Jock Rule Read Online Sara Ney (Jock Hard #2)

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, College, Funny, New Adult, Romance, Sports, Young Adult Tags Authors: Series: Jock Hard Series by Sara Ney
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Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 66865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
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“I cut my hair and shaved.” He’s not impressed with my argument, tone flat. “I didn’t dye my beard pink and get a tattoo, for fuc—” Kip takes a deep breath, hands digging deep into the pockets of his jacket. “Do you not want me to go with you, Teddy?”

I suddenly feel like the biggest bitch on the face of the planet, making him feel like total shit because of the way he looks. He looks nice—that’s my issue? That he looks too handsome? That he’s too good-looking?

Apparently, I need therapy, not a boyfriend.

Jesus, Teddy, get a grip.

“I know I’m being unreasonable, and I’m…sorry.” I steady my breath. “I’m sorry.”

His arms go around my waist, pulling me in. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just go and have a good time tonight, yeah?” Kip smells divine, his smooth jawline skimming mine, nuzzling my cheek, rubbing up and down. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” his hypnotic voice murmurs.

God, it does. It feels orgasmic.

I go to my tiptoes, eyes fluttering closed as aftershave, freshly shaved skin, and his warm breath assail me all at once.

But I feel like I’m hugging a stranger.

And I wonder if I’ll get over it before I ruin everything.

***

KIP

Teddy has been acting weird all fucking night, and it’s starting to piss me off.

I’ve never had this problem with a girl before, never had one keep me at arm’s length because of the way I look.

How fucked up is that?

If I was butt ugly, it would be one thing. But I’m not.

Girls have been chasing me around, trying to trap me into relationships since adolescence, and the one girl I finally decide to let catch me?

Treats me like a fucking pariah.

I thought she’d be happy, for fuck’s sake, not act like I betrayed her by being attractive.

Agitated, my leg bounces under the table, the high-end denim suffocating me, stiff because I haven’t worn it in yet. My shoes pinch, and the collar around my neck chokes.

I did this for her, and she’s acting like I committed a crime.

It’s just. A fucking. Haircut.

Come on—am I that unrecognizable without the beard?

It did occur to me when I watched the stubble rinse down the drain that I look incredibly different, but it didn’t occur to me that Teddy wouldn’t like it.

It didn’t occur to me that she liked me just fine the way I was.

Preferred it, apparently.

Kind of fucked up, if you ask me, considering I looked like a goddamn mountain man—on a good day. Or Paul Bunyan or Grizzly Adams or whoever it was she likes to call me.

She’s said so herself dozens of times.

I wouldn’t say she’s ignoring me now, not exactly—but she’s not looking directly at me, either.

And I’m not sure what to fucking do with myself.

So.

While she’s talking to the girl next to her—some girl named Jenna who squealed and clapped like a damn lunatic when she won a trip to Florida as the raffle prize—I whip out my cell phone and message the one person who can help me sort this shit out.

Me: SOS

Ronnie: What did you do this time?

Me: Teddy isn’t a fan of the shaved look. What the hell do I do now?

Ronnie: WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE ISN’T A FAN? Is she BLIND?? Does she not SEE you?

Me: Okay, first of all, stop shouting. Secondly, no. Pretty sure she liked it before when I looked homeless.

Ronnie: Well she’s just going to have to get over it, isn’t she?

Me: But WHAT DO I DO?

Ronnie: I don’t know KIPLING—you can’t go to the bathroom and grow it all back, you idiot.

Me: You’re the one who TOLD ME TO SHAVE and now my girlfriend won’t even look at me.

Ronnie: Do not blame this on me you little shithead. You shouldn’t have listened.

Ronnie: Wait. Back up. She’s your GIRLfriend now? Since when? You’ve been dating for like, five minutes.

Me: I don’t have time to argue with you about semantics, VeRONica.

My fingers brutally attack the screen of my phone, pounding out word after furious word in reply. Why is Ronnie like this? Why can’t she just tell me what to freaking do?

“Who ya texting?” Teddy’s sweet voice interrupts, eyes wide. I can tell she’s trying to be civil and excited. “You look so angry.”

That’s one way of putting it. “My sister. She’s the one who told me to shave my face and cut my hair, so I’m chewing her ass out.”

“Kip…” She looks so full of regret. And sad.

And I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why.

Up front, professors and department heads are taking seats in the chairs lining the stage. A technician plugs in and taps on the microphone, testing it for sound. Taps once, twice, the echo filling the cavernous room.

“Looks like they’re ready to get started. We can talk about this later.”

I face the front, presenting her with my profile.


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