides, I want to get to know your friend better, and you’re making it impossible.” He tilts her chin up with his thumb, staring down into her eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to get to know me better, babe?”
Tessa nods, dumbly. Damn her!
I swallow the lump in my throat.
“We’ll take real good care of your friends.” He tries to back away with her, but I stop him. “You can walk away knowing they’re in good hands, babe.”
Not so fast, you bull hunk.
“I have no doubt about that.” I grip his forearm as he grins wolfishly down at Tessa and holy shit is it solid. Built like a tank, his forearm is a firm mass of muscle. I give my head a shake. “Are you sure it’s wise to go off with them? I mean…they’re strangers.”
“Strangers? What are you, fucking five?” He glares down at me. “What’s in that water that’s making you so goddamn bitchy?”
Tessa and Cameron volley back and forth between us, eyes wide as saucers. A little horrified, a little tipsy, a lot excited, and gorgeously clueless. I can hardly believe these two Neanderthals are turning my friends on! But they are—I can tell by the looks on both their enthralled faces.
Shit.
My friendship is no match for an athletic pedigree, great body, and handsome face.
So, I stand my ground, having nothing to lose; these girls are not leaving with me when I go.
“You did not just call me bitchy.” No one has ever called me that—not once—and if I wasn’t so pissed off, I might be embarrassed. All I’m trying to do is enjoy my night out, but these assholes are making it impossible. All because in some sick way, they see me as ruining their chances.
“Don’t call her bitchy, Ben, it’s mean!” Tessa scolds, narrowing her eyes and smacking at his arm. Her palms rests there, fingers doing a thorough pat-down of his skin. “You should apologize.”
He rolls his neck, getting the kinks out, his big, brown eyes rolling toward the ceiling. “If it’s not the sobriety making her act this way, it must be that butt ugly sweater.”
I glance down at my beige mohair garment, affronted. “I was cold, and I-I was sick!”
“Aren’t you fucking hot? Is that what’s making you run your mouth?”
“Yeah,” I admit begrudgingly, shoulders slouching. “Maybe.”
“You should go outside then and get some fresh air.”
Fresh air does sound better than standing in front of these idiots, putting up with their insults.
Ben casually arches a brow and the guys exchange another glance—so damn shady. I watch as he casually eases out of the conversation and disappears into the crowd, causing Cameron’s bottom lip to jut out in a pout. Arms cross. Boobs rise above the low neckline of her shirt.
“What did you say your name was?” Derek asks me.
My arms cross defensively. “Stacy.”
His face is a blank canvas, impassive, stony, and directed at me. “Are you going to tell me your name again or not, because if you don’t I’ll just give you a nickname—I have a pretty good one already, right up here.”
He taps his skull.
I make a hmph sound they probably can’t hear over the noise. “Scarlett.”
His mouth curves. “Sober Scarlett.”
“Oh so you think you’re clever now cause you can alliterate?” I hold up my red plastic cup, not bothering to hold back the biting comment on my tongue. “Got any other set of skills?”
I wish I didn’t sound so defensive, but these guys are bringing out the worst in me.
“You wouldn’t know what to do with my other set of skills.” He chuckles, pleased with his innuendo, thinks he’s being clever. Tessa must agree because the cheesy line throws her into a giggle fit.
Gross, Tessa. Just…no.
Get better taste in men!
Honestly, what is it with these guys?
Bunch of douchey jockholes congregating in one small space. The room lacks oxygen—that must be why they’re acting like assholes.
I smirk at my own joke but am still unable to figure out why Tessa and Cam find these idiots so damn charming, especially with how rude they are. Crude and unoriginal, Ben and Derek have one modicum of sense between them. I can tell by the cold glint in Derek’s eye that he’s a colossal asshole and is reining it in for my friend’s benefit.
Never have I ever met a bigger pair of douchebags.
I sigh into my water cup. What a shame. God wasted all that talent and those incredible bodies on these two creeps.
Amazing bodies, average personalities.
What dicks.
Derek’s face goes from a scowl to a megawatt smile when his buddy Ben reappears. “Heads up, Cock Blocker, the cavalry has arrived.”
Cavalry? Cock Blocker?
I glance around—is he talking to me?
He must be drunk.
From behind, I feel a large hand gently gripping my shoulder, the sizzling weight of a heavy palm and splayed fingers reheating my upper torso. Surprised that someone is touching me from behind, my head swerves, gaze settling on a large, tan hand with square-tipped fingers covering my shoulder.
Short nails. Rough pads.
Manly.
My eyes trail up, following the arm attached to that hand. Travel upward, over a muscular, bare forearm. Lift their way to a set of wide shoulders. Meet an unsettling pair of curious green eyes, a strong, straight nose.
Full, downturned mouth.
Five o’clock shadow.
The human attached to the massive paw is just as handsome as the others, not in a beautiful way, like some athletes tend to be, but good-looking just the same. Add in the the fact that he’s the only other human here not wearing a ridiculous Halloween costume?
Major points.
Imposing and intense, his gaze beams down as his fingers give my shoulder a light squeeze, refocusing my attention on his face.
His eyes are a diluted green, crinkled at the corners with laugh lines, like he smiles easily when he’s not glowering at people.
Pillow-soft lips set in an unreadable, unhappy line, he’s irritated, but not in the same way his friends are. I can tell immediately that he’s friendlier, but right now he definitely means business.
Holy crap is he intense.
Broody, I wonder what his problem is and why he’s got my shoulder in a vice. What is it with these damn baseball guys? Why are they so grumpy? Did someone piss on their third place trophies?
My eyes widen when he dips his torso to get closer, warm breath brushing the outer shell of my ear. Leans down, broad chest grazing my back as that exquisite, pouty mouth speaks slowly into my cerebellum. Reverberates down my spine.
“Can you follow me for a quick second? I gotta talk to you.”
I shiver.
Inhale—of course I do—because he’s wearing cologne and it smells good and I can’t stop myself.
It’s what I do.
“Where do you want to talk?” My eyes stray to the front door, to the staircase leading to the second floor. To the kitchen, where I filched the water inside my cup and the bottle inside my bag. To the screened porch out back.
Cameron watches the exchange with rapid interest, eyes wide as mine, mouth twitching. She’s practically drooling, licking her lips.
“Over by the front door? This won’t take more than a few seconds. It’s too loud near the speakers to say what I have to say.”
What the hell could he possibly want?
And why is he so damn handsome?
I stare at the pronounced bow curving the top of his lip.
God, his voice. It’s deep and clear. Even with the pumping bass in the background, I can hear every syllable, the timbre sending an extra shiver of exhilaration down my spine.
“Just so you know, I’m fluent in karate.”
“Fluent in karate,” he deadpans, knowing I’m totally full of shit. “You don’t say?”
I slice through the air with my hands for good measure. “Yes, so make this quick.”
Warning bells go off inside my head, niggling at me, yet I trail along, curiosity and attraction getting the best of me. What could this guy possibly want?
God, what kind of idiot is persuaded so easily by a handsome face and sexy voice? Me—that’s what kind of idiot!
Me. I am.
I want to see what this cute guy wants and what’s going to come out of that pretty, perfect mouth of his. What’s the harm in following him to the corner of the room?
I mean—it’s the corner of the room. We’re not going outside, and he’s not taking me to one of the bedrooms. He can’t try anything in a room full of people. Plus, I took self-defense last semester, so I know where to knee a man to knock his ass down: right in the balls.
Grinning, I glance over my shoulder at Derek, at Ben.
Roll my eyes at them both. “I’ll hear you out, but no funny business or I’ll scream.”
“Funny business?” His tone is bored.
“Yeah—you know, assault.”
“Jesus, I’m not going to assault you. Could you lower your voice?” He glances around us to make sure no one heard, gauging the distance between the crowd and us. “Stay close, yeah?”
Yeah, yeah, whatever.
I nod, giving Tessa and Cam one last sidelong glance before prancing off after this stranger. They nod enthusiastically, encouraging me. Ogling him. Giggling.
The guy I’m following is big.
Bigger than the others, his presence parting the crowd like Moses at the Red Sea as we wade through, students evaporating so he can get by.
Who the hell is this guy?
I follow, gaze trained on his broad back. His muscles are unmistakably defined beneath his t-shirt, straining with every step he takes, every fluid movement, the cords of his neck visibly tense.
He has rich brown hair, lightened by the sun at the top, the back recently trimmed, lines precise. Short on the sides, slightly longer at the top, it’s a mop top I could easily imagine a girl running her fingers through.
He glances back at me again when he reaches the front door, yanks the handle, pushes the screen open to the porch.
I come up short. “You said this would only take a few seconds—why are we going outside?”
“It’s loud in here.” He yells to illustrate his point, pointing to his mouth like I can read lips.
I hesitate.
Poise my foot on the threshold, toe of my boot on the step before striding all the way out, cool air hitting me like a welcome force.
I breathe it in then out with a sigh of relief. God it feels so good.
“So…we’re outside.” I take the jacket out of my tote and slide both arms into it, zipping the front with a satisfying whirr. “And doesn’t this feel amazing? I was dying in there.”
He studies me under the porch lights, silently crossing his arms, a beer clutched in one huge hand.
No jacket, short sleeves, and a scowl.
I raise one brow, waiting.
He continues staring me down, wordlessly.
This guy is tall—good and tall—legs spread slightly, bulky arms crossed defensively. What I imagine a powerful baseball player stance to be, except without the uniform or glove.
I can’t take it anymore.
“What’s up? Did you see me across the room and decided I was irresistible? You just had to talk to me?” Haha. “Don’t tell me—you can’t resist a fuzzy brown sweater?” I try for brave and nonchalant, but my nerves betray me and my voice quivers.
His nose dips down, those brawny arms uncrossing, the cords in his forearms stretching. Claps his hands together like two giant cymbals, the noise echoing in the quiet yard.
“So, I’m just going to throw it down, all right? It’s nothing personal.”
Nothing good comes from sentences that begin with, ‘It’s nothing personal’, which is just a generic form of ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’
“It’s like this,” he continues. “The guys decided that for the rest of the night, you’re not allowed back in the house.”
“I’m sorry, what?” My voice raises a few octaves above my normal tone. “Why?”
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.”
“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.
“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.