Out of this World (Browerton University Book 5)

by A. J. Truman

  “It was incredible. Asda is so cheap. And there was all this food, just everything you could want,” Rafe said, still on a high. “I can’t wait to go back.”

  “You don’t get out much, do you?”

  Eamonn gave Heath another thwack on the arm.

  “I’m just taking the piss out of you, mate,” Heath said.

  “And I’m going to put the piss back into you, with my sincere appreciation,” Rafe said. The more sarcastic his friends would be, the more he played up his American perkiness. “That sounded better in my head.”

  “That’s pretty gross, Rafe,” Louisa said.

  “Not dinner conversation. At least, not here in the U.K. Maybe in Arlington, Virginia.” Eamonn used his fork as a spoon and scooped up a load of ravioli, cramming it into his mouth.

  Why do I find that attractive? Rafe asked himself.

  “Sounds like you had a great day.” Louisa went to the fridge and got out a pitcher of water. I forgot about drinks!

  “Yeah, it was a rollicking good time. Rafe learned what condensed soup was.” Eamonn glanced at him from across the table, and goosebumps rolled across Rafe’s lower back, right at the spot where Eamonn guided him. He’d had moments while cooking dinner where his mind would wander, and he’d think of being with Eamonn in the store, of that squinty-eyed smile fixed on him. It’d left him with butterflies swarming his stomach—and burned ravioli on his brand-new saucepan.

  It’s not going to happen, Rafe reminded himself. Eamonn was just being nice, and he obviously still had feelings for his ex-boyfriend. And more importantly, there were no butterflies allowed in Operation: Slut.

  * * *

  Dinner didn’t take long. His flatmates cleaned up the dishes, and a few minutes later, they all headed out to Apothecary to drink. Going to the bar every night? Rafe could get used to this. It was so much cooler than a cramped party in some senior’s apartment or playing games in the dorm.

  They grabbed what Rafe deemed their usual table in the pub, with a view of everyone. He saw across the room the American students from his orientation, being just as antisocial as he remembered. They all crowded around one table, all looking at their cell phones, with no other British students. So much for the cultural experience.

  “Do you know them?” Eamonn asked. This time, they were sitting next to each other in the booth rather than across. Rafe felt something heating up in the narrow space between their bodies.

  “They’re Americans,” Rafe said with a tinge of disgust. He told them about how they didn’t talk to him at orientation and made no effort to be friendly.

  “Those cunts,” Heath said.

  “Massive cunts,” Eamonn said.

  “Tremendous cunts,” Louisa added.

  “I have to say something.” Rafe took a swig of his Midori sour. “Why do you use that word? It’s a really bad word.”

  “You mean cunt?” Heath asked, the word rolling off his tongue.

  “Yes. That word.”

  “You don’t use it back in the states?” Eamonn drank his pint.

  “No! It’s an incredibly offensive word. It’s not like asshole or fuck or shit, which are more common.” Rafe dropped his voice when he used those words. Old habits. “Why is the c-word your expletive of choice?”

  “It just is,” Eamonn said. “It’s so versatile. You can use it for anything. Those Americans are cunts. The Budweiser beer they’re drinking is a cunty choice of beverage.”

  “We’re not getting drunk. We’re getting cunted,” Heath said.

  “I love Jennifer Lawrence, but she’s a tad cuntish,” Louisa (Louisa!) said.

  Eamonn: “Semi-cuntish.”

  Heath: “A solid two-point-seven on the Cunt Scale.”

  Eamonn: “And Prince William! He’s just cunting all over the place.”

  Each use of the word was a tiny jab at Rafe’s flesh. He couldn’t help it. It was his American upbringing and feminist tendencies rejecting that word. When he was in sixth grade, a kid in his math class called a girl that, and he was suspended for three days. Here, he’d probably get extra credit.

  “I’m glad y’all got that out of your system,” Rafe said, trying to keep a straight face.

  Eamonn let out a hearty, loud laugh that boomed above the din of the pub. He wrapped his arm around Rafe and pulled him closer. It was an “I’m just messin’ with you” bro-ish hug, but Rafe liked it all the same.

  A little while later, Heath and Eamonn darted over to an available snooker table, which was like pool but with different colored balls. Eamonn and Heath quickly got into the zone, and Rafe could admire Eamonn’s serious game face all day. He could also watch Eamonn bend over to take a shot all day, too.

  Louisa and Rafe enjoyed another round of Midori sours at the bar.

  “So what’s the deal with you and Heath?” Rafe asked.

  “No deal, really.”

  It seemed like a dodge by Louisa. Heath scored a shot and talked smack to Eamonn. It naturally included the c-word, which Heath said at an extra-loud volume while looking at him. Louisa smiled a bit longer at his antics than Rafe, and it reminded him of the reaction of Eamonn to his naïve grocery comments at Asda.

  “At the end of last year, we said we were just going to be friends. We’ve always worked better as friends,” Louisa said. “And I don’t know, I just don’t think I’m the serious girlfriend type. So much seriousness at our age only leads to premature wrinkles.”

  Rafe nodded in agreement. Now was not the time in our lives to be so serious. Not while on an adventure.

  “The other night just happened. I went into the kitchen to make myself a late night cup of tea, and he was there just finishing. I skipped the tea and brought him back to my room.” Louisa shrugged. “We’re still friends, but friends who shag.”

  “Friends with benefits.”

  “Like that Justin Timberlake movie!”

  “I prefer the Natalie Portman version, No Strings Attached. It’s highly underrated.”

  Rafe needed his own No Strings Attached/Friends with Benefits hookup, and not the kind like in those two movies where they eventually fall in love.

  “Maybe you and Eamonn could have something similar,” Louisa said.

  “What?” Rafe had reacted like she claimed the earth was flat. Not that it wasn’t something Rafe thought about, usually when he was in the presence of those icy blue eyes. “Just because we’re both gay and in the same flat?”

  Louisa nodded yes, as if it were really that simple.

  “He’s getting over Nathan.”

  “And you could get under him in the meantime.”

  “That’s a terrible idea.” Rafe wasn’t going to mess with a guy with a fragile heart. Eamonn was a genuinely good guy, not worth getting ensnared in Operation: Slut.

  As if luck was shining down on him, a gay guy with a patch of freckles across his nose came up to the bar to order a drink. His body fit well in those tight jeans.

  “I have a better idea. Pardon e moi,” he said to Louisa. He nudged his head slightly so she knew who he was talking about.

  “He’s cute!” She winked at him.

  Rafe downed the rest of his drink and casually strolled over to Freckles, dragging his finger along the bar. He had this. He could do this. The nerves pouncing through his system would be channeled into witty banter.

  “Hey,” Rafe said. “I bet I can guess what you’re going to order.”

  “You can?” Freckles asked, seemingly interested. He had lovely teeth. Rafe didn’t get where the bad teeth stereotype came from, but it was seriously outdated.

  “Give me three guesses. If I get it wrong, I’ll buy you a drink. If I get it right, I’ll buy you that drink and we’ll keep talking.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Hmmm…” Rafe rubbed his temples, pretending to be using psychic powers to determine the right answer. “You seem like a hard alcohol kind of guy. You don’t mess around. So I am going to say…vodka cranberry.”

  “W
rong.”

  “That was just a warm up. I still have two more guesses, and I going to blow your mind.” Rafe rubbed his temples again and closed his eyes. “The universe is telling me that you were about to order a…vodka soda.”

  “Wrong.”

  Freckles wasn’t giving him much to work with. He was taking this way too literally. Rafe had one more guess, and the stakes never felt higher. His sexual viability hung in the balance.

  “I think you’re throwing me for a curveball and you really are a beer drinker. So that’s why I’m positive…that you are ordering a Guinness!”

  “Wrong.” Freckles remained stubbornly monotone. The bartender came over. “I’ll take a Pimm’s Cup. He’s paying.” Freckles nodded his head at Rafe.

  It was a sign of life that maybe Rafe had a chance.

  “I’ll take one, too,” Rafe said. “So maybe I’m not psychic. But I have a very good memory, like Truman Capote. He could recall entire conversations, which is how he wrote In Cold Blood. Although there have been rumors that he fabricated events…” Rafe’s fingers brushed along the edge of the guy’s hand. It was a sly, stage-one flirting move. Low stakes but a potential gateway to more.

  “Right, so I’m straight, actually,” Freckles said.

  “What? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I’m saying something now.”

  “After you let me buy you a drink.”

  “I thought you were just being friendly.”

  “But your jeans are really tight.” Rafe pointed.

  “I’m proud of my body.”

  The bartender returned with their drinks. He swiped his lightning fast.

  “Thanks for the drink, mate.” Freckles was gone, back to his friends at a high table.

  EAMONN

  “That’s the third shot you missed. I knew we should’ve bet money on this game,” Heath said. He surveyed the snooker table like a cat scoping out a mouse.

  “Sod off,” Eamonn said half-heartedly. The scene at the bar kept pulling his attention. More like yanking it by the collar. Why did he care who Rafe flirted with?

  “Damn.” Heath said. Eamonn watched his ball bounce off the side of the table. “It’s your turn.”

  “Right.” What was he doing? Did he have a headache? He couldn’t understand why Rafe kept rubbing his temples.

  “Where are you?” Heath asked.

  “What?” Eamonn leaned down to take a shot. So Rafe was trying to pull someone. Not my problem. He hit the snooker ball with an extra gust of force. “Christ!” Heath yelled. The snooker slammed against the table and leapt onto the floor.

  “Off night,” Eamonn said. “I don’t trust that guy talking to Rafe.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve seen him around. He’s a bit dodgy.”

  “How so?” Heath folded his arms and arched an eyebrow. He would not be turning Apothecary into his courtroom.

  “He just is.”

  Heath had a shit-eating grin on his lips. He found this all hilarious.

  “What?” Eamonn asked.

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  Eamonn flicked his eyes back up at the bar, and the guy was gone. Rafe was not. He looked so alone. What the hell was that wanker’s problem?

  He put down his cue.

  “You’re quitting?” Heath asked.

  “I’m letting you win for once.” Eamonn joined Rafe at the bar, with Heath close behind. Rafe drank a Pimm’s Cup, which he did not seem to enjoy.

  “Y’alright?” Eamonn asked.

  “What is your problem?” Rafe asked Heath. “Why don’t straight guys announce they’re straight right off the bat?”

  “Sorry?” Heath shrugged his shoulders.

  “The guy was a total cunt,” Eamonn said. “I could tell.”

  “Eamonn was taking mental notes.”

  He elbowed Heath in the ribs.

  “He made me order a Prick’s Cock or whatever this is,” Rafe said of his drink.

  Eamonn took it and smelled. “You really wanted to pull a guy who ordered a Pimm’s Cup? That should’ve been your first warning sign.”

  “If you’re so eager for a shag, why don’t you just use Grindr?” Heath asked. Eamonn wanted to elbow him much harder, even if he wasn’t sure why.

  “Grindr is scary. I downloaded it once and it was like a wall of torsos and dicks coming at me.” Rafe shook off the memory. “I’m better in person. My witty banter doesn’t translate to text.” He turned to Eamonn. “Are there any gay bars around here?”

  “There’s one in Staines,” he said. “I’ll take you sometime.”

  “I’ve never been to a gay bar. I mean, I’ve been to plenty of eighteen-plus nights, but they never serve alcohol. Which means you have to pregame before going, which means your buzz wears off halfway through the night and by that point you’ve broken the seal…Anyway, thanks.”

  Rafe flashed him a smile that made Eamonn all fuzzy inside, even though Rafe made it clear that he was focused on finding other guys to pull who were most definitely not him.

  “Where’s Louisa?” Heath asked, and Eamonn was grateful for the new subject.

  “She should be somewhere around here,” Rafe said.

  Heath’s face dropped as soon as he got his answer. She was at the far end of the bar, busy talking with a guy who was in Eamonn’s maths class last year. He heard her flirty giggle carry through the crowd.

  Eamonn patted Heath on the back for support, but he pushed his hand off.

  Chapter 9

  RAFE

  Zzzzzzzzzzz

  Rafe’s cell phone buzzed in his pants. He pulled his phone from his pocket.

  Mom and Dad.

  Fuck.

  Usually, he liked talking to his parents. But that was before they chewed him out for his spending.

  “Shit. I have to take this. I’m sorry.” It was for the best, since Rafe’s dick was on the verge of embarrassing him in front of his flatmate and the thought of being under him. Rafe had to get it together. Louisa said it as a joke. Her suggestion was not supposed to be taken seriously.

  In the few seconds it took Rafe to take the call, his boner vanished, never to be heard from again.

  “Hi,” he said into the phone as soon as he got outside. Students smoked by the entrance.

  “Hi,” his mom said even louder. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. What’s up?”

  “What are you up to tonight?” his dad asked.

  “At a pub with some mates.”

  “You sound so British!” his mom said.

  “Thanks.” Rafe regretted not letting it roll to voicemail. He could give them a full report tomorrow.

  “Rafe, we’re a little worried,” his dad said. “Something didn’t add up from our last call, and I went online and researched Stroude. There’s no meal plan.”

  “We looked at the fee breakout for the study abroad program, and meals are not included,” his mom said. “We called up the Browerton study abroad office, and they confirmed that for your program at Stroude, students are living in suites with kitchens.”

  “We are. But it’s fine,” Rafe tried to assure them.

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” his dad asked. “Why did you say that there was a dining hall?”

  Rafe hung his head. His parents were looking out for him, and he felt bad for lying to them. But at the same time, he wanted to tell them it was none of their business.

  “It’s okay. I got food at a grocery store. I’ll make my meals.”

  “Rafe…” his mom began, her voice full of doubt. It had the same tone as when he pleaded with his parents to let him watch an R-rated movie in junior high. “Do you even know how to cook? I don’t want you burning yourself.”

  “I’m not going to burn myself.” He leaned against the brick wall and inhaled the smoke around him, which he promptly coughed out.

  “What was that?” his mom asked.

  “Nothing. You guys, I can make my own food.”

 
“I can email him a list of healthy microwave dinners he can buy. Oh, and some vegetable steamers,” his mom said.

  “I just hope he isn’t going to order pizza and takeout every night,” his dad said to her.

  “I didn’t send him with any plates or utensils.”

  Rafe waited for his parents to finish their side conversation about him.

  His dad exhaled a sigh. He could only imagine what they were going to say about this once they hung up. “Rafe, I’ll put more money in your bank account, but I think you and Mom should have another call to discuss what you can make over there.”

  “I’ll be fine. Seriously.”

  “We love you,” his mom said. “This was just a surprise. Our son is an ocean away. I don’t him starving to death.”

  “And everyone is still treating you well?” his dad threw in.

  “Yes.”

  Rafe rested his head against the brick wall. He thought about his trip to Asda and Eamonn’s jokes about his cluelessness. They were funny then, but they stung with truth now. It hit Rafe just how much control his parents had over his life.

  “Don’t worry, Mom and Dad.”

  “We’re not worried anymore. We addressed the situation and have come up with a solution,” his dad said. “Just remember that we want you to have a good time there. We’re not yelling at you. This is your first time on a trip like this, so we want to make sure you’re prepared.”

  “Thanks.” But Rafe didn’t feel any better. He had tasted freedom, and he wanted more.

  EAMONN

  His last class of the day, Humanitarian Policy, he had chosen because it was closest to his hall, so he didn’t need to walk far to get home. It turned out to hold his attention longer than any other class. Eamonn hated seeing people getting treated like shite, and he couldn’t believe the atrocities that were still being committed. The professor brought up clean water initiatives and how one billion people in the world didn’t have clean water.

  Fuck. He thought of the water fight his hall had last spring when it got really hot out. They took that clean water for granted.

  Eamonn returned to the flat and smelled the salty, processed aroma of ravioli. He felt a smile take over his face as he approached the kitchen.