Jock Reign: Jock Hard Book 5

by Sara Ney

  It looks like he’s trotting into oncoming traffic, dodging and weaving between cars—or players, in this case. Large, behemoth players.

  Muddy, dirty players.

  Jack is in the match no less than two minutes before he’s knocked off his feet, and Kaylee is standing on hers, gasping.

  “Oh my god!” she shrieks, horrified, whipping around to stare down at me. “Did you see that? That…that asshole just plowed into Jack!”

  “I think that’s part of the game?” Rugby doesn’t seem at all civilized, not even compared to football. In fact, it’s the exact opposite of civilized and just appears chaotic—I have absolutely no idea what’s going on, and I even googled it.

  “Okay, it might be part of the game, but do they have to be so rough on him? He’s going to get hurt.”

  My roommate is chewing nervously on her thumbnail.

  “I also think that’s part of the game?” Again, this sport doesn’t seem civilized, and every single time I’ve been to the rugby house for a party, somebody has a bruise or a cut or a broken nose. Sort of like hockey if I’m drawing a comparison.

  Those boys are always bruised and beaten up.

  “I don’t like this game.” Kaylee crosses her arms and plops back in her seat with a pout. “How long does this torture last?”

  “Ninety minutes.”

  “Well how long have they been playing?”

  “I don’t know—I got here at the same time you did.” Glancing around, I find a few vaguely familiar faces. “Go ask someone.”

  “Will you do it?”

  Is she being serious? “Kaylee, you dragged me here, not the other way around. I was working—if you want to know how much longer you have to sit through this chaos, you go ask that girl over there.”

  I point to a brunette I’m almost certain I’ve seen around campus, most likely at a house party.

  I don’t go out often, but when I do, I don’t.

  Ha!

  “Fine.” She’s out of her seat again, smoothing down her cute shirt before sashaying over to a small group of girls near the few bleachers set up. They greet her warmly and begin chatting, and soon I hear them laughing.

  My eyes stray back to the field.

  It’s so dirty!

  Like pigs in a pen, even the guys who aren’t being sacked are covered in filth.

  So strange. So messy.

  Jack lags behind a group after they’ve had a huddle, and I can see a bright orange mouthguard peeking out of his mouth.

  Maybe I’m wrong here, but…he looks miserable.

  I try not to get caught staring as Kaylee traipses back to her seat, coming around to sit, her loud sigh one of relief.

  “They’ve already played sixty minutes, so there are thirty more.” This announcement sounds prideful, as if she knows something I don’t—like the number of minutes the game is played.

  “Right. Ninety-minute games.” I look out onto the field. “Thirty minutes can take much longer if they keep having timeouts.”

  She glances over with a smirk. “Duh, I know that. It’s just like football.”

  It’s just like any sport, I want to add, though I have no interest in getting into some weird competition with my roommate.

  We’re here to enjoy ourselves.

  We’re here to—

  “Oh shit.” Kaylee’s cursing interrupts my musing. “Is it just me or does it look like Jack has no idea what he’s doing right now?”

  The coach is shouting so fervently I can’t make out the words he’s saying, arms flailing, clipboard flying as he points at Jack on the field in this direction and that.

  I’m shocked he hasn’t thrown it.

  The clipboard, that is…

  “Did Jack just…run the wrong way?” I wonder out loud because I wasn’t paying all that much attention, tilting my head to study the field. It’s not that I know anything about the game or how it’s played, but it does seem as if our team is headed in one specific direction and Jack was headed in the other…

  “It seems like it?” Kaylee’s statement is more of a question, her eyes wide. “I have no idea what I’m saying, but it does seem like he has no idea what he’s doing. How embarrassing. He’s royal, for crying out loud—at least he has that going for him.”

  “He is not royal,” I say. Honestly, where does she come up with this stuff?

  “He is,” she objects. “Or his dad is or his brother or something when the dad dies.” She sips on her Coke, the can she brought along.

  “What? That makes no sense.”

  What on earth is she talking about? Jack being royal? His dad being royal?

  Huh?

  I find him on the sidelines—he’s just been pulled out of the game, and a few coaches or staff or whoever seem to be chewing his ass out as he stares up at the sky, head tipped back, waiting for the ground to swallow him whole.

  “So, I heard he was an earl or something and was asking him about it when he walked me home from the party last week—because, you know, his brother used to go to school here. So hot. I never met him but I’d heard about him from a couple of the girls on the cheerleading squad who are seniors. And apparently they come from British royalty.” Kaylee tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Anyway. He said he’s not an earl—his dad is a baron or something? And then when he dies, his brother becomes the earl, but does it even matter? He’s royalty.”

  “I don’t think that constitutes royalty.” I say it slowly, unsure myself about how that all works. Also, Kaylee just said a lot, only half of which made sense. “If the dad is a baron, he can’t become an earl.”

  This much I know.

  “The brother is.”

  “Not if the dad is only a baron?” I ask it as a question so I don’t come off as being a know-it-all.

  “Mmm, don’t know. But he must know famous people.”

  “British famous people,” I point out.

  “I could stand to summer in London.” Kaylee laughs, crossing her legs and glancing over at where Jack is now seated on a bench, still looking dejected.

  “We could all stand to summer in London,” I tell her, wishfully thinking. “The only place I’ve summered is my grandparents’ lake house, and I slept with sand in my bed sheets.”

  Gross.

  Who wants to wake up with sand in their butt crack because no one takes off their shoes before coming inside?

  Not this girl.

  “Do you want to wait for the game to be over so you can say hi to him?” I offer this up to my roommate, trying to determine how long I have to sit here patiently waiting before I can return home.

  “I don’t think so.” She shakes her head slowly. “Not after the poor way he played—I don’t want to embarrass him by saying anything. He was pretty awful, wasn’t he?”

  Yes, but I’m not about to admit that to her, and I would never admit that to him even though he told me himself he sucked.

  “I’ve seen better.” My reply is charitable and more than he deserves. He played like a rookie, and I could have done better without knowing anything. Didn’t he at least read the rules before today’s match?

  Did he at least try?

  Sheesh. “It’s probably best if we don’t stick around.”

  This is brutal.

  We rise, gathering our chairs, folding them up, and starting for the sidewalk to make our way home. Periodically, Kaylee glances back at the field to stare at Jack and the bench where he sits, slouched over with his head in his hands.

  Like a child in timeout.

  Poor dude.

  Seven

  Jack

  Tick.

  Tock.

  The clock on the wall in the library is actually audible; I can hear the second hand tick-tick-ticking as I lower my head and try to study, laptop and textbook open on the table in front of me. I’m taking an astronomy class and thought getting out of my house to study would be advantageous.

  I needed a change of scenery, and this seemed like the perf
ect spot.

  It’s actually dead here considering it’s early Wednesday evening. I’ve only been a few times, but finding a table is typically a struggle. Tonight, however, I was able to score a great spot in the back of the main room on the first floor, a spot where I can see everyone coming and going through the front entryway.

  I love people watching.

  Tick.

  Tock.

  I cannot concentrate, so I text my brother, remembering it’s the dead of night over in Europe and Ashley won’t be awake for another few hours. I don’t expect him to reply.

  Me: Remind me again why I enrolled in more schooling? Bloody miserable, all this studying…

  I’m shocked when it buzzes a few moments later.

  Ashley: Why the hell are you texting me so early in the bloody morning?

  Me: I wasn’t expecting you to respond! Go back to bed.

  Ashley: Too late, now I’m up—and Georgia is too, she says hello.

  Me: I am so sorry mate, I didn’t think I would wake you, just in the library studying and bored out of my mind.

  Ashley: It’s all right—I’m glad to hear from you. How have you been getting on? The house is good, everything fine?

  Me: Brilliant, just brilliant. I hate myself for signing up for rugby, but other than that…

  Ashley: You’ve gone mad. You’re rubbish at sports.

  Me: It’s painful, brother. I don’t think I can carry on much longer, this last match was horrid. Thank goodness no one was there to see it.

  Ashley: I would pay to see you, actually…

  Me: I would rather marry Caroline than let you watch me play at rugby. I don’t know what I’m fucking doing.

  Ashley: Obviously. I could have told you that before you started. Stick to polo, mate.

  Me: Too. Bloody. Late.

  Ashley: It’s never too late. Quit. Spare yourself.

  Me: Got a few lovely bruises for my efforts though; makes me feel like a badass.

  Ashley: Don’t let Mum hear you using American slang, she’ll accuse you of being too Americanized for her.

  Me: I’ve been here a matter of weeks, there’s hardly been time for that.

  Ashley: I know, but this is Mum we’re talking about…

  True. Our mother is extremely excitable; some would call her high-strung. Definitely high-maintenance, but that’s to be expected from someone upper crust.

  Upper crust.

  That’s making me hungry for pizza.

  Or pie.

  Shite, I have to get out of this library…

  Me: She loathed it when you were here, and I’m sure she loathes that I’m here.

  Ashley: That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one.

  Ashley: Georgia wants to know if you’ve met any birds yet.

  Me: No. I’ve not met anyone. Tell her to stop being nosey, but if I meet someone she will be the first to know.

  Ashley: Georgia says: Promise?

  Me: Yes, I promise.

  Ashley: She told me to tell you: Stay out of the rugby house, you’ll never meet a nice girl at a party.

  Me: But isn’t that where you met her?

  Ashley: Georgia says: I was the exception, not the rule.

  What I’ve never told my brother is that I want a relationship like the one he and his wife have—even though they have a relationship because they got completely trollied in Las Vegas and got hitched while they were blasted drunk.

  Rather than getting divorced or an annulment, they decided to stick it out, get to know each other better, and make a life together in England.

  Instead of letting my brother move to America for six months and take a leave of absence from work, Georgia packed up her belongings and was the one to move.

  For him.

  They both have sacrificed a lot for each other—that is the kind of commitment I’m looking for. That is the level of commitment Caroline could not provide. We were not best friends. Everything was surface and fake, and you cannot build a life around that.

  Caroline hated my comics and hated my collectibles—hid everything about my hobbies. I couldn’t even mention them in her presence; after a time she got so irritated they did nothing but cause fights. She never understood why I didn’t sell my memorabilia and spend the money on her.

  Me: Tell Georgia she is quite exceptional.

  Ashley: Hey, no flirting with my wife.

  Me: LOL

  Ashley: We’re going back to bed. I love you, but this wasn’t an emergency, so don’t text me in the middle of the night again unless it is. Let’s video-chat soon.

  Me: Love you, mate.

  And that’s another thing—until I moved here and until I broke up with Caroline, I never told my family I loved them. The Dryden-Jones clan isn’t exactly what most would call…an emotional lot of people.

  Therefore we never used endearments with each other. Not even Mum, not even when we were lads.

  Since Ashley and Georgia got married, things have been different; everyone in the family is a bit more affectionate. I’ve told my brother I love him more in the last six months than I have in my entire life combined.

  Mum and Dad, too.

  I find a pen strictly so I can rap it against the tabletop in time to the ticking of the second hand on the clock. It’s still a dull echo in the background, making it impossible for me to concentrate on schoolwork.

  Loudly, I sigh.

  Quite dramatic if I do say so myself.

  My eyes are everywhere but on my work: the circulation desk where several students are working behind it, stacking books and helping people. The rows and rows of periodicals.

  I wonder if anyone actually ever opens any of these books with the new technology of computers and laptops and cell phones—are the books simply here for decoration now? Do we even need libraries?

  Why am I even here?

  My bored roaming gaze takes me to the lobby. Then the stairs that spiral up to the second, third, and fourth floor. Students trickle down on their way out, and I stare at them long enough to see a familiar face.

  Eliza.

  Eliza the roommate is coming down the steps from the second story, clutching a stack of books in her arms and wearing a backpack.

  Lovely!

  She’s charming and a good sport, and I could fancy a chat.

  I stand, hoping to catch her eye. Raise my arm and give a wave as if attempting to get someone to spot me in a crowd.

  She isn’t on her mobile, but she also doesn’t see me.

  Bollocks.

  Not until I give a shout across the room does she catch my eye.

  “Eliza!” No easy way to go about it than full-on bark.

  Her head snaps up to see who in their right mind has the audacity to call her name this loudly in the library.

  “Eliza. Psst.” I wave again, delighted. “I’m over here.”

  Fine, I sound like an arse, but whatever—she’s coming over just as I wanted her to.

  Except…

  Her pretty eyes are narrowed in a somewhat unfriendly way as she stalks toward me, mouth in a line; I’ve begun packing up my things to leave as she approaches, irritation etched across her face.

  “Lower your voice, Jack,” she hisses. “Don’t they teach you Brits not to shout in libraries?”

  She’s funny, so I laugh. “Ha. They do.” We’d get a rap on the knuckles at boarding school for breaking such rules, but no one comes to lecture me about my bad manners here.

  My knuckles are safe for another day!

  I have everything in a stack but take my seat again, fancying a chat.

  With her.

  “You couldn’t have been any louder if you had a megaphone,” she finally says, relaxing. Relenting and joining me at the table. Eliza sets her books on the tabletop and shoulders off her book bag.

  “How’re you?”

  Eliza sighs. “I’m fine. Tired. How about you?”

  “Bored.” I smile, knowing that isn’t the answer she was expecting. Her
eyebrows go up. Most people give a polite reply, like Fine or Good or Doing well, thanks for asking.

  “Bored with what? School?”

  I shrug. “I dunno, the day is dreary. Reminds me of home, I guess, and sometimes when it rains back home, I go catch a film at the cinema. Was thinking of doing just that.”

  “You want to go see a movie? Which one?”

  “There’s a new Marvel film—I’m sure you’ve heard. Have you seen it?”

  “Actually no, I haven’t. I’ve been dying to, but…”

  She wants to see it. I can tell.

  I stand and grab my shite, and I grab her book bag off the floor, too.

  “Brilliant. Let’s play hooky and go catch the seven o’clock.”

  It’s 6:35, so we can still make it in time for the previews—my favorite. I love them almost as much as the feature film and try not to miss them.

  “You want me to go to a movie with you?” She’s already following me toward the door.

  “Sure, why not? I see no reason not to. Neither one of us are studying anymore, and it’s threatening rain—the perfect time to go see a film. My treat.”

  I can see the wheels turning in Eliza’s brain as she mulls it over, probably weighing the options and debating worst-case scenarios about going to the movies with a strange bloke. There’s also no doubt in my mind she has hesitations where her roommate is concerned, though she needn’t fear any attachment on my part to Kaylee.

  The feelings I have for Kaylee are strictly platonic, and as far as I’m concerned, Kaylee is one of my mates, just as Eliza is.

  She bites down on her lower lip. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt since no one is really home, and it is raining.”

  “See what I mean? It’s brilliant!” I push through the heavy doors and we step into the misty evening. The streetlights on campus have all began to glow, rain slowly coming down like sparkly diamonds.

  No umbrella, no problem.

  “Are we taking our books?”

  “We are if we’re going to make it on time.” I open up my app to book us a car, pleased to see one is less than a minute away. One of the benefits of living in a college town, I suppose, is the speed at which Ubers arrive.