Jock Royal

by Ney, Sara

  “No, I’m glad you’re okay with it because he’s a decent guy. He’s really busy so he won’t be around much, and it’s a great house. My room has its own bathroom and a walk-in closet.”

  “Oh that’s so nice, dear!” Mom croons absentmindedly, and I decide it’s time to end the call and put her out of her misery. She loves me to death, but she doesn’t worry about my well-being; they have faith in my common sense.

  “When are you moving in?” Dad wants to know.

  “Um, next weekend I think? Soon.”

  “That’s great—we know you wanted to get out of the dorm. It will be nice to be out your senior year. Make some memories with your new friends.”

  “I’m excited.” I think…

  “Well good. If you need anything, let us know.”

  “I will. Thanks for being cool about me living with a dude.”

  “A dude? Are they bringing that word back again?” Dad asks.

  Mom and I both laugh.

  “I don’t think it left, Dad.”

  Eleven

  Ashley

  Georgia is moving in with me.

  Holy shite—I’m going to have a roomie, something I haven’t done since first moving to the States, living in a dorm for one whole semester before I decided I’d had enough communal living to last a lifetime.

  I glance up at Andy Klein, the bloke spotting me on the bench press, then over at Stewart, who’s on the squatting machine.

  “Can I borrow your truck this weekend?”

  Stewart stops what he’s doing to stare at me, breathing heavy. “Sure, but…why? You having issues with yours?”

  “No. Georgia is moving in and I don’t think all her shite will fit in mine, so it would be nice to have—”

  Stew’s eyes bug out of his skull. “Georgia is moving in! You just started dating! Have you even been out yet?”

  Shite, I forgot he thinks she and I are a couple.

  “We’re not together anymore, but she needs a place to stay.”

  Andy snorts. “You’re adopting strays now? Cool, I could always use an upgrade. I can have my shit out of my dumpy apartment tonight.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not adopting strays, bugger off.”

  Stewart still looks perplexed. “So you’re not dating but you’re letting her move in with you? How did she pull that off? I’ve been begging to live in your place for three years.”

  “Because she has a set of tits.” Andy laughs.

  “You think I’d let someone live with me because she has boobs?” They’re so immature. I shake my head, the weights still on the rack above it. “She’s clean—neither of you wankers pick up after yourselves.”

  “I can try.” This from Andy, who’s nudging me to get on with the workout by lifting the weights off the rack so I’ll do my reps. “Give me a chance.”

  “You’re not living with me, mate. I would have asked by now.”

  I push up, puffing out a breath, the bar clenched in my grip, heavy.

  Up, one.

  Down.

  Up, two.

  Down.

  I do six presses more before Andy helps me rest the bar back on the rack. Breathe in and out, reaching for the water bottle next to the bench. Squirt it in my wide-open mouth, chugging.

  “Good job,” he coaches. “If you have a girl living with you, can I come hang out there more? Like, work out in your garage?”

  “You’re not going to come over just to leer at Georgie.”

  “Leer? What the hell does that mean?”

  “Gawk. Stare. Pant after. It’s weird and it’s my house, not a breeding ground.”

  “Right, but you’re the only one who’s living co-ed, and she is single, right?”

  Stewart listens on. “Wait—if you’re not dating her, you can do the date with Ariel.”

  Could he not? “Please don’t start that shite with me.”

  “But—”

  I hold my hand up, prepared to get up off this bench if he starts talking about double dates and that girl with the flaming red hair.

  “If I lend you my truck, do I get to hang out with you at your house?” Andy wants to know, interrupting us both.

  Why are they both like this? And Andy doesn’t have a truck, he has his mum’s old Suburban, which I guess would work.

  “You’re not lending it to me, you’re helping Georgia move.” I feel the need to clarify.

  He’s quiet a few more seconds. “And I’m not allowed to ask her out?”

  “I didn’t say that.” I pause. “You don’t even know what she looks like, you arse. How do you know you want to ask her out?”

  “Stew said she was hot, and Tyler said he saw her at one of the parties and you cockblocked him, so I figure she must be. Besides, you wouldn’t live with a troll.”

  I’m insulted. “I’d live with a troll—looks have nothing to do with it.”

  “Would not. You only like hotties.”

  Only like hotties? “Based on what?”

  Where is he getting this from?

  “Based on the fact that you’ve only gone out with hotties.”

  “I don’t go out with anyone, so your argument is invalid.”

  Stewart and Andy are not to be deterred.

  “Remember that one blonde, Jessica? You dated her for half of sophomore year because her parents own the bar downtown and you wanted free drinks.”

  “I was an arsehole back then, and it was a coincidence that she happened to be good-looking.”

  Stewart snorts. “You’re so full of shit.”

  “She had a great personality.” I laugh. “It’s not my fault her mum and dad own the one place we hang out.”

  “Used to hang out. You fucking ruined it when you broke up with her.”

  Dammit, he’s right—we can’t go to that pub anymore because I broke it off with the owner’s daughter, but in my defense, she became a wee bit obsessed with me to the point that she wanted to get married.

  Bloody married.

  To me.

  At twenty years old.

  She was cracked, so I broke up with her, which caused a ripple of outrage in the rugby community since I ruined it for everyone.

  I was doing her parents a favor, for the love of Christ. Her father would have killed me if we’d gotten engaged.

  Killed.

  I haven’t dated anyone since, not really. Shagged, yes. Dated, no.

  And even shagging random young women holds no excitement anymore, no matter how many come on to me.

  The number of them that solicit me at parties blows my mind, but not enough to let any of them blow my cock. Probably because most of them seem desperate. Cleat-chasing girls wanting nothing more than a popular boyfriend they can brag about.

  I know my appeal; realized it soon after arriving here, girls asking me to repeat my words, cooing about my accent, touching me when I spoke, giggling and laughing at things that weren’t bloody amusing.

  Not by a long shot.

  I dated a few of them but never connected.

  Guess I have one foot out of America’s door already, ready to move on to the next chapter.

  So why is it annoying me that Stewart and Andy are talking about Georgia as if she’s some random girl up for grabs at a party? She’s going to be my roommate; they need to treat her with respect.

  My house isn’t a goddamn pick-up joint.

  The last thing I need is Andy and whoever coming by unexpectedly to hit on Georgia; it’s not what she signed up for.

  “Can you help out this weekend? I’ll buy you a pint.”

  “At an actual bar, or do you mean taking me to the house and giving me free beer?”

  I laugh because he’s got me there. “A pub. And I’ll feed you, too.”

  “I wanna be fed!” Stewart whines.

  The look I give him is bemused. “You had your chance and you blew it by nagging me about Ariel. Unless she changed her hair from Flaming Hot Cheetos to normal, I’m still not interested.”

&
nbsp; “That’s her natural hair color.”

  Is he daft? “You’re so full of shite right now.” I laugh. “Like hell it is.”

  Stewart considers this, staring blankly at the floor before looking back up at me. “Yeah, you’re probably right. It does seem really red.”

  No shite, Sherlock.

  That girl’s hair is a technicolor nightmare.

  “So Georgia Peach is moving in this weekend? What day?”

  I ignore his nickname for her with a frown. “Well…she already has a key and the door codes, and some of her stuff is already in the bedroom, but officially I think Saturday.”

  “It’ll be just like one big slumber party.”

  “It’s going to be the exact opposite of a slumber party,” I grumble, annoyed.

  “Lies. You’re living with a girl now. Allie will come over and stay for days, and it’s like living with a wife.”

  “Living with Georgia is not going to be like living with a wife. She’s paying rent, you blighter.”

  “What are you going to do if you accidentally see her naked?”

  Now why did Andy have to go and say a thing like that? I hadn’t thought about it, nor should I, but now that he’s brought it up…

  “Nothing.” I’ll do nothing. And besides, “She has her own bathroom, so it’s never going to happen.”

  “Right. Sure it’s not.”

  It’s clear neither of them believe me based on the looks they’re shooting each other.

  “I don’t think of her like that.”

  She’s pretty and all, but I’m not a walking, raging hormone; I can control my thoughts and my dick.

  “Sure you don’t think of her like that.” They roll their eyes. “And I’m Father Andy and he’s Friar Tuck and we’re all just a bunch of monks doing the lord’s work.”

  “Speak for yourself, dickwad,” Stewart argues. “I ain’t no monk.”

  “Okay, so…” Andy goes on. “What if she’s accidentally naked in the kitchen when you come home?”

  Andy is such an idiot. “First of all, why would she be naked in the kitchen?”

  “She was showering and got hungry.”

  As if that makes perfect sense.

  “I would walk back out of the room so she could put clothes on.”

  “Okay, but what if she sleepwalks into your room at night?” He seems to be enjoying this game of make-believe, dreaming up scenarios that are never going to happen, not in a million years. Isn’t stopping him though.

  “Who sleepwalks anymore?”

  “I sleepwalk,” he boasts.

  “Since when?”

  He thinks, eyebrows furrowing. “Oh! Once when I was seven, I got up in the middle of the night and pissed in the bathroom cabinets all over my sister’s hairspray and makeup.”

  “So, fifteen years ago.” He’s exhausting me now. “Good story, bro.”

  “Maybe I still do and no one is around to tell me,” he reasons.

  “The point is, Georgia isn’t going to sleepwalk into my room. You’re delusional.”

  “Don’t tell me that isn’t your fantasy.”

  “I’m going to lock my bedroom door to make sure it doesn’t happen.” Ha ha.

  “You wouldn’t dare.” Stewart looks horrified.

  Finally, I rise from the bench, reaching for my water bottle and towel, standing, planting a hand on my hip. “Are you helping me or not?”

  “Yeah.” Andy grins. “I’ll help you.”

  * * *

  We have her moved in no time. She had less stuff than I did when I moved here to the States, and we didn’t end up needing anyone’s help but our own to get the rest of her things moved inside.

  Standing at the threshold of her bedroom door, I watch as she glances around the room then groans.

  “Ugh, I don’t have sheets for a double bed! I’m such an idiot!”

  The bed is already made with the things Mum bought—throw pillows and all—and I point to the setup, confused. “What’s wrong with this stuff?”

  My new roommate looks crestfallen. “I can’t use your stuff. That’s so rude—I’m already taking advantage of your hospitality.”

  “This isn’t hospitality. You’re paying rent.”

  Rent I’ve given her grace on, which I’ll receive once her reimbursement check comes from the university registrar’s office.

  “Still. I totally forgot. I’ve been racing around like a maniac with practice and meets and school, and I spaced on running to grab new sheets. I only have this stupid twin size.”

  I’ve no idea why she’s so frazzled, but she needs to chill. “You’re stuck with these until you get to Target, so unless you fancy sleeping on the bare mattress, I suggest you relax.”

  She watches me silently, then breaks into laughter. “God you are so British.”

  “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”

  “Sorry, you just sound so serious and your sentences are so proper. It’s nice. I wasn’t being a jerk.”

  She’s smiling, so I believe her.

  “I won’t bug you—holler if you need anything.”

  “Oh hey, Ash?” I pause in the doorway as she calls my name. “Thank you.”

  A nod is all I give her before moving down the hall to my own room, keeping it open on the off chance she does need something or has a question but going into my closet to change out of my sweatpants and into shorts and a tee so I can hang and watch TV before bed.

  Or maybe I should go into the living room and watch it so she—

  Shite.

  What am I thinking, going into the living room so she can sit and watch TV with me on her first night here?

  Maybe we should go out. Maybe we could go…I don’t know, celebrate or something. Or would that be weird?

  Going to the bar to get drunk and celebrate—such a girl thing to do.

  Then I’d have to spend the entire night talking to her, which would be weird. Like being on a date.

  The date she still owes me, maybe—not that there’s any chance I would call in that favor, not whilst she’s holed up down the hallway.

  The apple orchard…she seemed so jacked up to do it. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, and they probably have pie there.

  I would do a lot of things for a slice of apple pie.

  It dawns on me that I’m thinking about her in friendly terms, which is good—we can be friends.

  A girl friend.

  A friend that’s a girl.

  I’ve not had one of those yet, and Lady Louise Channing Winthrop doesn’t count. The daughter of the earl who lived next to us, she would come by to play with Jack and completely ignore me in the process.

  No, I wouldn’t consider her a friend.

  Nuisance was more like it, hanging around so Jack would fall in love with her.

  Joke’s on Louise because he didn’t.

  Georgia is easy, a lot like a bloke. Athletic. Funny. Low maintenance. Doesn’t get all decked out and crazy when she’s at parties.

  She would probably kill me for thinking all that—what girl wants to be compared to a guy?

  I hear her moving things around, shuffling this, shifting that, a box being pulled open.

  Her door closes.

  Opens a few minutes later. She must have changed clothes and wanted privacy.

  The toilet flushes.

  The sound of music gently flows toward my bedroom, and I pause from shaving to listen.

  It’s a girly song about summertime love, a ballad that surprises me coming from her—I’d expect something upbeat. Techno, even. Or country since she’s from the south.

  Georgia hums, and I hear that down the hall, too.

  She sounds happy, but she’s not humming on key, which makes me smile to myself as I drag the razor blade across my skin, finally removing the stubble I’ve been growing for far too long.

  Twelve

  Georgia

  “Ash?”

  I crane my neck out the door, most
of the lights downstairs off or dim.

  I lost track of time unpacking my things, most of which I already found a home for. The only messes left are the desk and office supplies I tossed haphazardly into a box without actually organizing any of it.

  That will come back and bite me in the ass when I’m searching for a pen.

  I’m hungry and would love a snack. Fingers crossed he won’t mind me rummaging through the fridge for fruit, or something crunchy?

  I’ll go grocery shopping tomorrow, but for now…

  Crashing in the den sounds like heaven.

  It’s Saturday, and I officially live in a house.

  I could twirl and do a happy dance to commemorate the moment, but instead I’ll hit the couch and binge on munchies and a movie—maybe I’ll even be able to convince my roomie to join me.

  “Ash?” I say again as I descend the stairs, the light off in his room but the door wide open. He must have snuck downstairs while I was in the shower.

  “In the den,” comes his voice from the hollows of the house, and I follow it to the kitchen.

  “Do you mind if I eat something?”

  There’s a long pause. “No I don’t mind, and you don’t have to ask every time you want something.”

  I hear exasperation in his voice and make a mental note: Stop sounding so needy and stop asking for everything.

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I’m sorry.

  And don’t apologize.

  “Thank you!” I call out, yanking open the fridge and peering inside to study my options.

  Hmm.

  These options aren’t as great as I thought they were going to be. I can’t even find an apple.

  There is a bag of baby carrots, so I take those along with some celery, then hunt down the peanut butter in the small pantry next to the fridge.

  Bingo!

  Not wanting to sit and shove peanut butter down my face in front of him on my first night here, I spoon some onto a plate. There.

  Perfect snack.

  After I finish putting things back, I make my way into the den, the TV on the wall bright, casting a glow on all the walls and…

  Ashley.

  Is it just me, or does he look crazy…handsome?

  Plopping down on the opposite side of the couch, I try not to stare directly at him, but he’s lounging here like some Greek god come to life and I’m so utterly…