Peer Review_A Ruby Romp Novella

by Ruby Rowe

  Me: Sorry, just being honest. Please say yes and soon.

  I wait, but she doesn’t reply. Why do I continue to say stupid shit?

  Needing to get my mind off Laurel, I glare at the screen on my laptop. Two weeks ago, the professor of my poetry class matched students into pairs, and we’re required to anonymously critique each other’s poems.

  My stuck-up peer said the first two poems I submitted had no depth to them. No shit. I don’t want to write poetry. Nor do I wish to share my feelings.

  That shit’s for chicks, and this one better stop insulting me. I guarantee it’s a girl. I read her last email again.

  To: IHopeLiteratureIsNotYourMajor,

  I hope you intend to put more effort into your future poems since reading the last two was as boring as watching golf on a Sunday.

  I’m not trying to be mean. I only want to see more of an effort. If you love poetry, which I assume you do since you’re in an advanced poetry class, it seems like you’d want to dig deeper.

  The first two poems were just … lazy. Yes, that’s the word, which really isn’t an insult to your ability. It’s only an insult to your behavior.

  I look forward to reading your next one.

  Sincerely,

  ElizabethBennetThe2nd

  Who the hell does this bitch think she is?

  To: YouMustBeAJudgmentalGIRL,

  Lazy?? I haven’t been lazy a day in my life. My parents are highly successful, and they raised me to excel.

  I put one hundred percent into everything I do, and I accept any challenge. Maybe I CHOSE not to dig deeper because everything in this world doesn’t have to entail expressing FEELINGS.

  I can’t help but wonder if you lack the ability to see the simplicity in everyday life, which leads me to your poem about snakes.

  Why couldn’t you just write about a damn snake? Instead, you had to make it all about you and imply that this snake-of-a-person ruined your life, except we don’t get to hear HOW.

  You’re all ambiguous when it comes to that part. Where the hell did expressing YOUR FEELINGS go? Seems we have a case of the pot calling the kettle black here.

  Oh, and Elizabeth Bennet?? Really? That’s what you want to be called? For the record, reading Pride and Prejudice is way more boring than golf. More like torturous.

  Sincerely,

  KeepingItReal69

  I showed her.

  As I stare at my phone, waiting for a reply from Laurel, my laptop dings with another email.

  To: YouMustBeAPerverseGUY,

  Your 69 reference wasn’t lost on me. And this is fucking poetry class, not a Dear Diary reading, hence why you don’t need to know shit more about the snake!

  Sincerely,

  PROUDElizabethBennetThe2nd

  Well, seems I have a dirty girl on my hands. Who in my class seems naughty? Not a soul, even Laurel. There’s nothing but a bunch of romantics and nerds in there.

  To: DirtyPoet,

  How your mind went straight to the gutter was not lost on me. If you didn’t seem like the type who’d slap me with a sexual harassment suit, I’d gladly visit that dirty place with you.

  Instead, I’ll tell you how the 69 was a reference to the 1969 Chevrolet Camaro I’d like to own one day.

  Sip on that, Gutter Girl.

  I slam the lid closed on my laptop, and Colton jerks his head back.

  “Something sure has you pissed off today.”

  “It’s a someone. I’m going for a run.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Laurel

  After walking through the front door of my apartment, I drop my backpack and sigh.

  Cardboard boxes are sitting around the living room. They’re in my way and unorderly. Shit, the girls are really moving. I peek in one of the open boxes and see a bunch of DVDs.

  “Don’t worry. We didn’t take any of yours. Like we’d wanna watch your boring historical movies,” Sabrina says. Looking up, I find her standing at the doorway to the kitchen.

  “When are you moving?”

  “Saturday. Jason and his friend are helping us.” Of course, he’s the one. At least I’ll be working at the library and won’t be subjected to his peacocking.

  I can picture him now, flexing his muscles while sporting a lethal grin. I imagine sweat dampening his thick blond hair, too, and running down his temple in a manly way.

  “Hellooo, Space Cadet,” Sabrina says.

  “Huh?”

  “I can’t fathom why Jason wants to live here other than he figures you’ll never be home.” Tucking a strand of her strawberry-blond bob behind her ear, she looks at the carpet and smirks. “Or, maybe it’s the fond memories he holds of our sexual encounters on this very floor.”

  “Gross. I’ll be sure to steam clean them once you’re gone.” Stomping past her, I go to the kitchen, but something that’s been eating at me for a while now causes me to turn around and march back into the living room.

  “Sabrina, do you think you could answer a question with a genuine answer?”

  Her eyebrows lift as she pulls the tiny shorts she wears around the apartment out of her ass crack.

  “I’ll try?”

  “Why do you and Angie dislike me so much?”

  “Are you kidding? I think we should be the ones asking you that question. Ever since we moved in, you’ve been bitchy.

  “You’re judgmental, criticizing everything we do or say, and you really need to lighten up. Have some damn fun occasionally. It doesn’t make you a bad person.”

  I look at the floor, ashamed since she hit the nail on the head.

  “Something bad happened right before you two moved in, and it’s why I needed roommates. I’ve been angry at someone, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you and Angie, so I’m sorry.

  “But, I do feel you could’ve been more considerate while living here, so I won’t take all the blame.” I shrug. “I do get that I’m no fun. I can’t deny it. Anyway, thanks for answering my question, and I’m sorry I’ve been judgmental.”

  Before she can reply, I hurry back to the kitchen. I’m embarrassed, hungry and tired from work. I decide to heat up a can of vegetable soup, and afterward, I take it to my room and shut the door.

  Setting the bowl on my nightstand, I pull my laptop out of my backpack, and I’m instantly agitated as I think about the emails I received at lunch today from my poetry class peer.

  What an asshole. Why can’t we straight girls just enjoy the dick without having to deal with the brain attached? Dildos aren’t the same.

  I picture Jason, and that shouldn’t be the image that pops in my mind while I’m thinking about dildos and dick. What’s happening to me?

  “You know you’re going to let him move in, so just get it over with and tell him,” I mumble.

  If I don’t let him, I won’t be able to afford the rent. Not to mention, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I had to stare at that breathtaking person every day.

  I pull my phone from my pocket to text him.

  Me: You can move in once Angie and Sabrina move out.

  Jason: It’s about fucking time. Just kidding.

  Me: I meant what I said. I don’t want to find you with any strange girls, naked and twisted up like pretzels on my living room floor.

  Jason: You only want to find me naked. Noted.

  I smack my forehead and smile.

  Me: My apartment is not listed on the Meetup app as a gathering for nudists.

  Jason: Seriously, I won’t break the rules, and thank you for allowing me to move in.

  Me: You’re welcome.

  Tossing my phone next to me, I take a sip of my soup and pull up my email. I see that I have a new message from KeepingItReal69.

  69 … about a car, my ass. I open the email, and he sent a poem, but our next one isn’t due until Sunday. I swear, this guy’s determined to show me up.

  To: GutterGirl,

  A poem about GOLF. I thought you’d enjoy it.

  The Dew Sweeper

>   I’ll be the first golfer on the quiet teeing ground under the rising sun.

  The first one eager to play at the dawn of a new day.

  The first to feel the clean-lined, manicured lawn resting beneath my spiked soles.

  The first to see the droplets of clear morning dew shining up at me like diamonds over an emerald setting.

  The first to hear my ball as it sails through the air and lands two club-lengths away from the ninth hole.

  I’ll happily be your dew sweeper.

  It means I’m the only one who sees my triple bogeys.

  What’s a bogey? Pulling up Google, I type in the word and click on a link to a golfing website.

  I cover my chest after reading that a triple bogey is not a good thing. Aww, my poetry peer has feelings after all. He’s vulnerable and doesn’t want others to know when he performs poorly.

  Tapping my fingers on the keyboard, I ponder how to reply. I also think about what Sabrina said about me in the living room.

  Dear KeepingItReal69,

  I’ve come to realize that I was harsh in my previous emails. I figured I ticked you off good when I didn’t even get a sincerely in our last couple of correspondences. I do hope you’ll forgive me.

  As far as your poem, I’m quite impressed. You painted a vivid picture of yourself on the golf course. I’m even able to envision the disappointed expression on your face when you’ve scored a triple bogey.

  I can imagine you glancing around, relieved that no one was there to witness it, but maybe it would be beneficial for others to be on the course with you.

  You know, so you’re reminded of how no one is perfect and definitely not at golf. At least, that’s what I’ve gathered from BRIEFLY watching the boring sport. Maybe I’ll notice the scenery next time, seeing how you explained it so eloquently. Good job.

  Sincerely,

  ElizabethBennetThe2nd

  I finish my soup while I wait for a snarky reply.

  Ding.

  DEAR ElizabethBennetThe2nd,

  Seeing I earned a more sentimental salutation (dear), I must’ve impressed you, but if you think I’m suddenly the sharing type, you’re going to be disappointed in my future poems.

  Thank you for the compliment and apology. I hope from here on out we can get along. It’d make the last of this semester more tolerable.

  Since I’m AHEAD OF YOU now, I look forward to reading your poem Sunday.

  Sincerely,

  KeepingItReal69

  I roll my eyes. It appears I attract smart-asses.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Laurel

  I struggle to hold on to my five-dollar pizza, backpack and keys as I make my way to the front door of my lower-level apartment.

  At least I have that going for me. It’d suck to take the stairs every day. I do enough of that at the library where we have several floors.

  I purposely worked an extra shift today to avoid watching my roommates move. I couldn’t have stomached all the flirting between them and Jason.

  I also didn’t want to get recruited to help. Besides, I need the extra hours at the library in case it doesn’t work out with my new roomie.

  Opening the door, I look around the living room and drop my backpack to the floor.

  What the hell?

  There are still moving boxes in the room, but they look different. There’s a huge flat-screen television where my TV used to be, and a different recliner has replaced the old one that was Angie’s.

  I walk to the kitchen, and setting the pizza down quietly, I listen for any sounds. The car Angie and Sabrina share is gone, but I have this gut feeling I’m not alone.

  Maybe it’s because there are two plastic totes sitting on my kitchen floor I don’t recognize, either. Oh, and let’s not forget the television and recliner.

  I tiptoe down the short hallway to the bedrooms. Mine is on the left, and there are two on the right that have a bathroom between them. I have a small bathroom off my bedroom, as well.

  The first bedroom on the right was Angie’s, and it’s empty, minus my old TV, which is sitting on the floor. Maybe the cocky bastard was eager to move in and brought over some things when he came to help the girls.

  Continuing down the hallway, I cover my mouth when I get to Sabrina’s room. Jason is stretched out on his stomach, asleep on a bed I don’t freakin’ recognize. I’m guessing it’s a queen-size, and I can’t believe he moved in already!

  His muscular arms are hugging a pillow, and his long legs almost hang over the end of his mattress. There are boxes scattered around the room, minus where an oak dresser sits that matches his bed.

  Quietly, I walk over to him. He’s wearing only a pair of navy athletic shorts, and shit, his body is superb. Jason does not deserve to look this damn good.

  Two textbooks are open next to his leg, and his cell phone is lying on the pages of one. He seems a little too comfortable already, so I’m waking his ass up.

  Sticking my finger out, I poke his toned bicep. He flinches and lets out a loud exhale, but he doesn’t move otherwise.

  I study his handsome face while I have the chance to stare. Long lashes rest above cheeks that cave in below his high cheekbones.

  The sunken-in area only gives more definition to his sharp jawline. It should be a crime to be this attractive. We should throw all the breathtaking people in jail and throw away the key.

  I guess that’s harsh. Maybe they should be exiled to an island. At least then the average-looking people would have a chance in this world.

  The Breathtakers could sip mai tais while they bask in the sun on a sandy beach, procreating in their luxurious huts to make gorgeous babies that grow up to be breathtaking like them.

  “I know women enjoy checking me out, but how long are you going to do it?” he asks huskily, causing me to jump. Opening his eyes, he grants me a lazy, inviting grin.

  “Why are you already making yourself at home in my apartment?”

  “I put cash on your kitchen table, so technically it’s our apartment now.” He rolls onto his back and palms his eyes to wake up.

  “I didn’t know you were going to move in the same day they moved out.”

  “I hadn’t planned on it, but Colton was annoyed about helping them move, so I decided we better do it all at once. I prorated the rent, so you get extra this month. I figured you’d appreciate it.”

  “A text stating you were moving in today would’ve been appreciated.”

  He sits up in bed, and I struggle not to eye his sexy bedhead hair or ab muscles that are pronounced from how he’s positioned.

  “Sorry. It was a hectic day. I was exhausted after the move and had a bunch of homework to do, but I finally had to take a nap. I couldn’t read another page. What time is it?”

  “8:30 p.m.”

  “I need to eat.”

  “Where’s your car? I didn’t see it out front?”

  “On the last trip, I rode with Colton. He’s picking me up in the morning to get it.”

  I bite my lip, wondering if I should offer him pizza, but I don’t want him to assume my food is his. Having him pay rent will be pointless if he eats all my groceries.

  “I guess you had a long day, too,” he says as he rubs his eyes again. “Sabrina said you were working a double.” Moving his phone, he shuts his books.

  “Yeah, my feet are sore.”

  “I’ve got beer in the fridge if you want one.”

  “Wow, you’ve really made yourself at home.”

  “Mi casa es su casa.” He grins up at me, and I grin stupidly back while shaking my head.

  “I see how it’s going to be. I bought a pizza. It’s a cheap one, but if you want some, I’ll trade it for a beer.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  I point my thumb over my shoulder.

  “I’m gonna go change.” Before he can reply, I hurry from his room and into mine. I shut the door and head for my dresser where I grab a pair of pajamas.

  Shit, I can’t wear these
. They’re too thin, and he’ll see things he shouldn’t. I’ve never lived with a dude aside from my deranged father, and I see it’s already making me uncomfortable.

  I’m even going to have to stay in my fucking bra, and that’s a hell no once I’m home. This could be a deal-breaker.

  No, screw that. I have nice tits that are still high and proud. As long as my nipples don’t get hard, there’s not much for him to admire and nothing for me to be ashamed of.

  Rummaging in my drawers, I find black yoga pants and a light blue sweatshirt. I change out of my nicer jeans and sweater into the comfy clothes and stare at my breasts in the mirror.

  He’ll be able to tell I’m not wearing a bra, but you can’t see through the material, so I think I’m good. I straighten my ponytail next and wipe away the old mascara from under my eyes.

  When the girls were living here, I didn’t give a damn about my hair and makeup. Surely, I’ll feel like Jason’s an old friend soon, and I won’t care what I look like around him.

  I need his half of the rent more than I need to be comfortable, so I’ll make this work. I imagine after tonight, we’ll hardly see each other. I work a lot, and he’s managing eighteen credit hours, which is nuts.

  Taking a deep breath, I stroll to the kitchen and open the lid to the pizza box to get a slice only to discover that four are missing.

  “I already got your pizza,” he calls out from the living room. “And your beer.”

  Alrighty then. I walk into the room, and he’s made himself at home in his recliner. He also put on a t-shirt, which is a tad disappointing.

  “Do you have an issue with me eating in here? If you do, I’ll sit at the table.”

  “No. There’s nothing you can hurt in this room. We always eat in here.”

  “Cool.”

  “Um, I see you replaced my television.”