Jock Reign: Jock Hard Book 5

by Sara Ney

  My stomach drops. She’s already called her parents and told them about this?

  I’m screwed. Kaylee’s parents spoil her rotten, and her father is worse—there is no way he is going to allow me to stay, lease or no lease.

  They furnished this place down to the smart TV on the living room wall and the utensils in our kitchen drawers.

  “Have you talked to Lilly about this?”

  A curt nod. A snort. “Of course.”

  Duh.

  “And she’s cool with kicking me out?”

  “Yup. We voted.”

  That’s a bunch of bullshit and we both know it. Kaylee wouldn’t have had time to hunt Lilly down, fill her in on the entire situation, and vote me out of the house in the span of a few hours—Lilly is nearly impossible to locate on campus now that she’s constantly with Kyle.

  Still, I will not win this battle.

  Not today.

  “Fine.”

  My roommate—correction, EX-roommate—nods. “Fine.”

  Fine.

  “Are you at least going to give me time to find somewhere else to go?”

  I have zero options.

  This couldn’t have come at a more terrible time. Midterms are approaching, which means I’ll have to study my ass off.

  “I was thinking next weekend. I’ll be in Arkansas for an away game on Saturday, and Lilly has her grandparents’ fiftieth anniversary party.”

  “You’re giving me a week?” Is she out of her freaking mind?!

  “Please—that’s plenty of time.”

  On what planet is that considered plenty of time?!

  “You cannot make me move out in a matter of days.” I’m half off the bed, wanting to argue, knowing it’s futile.

  “No, but we can make it hell for you if you’re not gone when I get back.”

  After she leaves, I stand and move to the carpet, sitting cross-legged on the floor, stupefied. I’ve never been fired from a job or kicked out of an apartment before—I’m not sure how to handle these feelings.

  Guilt.

  Shame.

  Embarrassment.

  Even if they’d allow me to stay, I don’t think I could have lived here much longer; I wouldn’t be able to move around the house without the storm cloud of regret hanging over my head.

  Nor would Kaylee ever let me live in peace.

  This is not how I wanted her to find out about Jack and me.

  I wonder if I would even have told her, or if I would’ve just broken things off with Jack so I’d never have to fess up.

  Surely I would have told her.

  On my own terms, when the time was right.

  When I was sure there was something to tell her about.

  The thing with Jack…isn’t a sure thing. We haven’t gone out on a proper date, and I’ve been kicked out of my house! The kisses we shared weren’t even life-shattering!

  And I’ve been kicked out of my house!

  Surely I would have told Kaylee when I had the courage. I would have found a way.

  Now?

  Now we will never know.

  Jack: How’s your day going?

  I stare at Jack’s messages, not sure how to reply. I’ve been miserable, crying on and off since last night—since Kaylee busted into my bedroom to evict me.

  As it were, I’m sitting on the floor, folding the winter clothes from my closet and placing them into cardboard boxes, not the task I thought I’d be doing this weekend.

  I had to hunt these boxes down by dumpster-diving at the grocery and hardware stores because I cannot afford to buy plastic bins to store and move my things in.

  Me: Not great.

  Jack: Maybe we can hang out? I could make you feel better?!!?!

  He adds a few exclamation points, and I know he’s used them to be optimistic and make me smile. And they do, just a little.

  Me: Nothing you can do can fix this problem. I’m screwed.

  Jack: What happened?

  Me: I don’t want to talk about it. If I do, I’ll start crying again.

  Jack: Do you want me to come over?

  Me: GOD NO, PLEASE DON’T!

  Jack: Okay…I won’t. But you should tell me what’s wrong, maybe I can help.

  Me: Nope, don’t think you can.

  Jack: Eliza…

  Me: Fine. Okay. I’ll tell you.

  Me: Are you ready? Are you sitting down?

  Jack: Indeed.

  Me: My roommates are kicking me out.

  Jack: Kicking you out…of what?

  Me: The house.

  Jack: Why? Are they throwing you a surprise party?

  Me: No, Jack—they’re KICKING ME OUT. Like—I have to move. They’re renting out my room. Out out. Not just for the night—for good.

  Jack: WHAT? WHY?

  Me: Kaylee…saw a post of us on the internet—the one of us at Lords where you’re flirting with me—and she lost her shit.

  Jack: She’s kicking you out because I like you???

  Me: Yes.

  Jack: What a fucking twat.

  Me: JACK!

  Jack: I’m sorry, love, but she’s being a fucking twat. What else do you want me to say?

  Me: I don’t know—not that.

  Jack: That’s my sweet girl, all the way to the end.

  I’m not though. Not really.

  If I were, I wouldn’t have been secretly snogging him behind my roomie’s back.

  Jack: What the hell are you going to do?

  Me: I don’t know—crash on someone’s couch, I guess? Go home? I don’t know. So far I haven’t found a place to go.

  Jack: I’m sorry.

  Me: I know. Me too.

  Me: I really can’t believe this is happening. I knew she’d be mad, but I never thought she’d kick me out of the house. I have nowhere to go and she knows it.

  Me: If she wants me to beg her to stay here, she’s out of her mind. I will not do it.

  Jack: I have an idea.

  Me: At this point, I’m open to ANY suggestions that don’t have me sleeping on a park bench.

  Jack: Now hear me out and don’t jump to conclusions, okay?

  Me: Uh, okay…

  Jack: I have a spare bedroom. You can come and live with me.

  I almost drop my phone, so stunned am I by his words. The suggestion.

  Live with him?

  Live with him, not stay with him.

  Me: Jack…

  Jack: I won’t even charge you rent.

  Won’t charge me rent?

  How can he NOT charge me rent? He could be making at least six hundred dollars or more, depending on what his place is like, and he wants to charge me NOTHING?

  Is he out of his mind?

  He knows that is a deal I could never refuse.

  Never.

  It’s a deal I would consider even if I had a place to live. Living rent-free when every single nickel, dime, and dollar counts?

  Me: You really are out of your mind.

  Jack: But you’re considering it, aren’t you?

  Me: You know I have to, you bastard.

  Jack: Oh I love it when you talk dirty.

  Me: Don’t do that—do not start flirting with me on the cusp of asking me to live with you.

  Jack: I mean, it could be ‘just as friends,’ as much as I’d bloody LOATHE it with every fiber of my manly being.

  Me: That would probably be for the best.

  Jack: But how realistic do you think it would be, on a scale of 1 to 10?

  Me: Oh, 10, for SURE. I resisted you this long, I can do it longer.

  Jack: Why are you so mean?

  Me: I’m just trying to be professional.

  Jack: Now is not the time to throw down, Eliza.

  Me: Okay, be serious for one second. How do I get this furniture out of here?

  Jack: Honestly? Don’t. Leave that shite there, I have whatever you need here.

  Me: You have a bed in the spare room?

  Jack: Yes. And a desk, and a chair. Bathr
oom en suite.

  Me: En suite? What does that mean?

  Jack: It means your bedroom has its own attached bathroom. You won’t have to go out into the hall.

  Me: Well LA DI DA, this offer gets better and better with every breath I take!!!

  Jack: So is that a yes?

  Me: How soon can you get here with your truck?

  Jack: Whenever you want me to be there with my truck.

  Me: See you in an hour.

  Lord help me.

  Fifteen

  Jack

  Well.

  I wanted to follow in my brother’s footsteps, and now I’ve really gone and done it. Pulled an Ashley, as it were, moving a girl I’m attracted to into my house for a seemingly selfless cause, and lord only knows what’s going to happen.

  Nothing, jackarse—she’s your new roommate.

  You didn’t want a roommate, jackarse. You wanted to live alone.

  No going back now. She needs help.

  Since when are you into charity?

  Since now. Shut your gobber and drive.

  We make quick work of her few things; she doesn’t come with much, not even furniture, her two flatmates gone when I arrive at her place with my shiny black pickup truck, empty bed for all her boxes.

  There are only eight of them.

  Easy.

  Eliza wrings her hands as if they were wet rags all the way back to my house—her house now, too—and I glance over at her before we hop out of the cab.

  “Are you nervous?”

  “Yes. I want to puke.”

  Okay then. “Don’t do that—not in here. I’ll charge you fifty quid.”

  Ha. Just like the fee if you toss chunks in the back seat of an Uber.

  “Funny.”

  I thought so.

  We’re out and inside in a jiff, Eliza standing at the side staring up at the brick façade of the place I’ve called home this half a semester.

  “Wow.” She looks over at me. “You didn’t tell me how nice this is. Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind about charging me rent?”

  “I’m not charging you rent.” I nudge her with a box so I can access the keypad on the door, entering the short code and shoving through to the kitchen. “After you, ma’am.”

  Eliza steps inside tentatively—as if she’s never been inside a residence before, eyes roaming, head turning this way and that.

  “Wow. This is…” She spins on her heels to face me. “This is too much. You have to let me pay rent.”

  I admit the place is indeed ‘too much’, as she put it. Mum rented it through a realtor and insisted we live somewhere nice while in the States. An actual ‘home away from home.’

  The kitchen has been remodeled and updated within the last few years, and modern amenities abound. Granite countertops and stainless steel faucet—even the refrigerator gleams. It helps that I am clean and like things tidy; every Sunday afternoon I spiff the place up of my own accord, wiping down the floors on my hands and knees, cleaning the bathrooms—showers and floors. Wipe the piss from the toilet.

  Looks as if I have a cleaning service come, but it’s just me at the helm making the ship sail. I’ve always been this way, even at boarding school, keeping my room tiptop when all my mates were throwing their things on the floor, piles of laundry and garbage.

  “Jack, this is gorgeous.”

  A bit of an exaggeration—I’ve seen palaces, for goodness’ sake, but I have no idea what Eliza’s background is, so perhaps this is the fanciest kitchen she’s been in?

  Setting her box on the counter, I suggest she look around. “Want a tour?”

  “Please,” she says, walking over to the sink and peering through the crystal clear window. “I would love that.”

  “Want me to show you around, or do you want to go have a look while I bring the rest of the boxes in?”

  “Oh! Yes, let me help you with—”

  I hold my hand out to stop her objection. “No, no. You stay here and have a look about, and I’ll grab what’s left. You have only seven more, I’ve got it easily.”

  “If you’re sure…? You’ve done so much already.”

  I’ve done nothing, and it’s for my own selfish reasons.

  I’m sick of being here on my own, lonely and bored, drowning in the silence day in and day out, night after night after night. It’s time I had someone here with me—it might as well be her.

  Besides…

  She’s cute and I have a crush on her.

  There are worse people I could have asked to move in here, namely every single mate I’ve made since being here.

  Eliza disappears into the room off the kitchen, a den where the telly hangs on the wall, the room dimly lit and used as my cinema room, to watch my sports and movies. It’s where I spend most of my time when I’m not sleeping.

  Bougie, I know.

  I bring her boxes to her room, conveniently located at the top of the stairs to the left and down the hall from my own bedroom. Set them against the back wall, beside the desk that is now hers to use for the remainder of the year.

  There’s also a queen-size bed, her own bathroom, and plenty of room for her to spread out. I saw her room at her last place and this is twice the size, so I gather she will be perfectly content.

  She wanders into the bedroom as I set the last box on top of a pile of three.

  “Well, what do you think? Will it do?”

  “Are you being serious right now?” She twirls with her arms spread out before she throws herself on the mattress. It bounces beneath her weight and she sighs, contently staring up at the ceiling. “This is amazing. I mean it sucks that I was kicked out of my house because I still have to deal with Kaylee and that fallout, but there are worse things than living in this beautiful house. Someone pinch me.”

  “Do you want me to pinch you, or is that a figure of speech?”

  She laughs. “It’s a figure of speech, you goofball.”

  I stand and watch her awkwardly, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans, wondering if it’s weird that I’m still in the room while she lies on her bed, gazing at the ceiling.

  “Welp, I’ll let you get situated…” I make toward the door. “What do you want to do for dinner?”

  Eliza sits up, resting on her elbows. “I don’t know, what do you want for dinner? It feels so weird discussing it with you!” She giggles.

  Tell me about it. “I’ve never lived with a female before, if you don’t count Mum, so…I may be shite at it. We’ll find out.”

  “Do you cook?”

  “Yes.” Obviously. I practically raised myself.

  “Why don’t I order us something for delivery, and then when it gets here, I’ll stop unpacking and we can eat?”

  “Eat and watch a movie? The new Marvel is OnDemand, we can rent it.”

  She gasps. “I would love that!” Her little self squeals. “Oh my gosh, this is going to be so fun. No one ever wants to watch movies with me.” Her mobile is out and she’s scrolling. “Pizza? Pasta?” Her fingers move along her mobile screen.

  “How about pizza and pasta? I fancy some garlic bread as well, let’s make this a carbo-load.”

  One of her brows rises. “Do you have a game tomorrow?”

  “Yes, unfortunately.” I groan, not thankful for the reminder. “Not that I need the carbs, but they’ll drown out my misery. Maybe I’ll choke on a noodle and die, then I won’t have to show up for the match.”

  She laughs, still scrolling away. “You should hear yourself. My god, just be done with it already. No one is going to judge you for it.” Her eyes find mine. “In fact, they’ll thank you for it considering you suck so bad.”

  “Hey! Only I can say I suck.”

  “I’m just quoting you. But I am also judging you, just a little.” She holds her fingers out, spreading her thumb and forefinger. “’Bout this much. Teensy bit.”

  “I’m closing your door now. Goodbye!”

  Her laughter follows me down the hall
and I find myself smiling despite myself and the topic of discussion. She’s right of course—I really should figure out what I’m going to do about the rugby team. At some point or another, Coach is going to either kick me off the team or make me the water boy, neither of which are fun options. Humiliating, rather.

  I should just quit while I’m ahead before I injure something I don’t want to injure, namely my pride.

  It’s not like my brother is going to care if I quit. He never niggled me to join in the first place—it was just something I wanted to do coz he’d done it. If I continue walking in his footsteps, I’m going to end up with a wife, ha ha.

  Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rings and I am accepting a large pizza box, two cardboard boxes containing Lord only knows what, and a liter of cola. I hand the delivery bloke a five-dollar bill as a tip.

  It smells delightful, and my stomach growls.

  “Roomie, dinner is here!” I shout it up the stairs, relishing the way that sentence sounds.

  Roomie.

  I have a roommate.

  How American of me!

  Eliza appears at the top of the stairs, flushed and wiping her hands on the seat of her jeans—like she’s been working all day at a laborious job and needs a shift break.

  “Awesome, I’m starving!”

  We eat in silence for a while, having set ourselves up in the den in front of the telly, plates and pizza and napkins strewn every which way, the glow from the screen our only light.

  “Do you want to talk about how you’re feeling?” I interrupt the mellow vibe, throwing the question into the atmosphere with reckless abandon, curious about what’s going through her mind after all that’s transpired the past twenty-four hours.

  “How I’m feeling about what?” A slice of pizza dangles from her mouth mid-chew, the pointy part of the triangle between her teeth.

  “You know—being kicked out of your flat.”

  “I wouldn’t call it being kicked out so much as…” Her sentence drifts off.

  “Being kicked out of your flat?”

  “I hate the way that sounds.” She chews then swallows. Chases it with a chug of water.

  “But it’s true.”

  “Fine, it’s true. More or less.”

  “More.”