Jock Reign: Jock Hard Book 5

by Sara Ney

  “Please rub them,” he begs. “They’re sore.”

  “From what?” I laugh. “You’ve probably been lying here most of the day, lazy ass. And no I’m not rubbing them. That’s gross.”

  “We’re best friends now,” Jack informs me. “Friends do things for each other, like rub feet.”

  “I’ve never rubbed my friends’ feet,” I tell him. “And I’m not about to start with yours.”

  Outside there is a crack of thunder, and I shiver, grateful that lightning hasn’t followed.

  At least not yet.

  I absolutely hate storms in any form, and if I have to sit on the couch with Jack’s feet on top of me to feel more secure and safe then so be it. I’ll do what I have to do to save myself from the loud bangs that are sure to commence. As if on cue, a few raindrops hit the windows, one at a time.

  Another low rumble.

  Another shiver.

  I am being such a giant baby about this, but no way am I going to leave this spot while the slow and steady crescendo builds outside.

  Jack notices. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just hate this weather on top of my shitty afternoon.”

  He picks up the remote control and pauses the movie. “Why was it a shitty afternoon?”

  I shrug. “I bumped into my roommates today, and it wasn’t pleasant. Kaylee is still super pissed off, and she was so rude—not just to me, but to Lilly, too.”

  “Yes, well, I hate to tell you this, love, but your mate is a bit of a bitch.”

  “Jack!”

  “Oh come on now, you know it’s true. She might have been nice to you while you were living together, but she is not a nice person.” A bag of chips materializes, and I realize he’s had one on the floor next to the sofa, his hand digging in and producing a few crispy bits. He pops one in his mouth and chews loudly. “Trust me.”

  He’s not telling me anything new.

  “Well it sucked, you know. That was not how I wanted to see her after our fight. Being caught off guard totally made me feel like I had no…I don’t know. I had nothing intelligent to say, and I felt stupid. She was so defensive and on the attack.” He eats more chips. “Can I have some of those?”

  Without another word, he hands over the yellow bag.

  “Thanks.”

  “Crisps make everything better,” he theorizes, and we both dig in.

  He unpauses the movie, and once again, it’s silence—except for the noise from the weather.

  The TV buffers briefly, wi-fi interrupted by the impending storm.

  Dammit.

  “Want me to rub your feet?” Jack offers.

  “Knock it off, stop being weird.”

  “I’m not being weird—I’m trying to soothe you.”

  “Soothe me? Um, that’s weird.”

  “What is? Me wanting to rub your feet or the word soothe?”

  I laugh, this whole conversation bordering on ridiculous but cheering me up just the same. The chips help, as does the movie, and before I know it, I’ve forgotten about my issues with Kaylee and the storm beyond these walls.

  Jack and I remain on the couch, in the same spots, for another three hours—we finish this movie and watch another, the entire afternoon filled with live-action drama. It’s dark not only outside but in this room; none of the lights have been turned on while we’ve been sitting here, and when I check the time, I discover that it’s past eight o’clock.

  “Shoot, I was going to call my parents.” I shove his feet off my legs so I can stand. “I have to tell them about you.”

  “Tell them about me? What will you say? How handsome your new roommate is, how debonair?”

  Only Jack would use the word debonair to describe himself. If this were the 19th century, he would likely deem himself a dandy as well.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I want to tell them—that you’re so handsome and cute.”

  “Really?” His brows shoot up.

  “No.” I laugh. “They still don’t know I’m living with you—or living with a guy specifically. I’m not sure how they’re going to feel about it.”

  My parents are very conservative, but I think once I tell them what happened, they will be understanding. Nothing has changed except my address.

  “Oh.” He looks disappointed. “You should get on that then.” He sits up, and his feet hit the carpet as he yawns and stretches as if rising from bed after a long night’s sleep. “I suppose I should jump in the shower.”

  Together we flick a few random lights off, check the locks on the doors as we head toward the upstairs. It’s a companionable partnership I hadn’t counted on when I agreed to move in. Easy.

  Safe.

  Fun.

  No pressure from Jack to be anything but myself. We can talk or not talk; he doesn’t care. The house is beautiful, and he’s a great dude—we like each other. Probably more than I liked Kaylee, and that’s saying a lot.

  Or maybe it isn’t since she’s a shithead.

  I go to my room, closing the door gently, not wanting to disrupt the peaceful quiet that has taken over the house. I go through my evening routine in my cute little bathroom, washing my face and putting on moisturizer, throwing my hair into a messy bun on the top of my head before putting my pajamas on and climbing onto the mattress.

  I don’t slide beneath the covers when I go to call my mom and dad. Instead, I lean my back against the wall, using a pillow for comfort.

  The phone rings and goes to voicemail. I try again.

  “Hey,” my mom says when she finally answers the phone. “How’s my baby girl doing?”

  “Doing good,” I say with a smile. I love it when she calls me baby girl. Plus, the sound of her voice always makes me happy—unless she’s yelling at me of course.

  Ha!

  “It’s late, Liza. Is everything all right? How is school?”

  “School is fine.” I pick at the comforter with my fingers. “Everything is okay, classes and everything. But I did call to talk to you about something if you have a minute.”

  “Does Dad need to be on for this?” she asks. “I can put you on speaker.”

  I actually hate being on speakerphone; it’s the worst. “No it’s fine.”

  Mom is silent as she waits for me to say what I’ve called to say, and I swallow nervously.

  “Sweetheart, what is it?”

  I need to talk so she doesn’t assume the worst. “So, things with Kaylee aren’t great.”

  If you could hear a person nod through a phone, I would hear my mother do so.

  She waits for me to continue.

  “We got into this huge fight. Well, she fought—I just stood there mostly, defending myself.”

  Mom hums. “That’s not good.”

  “No, it wasn’t good.”

  “What was the fight about?”

  “Honestly? A boy.”

  “A boy?” I can hear the surprise lacing her voice. “What boy?”

  “A friend of mine that Kaylee has—had—a crush on.”

  “Ahh. That makes sense, she has always been a bit boy crazy.”

  I pull a face. “We don’t know that. I’ve only lived with her a few years.”

  “Fine. All I meant was she seems like the sort.”

  Now is not the time to tell my mother she’s stereotyping my former roommate, jumping to judge her because I have a beef with her. It’s her way of supporting me without knowing the root of the problem.

  I continue with my story. “So anyway, she likes this guy, and I became friends with him. Which led to a blowup, and she kicked me out.”

  “She kicked you out because of some guy?” Mom’s voice has grown hard. “Wait—what exactly does that mean she kicked you out?”

  “Kaylee told me she wanted me out. Gone. Like, out of the house.”

  “For the night?”

  “No—basically they evicted me.”

  “Evicted you!” I thought Kaylee’s voice was high-pitched earlier when we were arguing on th
e sidewalk on campus, but it’s nothing compared to my mother’s. “John!” She shouts for my dad. “John, get in here.”

  “It’s fine, Mom.”

  “No it is not fine. Who the hell does that kid think she is?” My mother begins a dialogue on her own. “John!” she yells again, impatient. “Someone’s head is going to roll. You have a lease. That little…that girl cannot kick you out.”

  “Mom, would you listen to what I’m saying? I’m not done with the story.”

  The line changes, a more hollow tone, and I know she’s got me on speaker so my father can hear.

  “Anyway, the point of this call is to let you know I found a new place to live. I had to move all my things out, and I’m living with a friend.”

  In the background I can hear Mom repeating the few details I’ve told her about my argument with Kaylee, which isn’t a lot, the pair of them now bickering back and forth as if I weren’t on the line listening.

  “What friend?”

  “His name is Jack.”

  “His name is… That sounds like a man’s name.”

  “That’s because it is a man’s name. I mean, technically he’s like, twenty-one, so I don’t know if that makes him a man? But yeah—he’s a boy.” I pause. “I didn’t really have a choice, you guys. It’s the middle of the semester and everyone has their living arrangements set. It would have been impossible to find a house, and apartments are ridiculously expensive.”

  Mom and Dad are quiet.

  Then, “Where are you living?”

  “It’s a house, and it’s actually really pretty. Not a dump, you know? His brother lived here last year and I have my own bedroom, obviously, with its own bathroom and a desk and stuff. There’s even a gym set up in the garage.”

  “Sounds like the Playboy mansion if you ask me,” Dad grumbles. “What is this boy like?”

  “He’s British. Um, he likes movies and comics just like I do, so we have that in common.”

  “I don’t want you to have anything in common with him, and I don’t want you getting chummy,” Dad deadpans.

  “John, relax, she’s not marrying the guy. It’s temporary, right, sweetheart? This is just temporary until you can find something else?”

  Why on earth would I do that? I’m living in the lap of luxury. “I guess I could keep looking. But wouldn’t you rather I focus on studying instead?”

  “No. I’d rather your roommate didn’t have a penis.”

  “John!” Mom chastises, and I smile despite myself, blushing at the word penis. “Honey, as long as you don’t feel forced to be there, and as long as you keep checking in with us.”

  “We’re coming to check this kid out,” Dad announces. “How much is he charging you for rent?”

  Jack’s letting me live here rent-free, but my parents would really flip out if they knew that, so I fib and say, “It’s the same, Dad. And I don’t have to pay utilities—his parents pay for those.”

  My father grunts.

  “You don’t have to come check him out, he’s perfectly normal.”

  “Normal, ha. Ted Bundy looked normal, and he was a murderer.”

  Jesus.

  This has escalated quickly.

  “Jack didn’t offer to let me live with him so he could murder me, Dad. He has a spare room and he was bored.”

  “A spare room? What kind of asshole has that kind of space when they’re twenty-one? That’s not normal.”

  Okay, now my dad is being unreasonable. “Dad, it’s been fine. Tonight we watched a movie, and afterward, he went to his room and I came into mine, and I haven’t seen him since.”

  “There’s a storm coming,” Mom says, changing the subject. “Does he know you’re terrified of storms?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe you should tell him so you’re not up by yourself tonight. They predicted sixty-mile-an-hour winds.”

  It’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. I’ll survive one night hiding under my blankets.

  Why on earth would I tell my roommate I’m afraid of storms? That’s not something you put on a rental application, and it’s not anything you tell anyone—way too specific. Granted, it’s my only real personality quirk; I’ve been terrified of lightning and thunder since I was little, and I’ve never gotten over the fear.

  Debilitating.

  “Don’t do anything foolish, like run into his room tonight. And start locking your door when you go to bed.”

  That makes me roll my eyes. My dad is so over the top. “I’m not going to run into his room tonight. I’ve only been in it once when he was sick.”

  “Why was he sick?”

  “He plays rugby and got injured.”

  “Oh give me a break.” Dad snorts. “Pulled a muscle? I played football and I never had an injury.”

  “You played football in high school.” Mom laughs. “Stop badgering the kid, John. We don’t know him. For all we know he’s a nice boy.”

  They’re having a conversation without me again.

  “Boy? She said he was a man.”

  “She meant it figuratively.”

  “How tall is this kid?” Dad asks me, as if Jack’s height has any significance.

  “Um, like six four?”

  “Six four!” Dad shouts. “That’s it, we’re coming up. I want to meet this guy. Don’t make plans this weekend.”

  “Because he’s tall?”

  Mom continues laughing in the background as my father loses his cool.

  “He’s six four—what were they feeding him in England?”

  “He drinks a lot of tea?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. From what I’ve seen, he drinks tons of tea.”

  I’m still laughing and so is Mom, to the point where neither of us can speak. Mom is barely breathing she’s laughing so hard.

  “You know what, I’m done with both of you,” Dad manages to grumble, not done with either of us.

  He remains on the line.

  “Oh John, don’t be salty.”

  “Yeah Dad, don’t be salty,” I mimic with a chuckle. “Anyway guys, I thought you should know my living arrangements changed, but I’m still in all the same classes and still living my best life.”

  Sort of.

  “I’m still coming this weekend. Don’t make plans.”

  “If you keep saying it, I’m going to believe it.” His words are a mere threat; I know my father, and he’s not going to make the three-hour drive north to meet some random dude because he’s too tall for his liking.

  He’s bluffing. My dad is the kind of dad who would prefer (if he had his choice) to have me bring Jack down to their house—if I had a car to drive home in, that is.

  I couldn’t tell you the last time my parents visited me at school.

  “Tell me more about this boy,” Mom finally says once she’s done giggling. “Is he cute?”

  “Gretchen!” Dad chastises with a loud huff. “That’s it, leave me out of this conversation. I’m going upstairs.”

  There’s more laughter, then Mom repeats her question.

  “Yes, he’s cute,” I admit reluctantly.

  “What’s his accent like?”

  I sigh. “You know, your normal British accent.”

  “Lord.” She sighs. “I bet all the girls go crazy for it.”

  “Yeah, they do.”

  “How bad was it with Kaylee?”

  “Pretty bad. But honestly, Mom, she’s dating a few other people—I don’t know why she’s making such a huge fuss about this.”

  Mom sighs again. “Girls can be cruel, especially when a man is involved.”

  True. “I’m just lucky I had somewhere to go. I can’t imagine where I’d be right now if Jack hadn’t offered me a room in his house.”

  “What’s it like compared to the place you were in? That little house was adorable—I can’t imagine anything better.”

  “I couldn’t have imagined anything better either, but this house is. It’s like twice the size—actual grownu
ps lived here. I don’t think it’s ever been student housing before his parents rented it. His brother lived here before he moved back to the UK.”

  “Does he have any other siblings?”

  “I don’t think so? I don’t actually know—we haven’t sat and talked about it.”

  “So besides that, what is he like? Does he pick up after himself?”

  “Yeah, he’s good about picking up after himself so far. There’s a laundry room so we dump our stuff there.”

  “Oh lovely, you have a washer and dryer.”

  I had one at my old place, but they were small and stackable and didn’t hold a ton of laundry, which wasn’t all that convenient.

  “You said he plays rugby?” Mom goes on with the questions.

  “Does. Did. It’s a long story, but he hates it and isn’t great at it, so he faked an injury during his last match and I think he’s planning to quit.”

  That gives Mom pause. “I’m sorry, what?”

  I laugh. “In a nutshell, he joined the team because his brother was on it, and it sounds like he wants to do everything his big brother does. He hasn’t come out and said that specifically, but that’s the impression I get.”

  “Aww, that’s cute,” Mom coos. “Send me his picture.”

  I roll my eyes. “I don’t have his picture.”

  “What’s his name? I’ll google him.”

  “Mother, you are not going to internet-stalk my roommate.”

  “I have every right to know who my kid is living with!” she argues. “Unless you actually want Dad and me to come up and meet him in person.”

  Gauntlet thrown. “Ugh, fine. His name is Jack Dryden-Jones. It’s hyphenated.”

  “Oo-la-la. I love that,” she says, and I can hear her typing it out. There’s another long silence as she searches the web for Jack, probably clicking away at her laptop while she has me on speakerphone. “Is his brother’s name Ashley?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think I found him.” Pause. “Oh Eliza, he’s so handsome.”

  “I know.” I groan, feeling miserable about how good-looking Jack is and how I’m not allowed to fall in love with him.

  “How are you going to live with him and not get a crush on him?” Mom wonders out loud, no doubt scrolling and scrolling through photo after photo of Jack and whatever other pictures she finds with lord knows who.

  It’s far too late for that, but I keep that information to myself, along with the kiss and the flirting and the other kiss, and the flirting.