Scarlett
A tap hits my shoulder and I turn.
Turn to face one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen in person, in my life; tall, tan, and ridiculously good-looking.
His full pouty lips—better suited for a male model—are moving, his words competing with the loud music and laughter.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I shout over the music.
He leans down, broad shoulders dipping and brushing mine as his exquisite mouth speaks slowly near my ear. “I said, sorry little cock-blocker, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
His deep baritone sends a shiver down my spine and,
Wait. What? “What did you just call me?”
“I called you cock. Blocker.” Without warning, he plucks the red plastic cup from my hand and tosses it to the floor, large hand wrapping to cuff my bicep, fingers wedged beneath my armpit.
I look down at his hand, shocked.
I look up, outraged. “Hey! What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you do that?”
“You’re going to have to leave. I’m kicking your ass out.”
Kicking me out? Is he serious?
I laugh, head tipped back. “Very funny asshole. Now let go of my arm, people are starting to stare.”
“Sorry ma’am, but you’ve disturbing the peace. I’ve been sent to escort you from the premises.”
Is this guy for real? My head tips back into a laugh. A nervous, giddy laugh usually reserved for moments when I don’t know how to react. Like when I’m called on in a crowded lecture hall.
Like at funerals.
Moments like this one.
“What are you, an undercover cop?”
His mouth curves into a wry smile. “No—I drew the short straw.”
The short straw? What the heck does that mean?
I hear him sigh. “It means I’m the unlucky bastard who has the privilege of kicking you out.”
Holy shit. He’s serious.
My eyes go down to his hand, still shackling my arm. I pull. “Let go of me you brute.”
I’m strong, but he’s stronger. “Sorry. The deal is, I have to get you outside.”
I don’t normally curse, but, “Fuck you!” Give my arm a yank, trying to get out of his grasp. Slowly begin to panic. “Get off me!”
“Christ, could you keep your voice down? Calm down, we can discuss this outside.”
“I’m not going outside with you alone!”
“Trust me, I’m not going to try anything.” He ushers me through the stifling crowd, toward the door, despite my protests. “I’ll keep my hands to myself and there will be plenty of witnesses. Promise.”
Two minutes later, I find myself on the covered porch, door slamming closed behind us with a bang, this big, bronze, hulk of a guy blocking my re-entry.
He changes his stance, spreads his legs and crosses his arms, my traitorous eyes fall on the sinewy muscles. Tan, toned and, “Look, I’m sure you’re a really nice girl, but you can’t keep coming into our house and getting in everyone’s business.”
The way he says nice girl makes it sound anything but.
“It’s not my fault those guys inside are drunken slobs and won’t keep their hands off my friends. I’m not letting them sleep with any of them—gross. I don’t care if they’re baseball players. I’m the sober driver—it’s my job to make sure everyone gets home okay.”
He shrugs. “Not my problem.”
“Well can I at least go back inside and tell my friends I’ve been kicked out?”
“Nope. I’m under strict orders not to let you back in.”
“Whose strict orders?”
“Mine.” He smirks and god is he cute. So cute I have to glance into the yard to stop myself from staring directly at his white smile, chiseled jaw and sparkling eyes.
“Please?” Jeez, now it sounds like I’m begging.
“Hell no.”
My arms cross definitely. “I’m not leaving this porch until you let me back in.”
“That’s fine; have a seat on the stairs.” He leans against the wooden siding on the house, next to the door. Removes his cell from the back pocket of his jeans, its screen illuminates his stupidly handsome face. “Be my guest.”
I eyeball him. “You’re really not going to let me back in?”
“Nope.”
“What if I promise to leave your friends alone?” I cross my fingers behind my back, putting on my most complacent smile. See? I can be agreeable!
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.”
“I’m not begging. I’m asking.”
His eyes leave the screen of his phone, raking me up and down with a dismissive brow. “It’s begging—I know what the difference is and it’s annoying.”
The skin on my neck feels hot, the telltale signs of a blush brightening my face with desperation. “If you don’t let me back inside, I’m…I’m calling the cops!”
“Again, be my guest.” He takes a loud, slurping sip of his beer. “Tell them Rowdy sent you.”
I stomp my foot, frustrated. “Ugh! Why do you have to be so stubborn?”
“Because you’re a nag?” He mumbles the word Jesus under his breath, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to lecture him on using the Lords name in vain, but I bit the words back instead. For once.
“I-I…I’m sorry. I just…” feel helpless out here on the porch.
His eyes narrow as he studies me. “Bet you were one of those girls in high school that used to raise your hand during class to ask for extra credit.”
My, “So?” slips out before I can stop it. What’s wrong with raising your hand and asking for extra credit?
“So. No one liked those girls.”
I flush again, loosing count of how many times I’ve turned bright red in the amount of time we’re been standing here.
Fake a scoff. “And you were one of those dumb jocks that barely passed their classes and cheated off girls like me.”
He spreads his arms, wing-span wide. “Yet here I am with a full ride to college. Imagine those odds.”
JOCK ROW
Releasing Early 2018