“I did not do that on p-purpose!” I’m sputtering. Actually sputtering.

The giant takes another long pull from his cup. Swallows, his Adam’s apple somewhere in his throat concealed by all the hair. He’s in desperate need of a shave but clearly does not give a shit.

“Whatever you say, jersey chaser.” His drawl is nonchalant, and it’s obvious he doesn’t believe me.

“I don’t!” Wait, that didn’t make sense. “I’m not!”

Those wide, lumberjack shoulders shrug. “Whatever you say.”

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Agreeing with me in a patronizing manner.” God do I sound like a prig.

One of his dark brows rises. “A patronizing manner? What the fuck is that? It sounds exactly like something my mom would say.”

Could this conversation get any worse?

“Look, man.” The word comes out of my mouth before I can stop it, further adding to my stuffy demeanor, but honestly, I have no idea what to say. “Thanks for the advice, but I don’t think I need it.” Especially not from someone who looks like he just emerged from the wilderness after being lost for a month.

“Just trying to help.”

“I don’t need help.”

His shoulders hunch as he laughs, and they shake a little with the action. “Sure you don’t.”

Pretty sure I’m gaping, mouth wide open. “I don’t! And I wasn’t trying to flirt with anyone so—whatever!”

“Then you were doing a great job.” His mustache twitches. “Until your friends showed up.”

Okay. Now he has my full attention, and I jut out a hip. “What about my friends?”

“They’re cock-blockers.”

Huh? “No they’re not.”

“So you weren’t flirting with Smith Jackson, and tonight you weren’t flirting with Ben Thompson, and your dark-haired friend didn’t come up and steal them both away?”

Wait…what? How does he know all this? “Smith Jackson who?”

I have no idea which guy he’s talking about, but they’ve all been nice. And so what if they’ve all walked off with Mariah? I wasn’t interested in them anyway.

“Were you watching me last week too?”

He shrugs. “Yes.”

His honestly confuses me. Most guys would lie or make up a lame excuse. “Why?”

“I had nothing better to do.”

Well then. “And you don’t think that’s strange?”

“Nope—not when you’re bored.” The guy snorts through the hair growing under his Grecian nose. “It’s not like I’m interested in you.”

Wow. “Gee, thanks.”

“No offense.” He looks like he couldn’t care less if he’s insulted me.

“None taken?”

He laughs again. “You sure about that? Now you look kind of pissed.”

Not pissed—but slightly offended. And embarrassed. And confused.

“Listen, I’m not trying to be a dick, okay? But you can’t come into a house like this and act like a deer caught in headlights. That just makes you an easy target. And if you’re interested in someone, you can’t stand there when one of your idiot friends hits on him and do nothing about it.” His voice is a baritone and drones on, doling out more unsolicited advice. “You can’t let your friends walk all over you.”

What the hell is he talking about? “I don’t!”

A pair of chocolate brown eyes settle toward the ceiling. “You’re in total denial. Your dark-haired friend is a total asshole—the female equivalent of a douchebag.”

Is he talking about Mariah? “Okay, this conversation is over.”

“Whatever. Suit yourself.”

“I’m walking away now.” My feet stay rooted to the spot.

The guy smirks…I think—it’s hard to tell with all the hair covering his mouth, but a set of straight, pearly white teeth flash, causing me to blink upward.

And now I’m staring again.

“Go. Don’t let me stop you.” I swear, he keeps taking sips of his beer for dramatic flare, flawlessly timed pauses. “Have fun.”

Annoying.

“I will.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“I will.” Why am I arguing with this guy? Jeez, Teddy, stop repeating yourself or he’ll think you’re a moron. Not true, I continue protesting to myself, because he already does. Thinks he’s so damn smart, watching everyone from the corner like a creeper. Judging.

Mariah is not a cock-blocker! She would never…

Besides, I scoff, it’s not like I wanted any of those guys to hit on me—we were just talking. I was standing at the keg, and they came up for beer, not to hit on me. And I certainly would never hit on a guy—not on purpose, anyway.

If Mariah, Cameron, and Tessa happened to come up at that exact same time and join the chat, and Mariah just happened to have better chemistry with someone, that has nothing at all to do with me.

She would never purposely…

I feel my brow tighten and furrow, glancing at my feet, at the open-toed, brown leather wedges buckled around my ankles. Cute. Pretty.

Sunk into the worn, stained carpet that’s been beat to hell from all the abuse, still standing in the spot I just declared I was walking away from.

My gaze wanders, settling on those stupid work boots.

Who wears that kind of footwear these days? Seriously? Lumberjacks, construction workers, and bad male rappers, that’s who, not twenty-something-year-old college guys at a house party. What is he even doing?

My lips purse with annoyance.

My eyes slide up his denim-clad legs, quickly passing over the slight bulge of his crotch—he doesn’t have a hard-on, but since I know he has a dick in his pants, naturally I want to look. Narrow waist. Belt. T-shirt half tucked at his hips.

Broad chest.

“Hey, look at you, leaving and shit. Good job following through.” With one hand clasped around his red cup, he smacks it with the other in a mock clap, holding it forward so it doesn’t spill.

My god, could he embarrass me any more?

“Your friends went that way.” He points, the mammoth paw at the end of his hairy arm raised and directed toward the back of the house.

“Thanks.”

“No prob—I’m here to help.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Helping?”

“I do what I can.”

I cross my arms over my breasts, mindful that my cleavage is now plumped and uncomfortably on display. I immediately uncross them—from his bird’s-eye view, no doubt he can see right down the valley between my boobs. “I didn’t ask for you to give me advice or stalk my friends or cast judgment on me.”

“Then you shouldn’t make it so damn easy.” He has the nerve to laugh, tipping back his beard-covered neck. The stubble is thick and dark blond, and I want to pull on it to get him to stop talking.

A few deeps breaths and I’ve sorted my insides out, quelling the unease that has been growing in the pit of my stomach. I smooth a hand over my abs, down the pleats in my pretty yellow sundress—a nervous habit I’ve caught myself doing on more than one occasion.

Expel a long, drawn-out breath he won’t be able to hear above the noise.

“It was nice meeting you.”

Only it wasn’t, because we didn’t actually meet. I have no idea what his name is, where he’s from, what his deal is.

He tilts his head. “Same.”

“Bye.”

When I chance a glance over my shoulder, the behemoth is watching, cup to his lips. It’s paused there, suspended, dark eyes boring into me.

Wow. He really is freaking huge. And honestly, not polite and not at all cute.

With a grimace, I give my head a shake and keep walking.

THIRD FRIDAY

“The Friday where he’s a combination of Neanderthal and Prince Charming.”

Teddy

This is the third weekend in a row we’ve been at the rugby house, and I don’t have any solid proof, but I’m almost positive Mariah is hooking up with one of them. She hasn’t said anything to me about it, but why else would we keep coming back? She either likes someone here or she’s already sleeping with them.