Jock Road (Jock Hard) - Sara Ney Page 0,54

I love?” Her palms rest on my shoulders, slowly, leisurely roaming down my biceps. “How tall you are. How strong.”

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“And I love your hair.”

My hair? It needs to be cut. Stash could probably use a trim before I start to resemble my friend Sasquatch, who looks like fucking Bigfoot, hairy and unkempt. It’s a damn wonder he has a girlfriend.

“I need a trim,” I tell her dumbly as her fingers continue their exploration of my arms, her head giving a tiny shake.

“Mmm, no. It’s perfect.”

She’s perfect.

I hold my breath when her hands leave my body and wind up behind my neck, fingers toying with the hair at the nape.

“At least you can see with your helmet on, hmm?”

It’s the first reference to football Charlotte has ever made; not surprising since she doesn’t seem to give a shit that I’m an athlete. Hasn’t once pestered me about the draft, going pro, or how much I’m going to make if I get signed.

“I can see with my helmet on. It’s not that long.” Not yet. Sometimes I don’t get it cut until Coach makes me pull it back into a bun, which makes wearing headgear a bitch. Nothing hurts worse than getting clocked on the skull when there’s a fucking bun digging into your scalp.

Good times, good times.

“You know,” Charlie begins. “It wasn’t necessary to make a bet with me so you could kiss me.”

“I’m not kissin’ you.”

“You know what I mean, Jackson.”

Yeah, I know what she means. She would have let me kiss her if I’d have made a move on her—which I kind of did back at my house, in the kitchen, albeit passive-aggressively and by default, since my goal was to comfort her, not make out with her.

“But isn’t this more fun?”

“Maybe.” Her pink lips pucker. “I haven’t made my move yet. I’m playing it cool.”

Not cool enough. Her eyes are shining, a tell-tale sign that she’s turned on, body alert. God she feels good pressed against me. We’re not doing anything besides standing here, but damn if it isn’t amazing.

I wait her out, letting her move at her own pace, for several reasons.

Because I have no idea how to make a move of my own. Mother Nature hasn’t taken over yet, although she could step in any fucking day now to help me along.

Charlie is technically the one who should be doing all the work, since that’s what the bet was about. Sort of.

Kind of.

I haven’t felt this kind of tension since my freshman year, when the football coaching staff made cuts and, even though I had a scholarship to play, I worried my position on the team was in jeopardy.

Naïve fool.

Still am.

Still ignorant about sex and relationships, like a kid trapped in a man’s body.

I might be large, but inside, I’m nothing but a virgin who has no idea what he wants or what he’s doing.

Scratch that: I know what I want—Charlie’s mouth on my lips, her body pressing against mine. And if she doesn’t hurry up and kiss me, I’ll lose my damn mind.

Charlotte Edmonds is everything sweet and soft and sexy, and I have my arms wrapped around her waist, the sound of her breath and the heat from her body throwing mine into turmoil.

Raging. Hormones.

Neglected libido, if you don’t count my jerking off—which I don’t. Masturbation doesn’t count; I have heard it’s a shitty substitute to actually boning someone and can’t imagine it comes close. I’ve never sunk myself into a warm pussy, but common sense tells me there’s no way my right hand feels remotely the same, even covered in lube.

“I haven’t been kissed in a really long time,” she finally says, eyes trained on my mouth. “Not a real kiss.”

“Same.”

“Have you ever heard that saying, ‘I haven’t had sex in so long I forgot how to moan—what if I fuck it up and start barking?’ I feel like that’s me right now, except we’re not having sex. Obviously.”

“I haven’t heard that sayin’.” A laugh escapes my throat. The quote is hilarious and embarrassingly accurate where I’m concerned. “Where’s it from?”

“The internet—Instagram. I didn’t make it up, but it applies to so many things.” Her giggle is nervous as she fidgets, my arms still around her. Charlie has made no move to pull away—a good sign since I want her to fucking kiss me. “I like your lips.”

She likes my lips. My hair. The cleft in my chin. The slope of my broad shoulders where her hands