by Sara Ney
“New ones,” she deadpans. “Such as…?”
“Such as: we can’t go around shagging all the time coz we’ve done it already. We still have to date and get to know each other.”
Eliza raises her brows as if this “rule” stuns her. “You want to get to know me and date?”
“Are you serious? Of course I do. Think we ought to have regular date nights, yeah?” It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, ‘like my married brother and sister-in-law do,’ but I bite the words away. I’ll sound completely nutty otherwise. “That’s what mature couples do.”
“Mature couples.” Eliza clears her throat and shifts on the kitchen stool, a smile playing on her lips.
“Do you agree?”
We’re mature—adults. We should act like adults.
Communicate and do shite together and all that.
“Of course I agree, I’m just surprised you said it. Most guys…” Her voice trails off and she shrugs, reaching for a banana and peeling the skin back, most likely because she needs something to do with her hands. Keep them busy. “Erm. Most guys would probably want to kick me out at this point. So they didn’t have to have this talk.”
“What? The relationship talk?”
“Is that what this is?”
“Yes?” At least I hope so.
I’ve been out of my last relationship and healed from it long enough to know this isn’t a rebound. That may have been what I wanted when I moved to the States, but it’s the last thing I want from Eliza.
She’s amazing.
Beautiful.
Funny.
Creative.
Smart.
Caring.
The first thing she did when she found my mouthpiece was hoof it to my rugby match so my teeth would be safe from harm.
I can’t do better than a girlfriend who gives a shite about other people and their feelings.
Mum would like her.
Georgia, my brother’s wife, would like her. My brother would like her.
“We’re having a relationship talk,” Eliza repeats. “And you want to date? Me, specifically?”
“Is that not what you want?”
Her pretty head shakes. “No—yes, that’s what I want. Let’s talk about it. You’re right, we should discuss this, especially if we’re going to live together. Or maybe we shouldn’t live together? I could move out.”
Now she’s talking crazy. “You’re not moving out. Besides, where would you go?”
“Back to Kaylee and Lilly’s. They don’t have a third roommate yet—it hasn’t been easy finding someone to move in.”
I’m confused. “They kicked you out.”
“Yes, but Kaylee apologized.”
“She did?”
“She did. I was at the union today and happened to see her—or, she saw me and came over. And, well…she apologized. It wasn’t a stellar apology, but it was an apology just the same. Beggars can’t be choosers.”
She says this last part with a smile, probably remembering the Just the Tip game and how she ended up begging for my dick inside her.
“You could have told me straight away.”
Eliza’s shoulders shrug. “I am telling you.”
“I meant right when you got home.”
“Eh. I knew I’d eventually get to it. Relaxy taxi, all right?” My roommate slash lover looks me up and down, rueful smile playing across her mouth. “Are you gossipy? Do you want the entire scoop, Mr. Nosey?”
I scoff.
Mr. Nosey? Who, me?
“I just don’t want anyone treating you like shite—or ganging up on you.” Pick at an imaginary lint ball on my track pants with a sniff. “I’ve had you here for a few weeks and I’ve gotten to know you. They don’t deserve you. Don’t jump down my throat because I’m protective.”
Eliza rises from the chair and walks around the counter to put her arms around me. Kisses my cheek. “Awww, bae, you’re protective of me?”
Bae.
She’s being playful and teasing, but I still feel my face flush like a school girl at the endearment, cheesy as it is.
Snort. “All I’m saying is she kicked your arse out.” I can’t stop myself from pointing this out every chance I get because I don’t want her to leave; it’s not a difficult concept.
I’m used to her now.
I’d be so fucking lonely without her in the house, and she’s only been here a short time.
Goddamn you’re pathetic, Dryden-Jones, get a grip.
It would be better if she left, then you could date her for real and not have to invent more roommate rules.
All these bloody rules are exhausting!
Speaking of which…
Back to the topic at hand.
Clearing my throat, I’m all business. “So I’ve already come up with a few roommate and relationship rules, but we need to go over the list together. Our previous list is obviously null and void now that we’ve gone and shagged.”
Eliza rolls her eyes. “Obviously.”
I slide the sheet of paper across the kitchen counter, and Eliza pulls it toward her with an index finger, humming as her finger skims across the paper.
She glances up. “Um…I see zero rules here, only gibberish.”
Well no shite—who wants to come up with rules in the first place?
“I’m not as good at coming up with this nonsense as you are. It’s bollocks. Plus, I’d rather keep things wimbly bimbly and fly by the seat of our pants. I’m only doing this list for you—no bloke wants to be shackled to guidelines.”
“How kind of you.”
Her head dips again as she reads.
Rules for Dating Your Roommate
1. Don’t date your roommate.
2. Completely disregard Rule 1.
Rule two makes her laugh, thank God.
3. Don’t assume your roommate wants to sleep in your bedroom at night. They might want space.
Eliza is quiet before saying, “What if she wants to sleep in your bedroom at night?”
“It’s allowed. The rule just states that one should not assume one’s roommate WANTS to sleep in one’s room.”
“Really? Is that what one should assume?”
“Don’t be cheeky.”
“Cheeky.” She grins. “No one has ever called me that.”
I lean over and sneak a kiss to her lips.
“Rule four,” she goes on. “Both parties are responsible for contraception.” She looks up again, face turning a cute shade of pink.
“You know…bulletproof vests.” Like the one I had on the first time we fucked.
“Um—what did you just call it?”
“Bulletproof vest. Shag bag.” I snicker, knowing full well I’m embarrassing her.
“Okay, we can both be responsible for um, those. And I’m on the pill, so we’re covered.”
“So I could come inside of you and you won’t get knocked up?”
She shakes her head. “I did not say that—I meant we have extra protection. My aunt Stephanie was on the pill when she got preggo with my cousin Madison, so—you never know.” Eliza wiggles her eyebrows.
“Fine, we have extra protection.” I hesitate. “We should go upstairs and count the condoms we have, just in case.”
She watches me skeptically, eyes narrowed. “In case what?”
“I don’t know. In case it rains.” I glance toward the window. “Oh, would you look at that? I see a storm brewing.”
I get a whack across the arm. “Stop it, you do not!” She looks worried though, biting down on her lower lip. “Do you? Check the weather app.”
Instead, I stand at the counter and move around to her spot, swooping down and scooping her up with my arms under her legs and rear end, heading toward the stairs.
“Put me down!” She laughs with a flirtatious little giggle. I can tell she’s pleased, though, and she doesn’t do much else to protest as I whisk her away toward my bedroom, taking two stairs at a time and striding boldly down the hall.
>
I set her at the edge of my bed; the mattress and box spring are raised off the ground so it’s conveniently level with my cock, which is already half hard and aching. Pull Eliza toward the edge of it, my fingers setting to work on the waistband of her leggings.
I pull them down as she watches me, propped up on her elbows, eyes sparkling.
Kneel when I’ve got her bottoms and panties off.
Spread her legs as she gasps, my mouth going straight to her core without another word.
“Oh shit,” she curses. “Um…”
If my mouth weren’t on her pussy, I would laugh at her obvious surprise. As it is, I focus on the task at hand, working toward an orgasm.
This is all about her and her pleasure, despite the growing need inside my pants.
It can fucking wait.
I want her to come on my mouth—on my tongue.
My lips suck. My tongue laps, licking up and down her center, between the valley of her thighs. I use my fingers too, slowly easing two of them in and out as I watch her face and body for signals.
The white knuckles clutching my bedspread are a good indication I’m not fucking this up.
She likes it.
The moaning is another telltale sign. The thrashing head. Flushed face.
“Want me to use a vibrator, too?”
“I-I don’t remember where I p-put it when I unpacked.”
Her stuttering makes me smile.
“That wasn’t the first thing you unpacked when you moved in?” I repeat. “Tsk, tsk. We’ll have to remedy that straight away, won’t we, love?”
“Uh-um, o-okay.”
Her thighs are quivering now, legs almost shaking if I had to describe the motion. She’s losing control, and I like it. I want her to be relaxed enough that she lets herself come—it’s the first time I’ve gone down on her, but I’m hoping it won’t be the last.
“God you taste so good.”
“Really?” she gasps. “Are you j-just saying that?”
“Pussy is no joke, Eliza.”
Lick.
Lick.
Suck.
“O-oh…”
She’s not very bossy now, is she? With my mouth and lips and tongue and teeth nipping at her delicates, making her body hum and purr, she has very little to say.
Not that she could get the words out if she wanted—I’ve rendered her speechless.
“I-I want you to come inside me,” comes her strangled moan, her hands tugging at my shoulders, pulling at my T-shirt. “Jack.”
“No. I want you to come on my mouth.”
“No. I want to come with you inside me.”
“But…” That’s not what I had planned. This isn’t about me, it’s about her, and can this be about her if I make it about me?
Shut the fuck up, idiot—take off your damn pants.
I rise, shucking my bottoms at the same time, pushing them to the floor and stepping toward the bed, hauling her closer to the edge. Reach for the bedside table and grapple for a condom. It takes less than ten seconds to tear it out of its package and pull it onto my throbbing dick.
I push inside her with a satisfied moan.
Begin thrusting.
Eliza whimpers, but not for long.
“I’m gonna c-come,” she quivers.
Well bloody hell, I better speed this along, eh?
Faster I pump, watching her expression as her orgasm hits, sweat now beading at my brow from the intense need to have my own, wishing it had been at the same time.
Oh well.
Maybe next time.
Practice makes perfect.
I might be shite at rugby, but I’m great at shagging, and there’s nothing wrong with that.
Twenty-Two
Eliza
“Babe, can you come here for a sec?”
Babe.
He’s been calling me that now for at least a week instead of my name—as if he loves the sound of it spilling from his lips, whether I’m sitting across from him at the kitchen counter or he’s shouting it up the stairs to one of the bedrooms like he’s doing now.
Babe.
Ha!
I push myself up from the bed to a sitting position.
I’ve been lying here propped up for the past hour watching trash television on Netflix, a new dating show where everyone is on an island looking for love. It’s garbage and I can’t get enough.
Not my bed; Jack’s bed.
After we’d done the deed twice, he asked me to scrap the rules completely, officially asking me to be his girlfriend over wine and a fancy dinner. Since, we’ve slept in his bed every night, my bedroom became something of an office space slash closet for myself, and we’ve cohabitated happily since he went down on me.
I find him in the den, flopped down on the couch the same way I was relaxing upstairs.
Sit down next to him, my hand going immediately to his thigh and rubbing.
“What’s up?”
He struggles to sit up so we can have a conversation, shifting his entire body and propping his feet up on the coffee table, pulling me until I crash into him.
He hauls me onto his lap. “Babe, we need to talk.”
“About?” I smooch him on the cheek. He’s so darn cute.
“You know my mate Phil—from the rugby team?”
I can’t remember ever meeting anyone named Phil, but Jack has hordes of friends I’ve never met, and honestly, they all start looking the same after a while. Plus, Jack quit the team, finally conceding the facts: he did not like it, so why put himself through it.
Rugby was his brother Ashley’s sport.
Not. His.
“I don’t honestly remember a Phil, but…go on.”
Jack takes a strand of my hair and runs it between two of his fingers. “He’s got a friend named Roman who’s looking for a flat.”
A flat? “Do you mean he’s looking for an apartment?”
“Indeed.”
So proper this boyfriend of mine.
I’ve adapted a few words from him, like wanker and bloody hell and bollocks, and I use British jargon in everyday life when I feel the need to spice up my boring American sentences.
“Okay. Roman needs an apartment…” My sentence trails off as I wait for him to finish his thought.
“And we have that extra room now that we’re shacking up.”
I bury my face in his shoulder. “Don’t call it that!”
“Muah, muah, MUAH!” He kisses the side of my neck enthusiastically. “I love shacking up with you, babe.” More kisses.
He is more romantic than I ever would have given him credit for, surprising me with home-cooked meals and date nights. The other evening he rented a movie on demand and had the living room set up with popcorn and snacks and folded blankets for snuggling. He loves rubbing my feet if I lay my legs across him, and he loves making out.
Jack loves kissing.
And I love Jack.
Eventually I’ll have the nerve to tell him, but for now we’re enjoying our time together without any pressure.
“Focus!” I nudge him. “What’s up with this Roman dude?”
The suspense is killing me!
“You’re no fun—I want to snog my girlfriend.” He sobers up again and cuts to the chase. “Anyway, Rome is Phil’s mate from back home, and he’s a mid-semester transfer in a bit of a spot. Needs a place to live, and now we have that extra room…”
I raise my brows. “You want to rent out my bedroom?”
“No, I’m asking you your opinion. What do you think of the idea? I told Phil we’d discuss it.”
My body relaxes. “I mean—we don’t even know this guy. Don’t you think we should meet him first?”
Jack nods. “Of course. I can shoot Phil a message, tell him to pass along my mobile, then we can invite this bloke over. Let him see the place, feel him out. Are you okay with that?”
Yeah, I’m totally okay with that. What’s the harm?
I’m not using my bedroom anywa
y; just my clothes are in there, and I occasionally use the small desk, but not really. The space is going to waste, and if Jack could collect the rent money he was supposed to be collecting from me but doesn’t—I wouldn’t feel like a mooch.
Well.
I’d still feel like a mooch, but I’d feel better about it with that room rented out.
Decision made, I nod definitively. “Cool. Let’s do it. Shoot Phil a text.”
Epilogue One
Jack
There’s a chap standing on the doorstep when I pull open the front door, rain drizzling around him, soaking him to the socks.
And he is wearing socks.
With sandals.
I don’t give a fuck about fashion, but I know bloody well you don’t wear socks with sandals, and Eliza would be the first one to tell me so.
“You must be Jack?”
He regards me with fogged-up lenses, his glasses perched at the tip of his nose.
“Hey mate—come on in.” I glance down at his footwear. “Erm, would you mind taking off your flops?”
“Oh shit,” he curses. “Sorry, no problem.”
He’s dripping water on the floor—through no fault of his own, but he’s dripping water on the floor.
I’ll be the one cleaning that up if my girlfriend sees, so I need this bloke to take off his sandals—probably should take off his socks since they’re soggy, too, but that’s just weird, isn’t it?
It would be odd having his moist socks chilling on my foyer floor.
Anyway.
I digress.
“Eliza, Roman is here!” She’s upstairs and was taking a shower, wanting to jazz herself up a bit to meet the chap, though I can’t figure out why she’d care. Maybe she just wants to be clean, who knows.
“Be down in a second!”
Roman seems a bit shyer than I would have expected given that our mutual mate Phil is a loud, obnoxious lad who always has something to say about everything. I wonder briefly what their history is and how close of friends they actually are, but the fact is it would be really great if this all worked out—not because I need the rent money, but because it would be a blast to finish out the year with a third person in the house.
Eliza and I have loads of fun, but you know what they say, the more the merrier.