Jock Romeo

by Sara Ney

  I’m no more than ten steps inside my friend’s adorable new home when she grabs hold of my arm and looks me in the face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “How do you know something is wrong?”

  Eliza cocks her head and pulls me through the house without showing me the rooms—I’ve yet to have a proper tour—and into the kitchen.

  “I can tell by the look on your face. You’re faking it.”

  Faking it.

  Ha.

  I’ve been faking it for four months, orgasms included, but I’m surprised anyone else can tell. I have a mean poker face and can charm the pants off most people—that’s what cheerleaders do. Smile!

  Smile for the crowd, smile for the camera, even when your team is losing.

  I set my purse on the counter next to what appears to be a door to the laundry room then take a seat at the counter without being invited to sit.

  Rest my chin in my hands with a sigh, eyes scanning the spread Eliza has out.

  Pizza slices on a platter, croissant sandwiches, meat and cheese. Crackers.

  What the heck is all this for? Is there a pro football game on I wasn’t aware of? It looks like a meal for the Super Bowl, not your basic Saturday.

  Maybe she’s having actual company over.

  Perhaps I shouldn’t have come…

  “I’m sorry to pop over like this, but Kaylee hasn’t been home much and today I just didn’t want to be alone.” I lift my hands in an apologetic shrug.

  Eliza takes my hand and squeezes. “Why? What’s going on?”

  “I…ugh.” Uncomfortably grab a napkin and fiddle with the edge. “Kyle and I are done. Like, done done.”

  Gotowe.

  Finito.

  Hecho.

  Finished.

  “Oh no, Lilly! Why?!”

  There is no easy way to say this without making it awkward.

  “He cheated.”

  “Are you sure?” Eliza goes still. “How do you know?”

  Eliza has always been a proponent of love and working things out; when Kyle and I went through a rough patch not so long ago, she was the one who encouraged me to contact him and make things right. She’s the one who gave me the courage to take the first step.

  What she didn’t know was how many rough patches we’ve gone through in such a short period of time.

  Too many.

  Not healthy.

  “I found the texts. Guess it’s been going on for a while.” I steal a slice of pizza that’s in the center of the counter, the spread fit for a college king. Or several college kings, and for a brief moment I wonder why the heck there is…

  So.

  Much.

  Food.

  The pizza is cold, not that I’m complaining, and I chew it slowly while I think.

  “Do you know who she is?”

  “Not really. Someone he met at a party I think.” Most likely there are several someones—I was too traumatized to seek out the laundry list of young women he’s likely got on speed dial, but my gut instincts are telling me there wasn’t just one.

  Eliza screws up her face, genuinely sad. “I’m sorry.”

  I’m sorry too—sorry it took me so long to wise up and see Kyle for the person he is: selfish, egotistical, and overindulged.

  “I guess what I don’t understand is why he didn’t just tell me he was unhappy. We had that huge fight, remember?” Eliza nods. “Why would he get back together with me if he was cheating? He should have just told me then and left things the way they were and gone on his way.”

  Eliza falls into the chair beside me with a sigh, and I steal a square of cheese from the plate in front of me. “Sometimes people aren’t strong enough to be honest when it matters most.”

  I nod, chewing. Swallow. “I cannot believe I haven’t started crying yet. But for real, I’ve done so good.” I steal more cheese. “Ugly crying is not a good look for me. I tend to avoid it at all costs.”

  That makes Eliza laugh, and she pats my hand before standing again so she can finish prepping linner. She fusses around the kitchen, opening this cabinet and that, taking things out of the fridge.

  “Do you want help with anything?”

  My old roommate shakes her head. “No. You stay sitting—you are my guest.” Her eyes roam my face. “You need a stiff drink, but all we have is soda, juice, and water. What’ll it be?” She wants my order as if she were a bartender at one of our favorite bars downtown.

  “Water—pour me another.”

  “Just water? It’s Saturday and it’s five o’clock somewhere.”

  “Ha. Yeah, I’m sure. I went out last night and still feel like shit.”

  A little liquid numbing might have kept the self-pity at bay for a night but sure didn’t do me any favors this morning when I went to practice.

  “One water coming right up.”

  More cheese.

  A small piece of summer sausage.

  “Okay—what’s up with all this food? Are you having a party and I wasn’t invited?”

  Eliza is filling a glass with ice at the freezer before holding it under the faucet for water. “Jack and I have a new roommate and he’s moving in today. I thought it would be nice to have food set out in case there were a bunch of people coming in and out to help him out. Turns out it’s just him and a few boxes, so…eat up.”

  “Don’t mind if I do!”

  Yum.

  Free food tastes so good, especially food I don’t have to prepare myself—I’m not the best cook in the world.

  “Who’s the new roommate?”

  Eliza rearranges the sandwiches she’s already arranged on a plate. “He is a friend of Ashley, Jack’s brother.” Pause. “Well, maybe not a friend, but someone he met and clicked with who hasn’t been living on campus and now needs a place to rent.”

  “Oh—like a local?”

  “I think he’s local, yes. I think his parents are in North Liberty?”

  Never heard of it. “Where is that?”

  Eliza tilts her head to think. “North Liberty is just southeast of school, I think?” She points at the wall above the stove. “About fifteen or twenty minutes away.”

  I pick at the cheese again. “Has he ever lived on campus before, or has he always commuted?”

  “He’s always commuted.”

  “Shit, for real?” That sounds hideous. “I can’t imagine living with my parents after I turned eighteen. Then again, my mother is certifiable.”

  “I love my parents, but I wouldn’t want to live at home, either.” She plucks a cherry tomato from the tray and pops it in her mouth, chewing. “That’s why I moved this far.”

  “Exactly. I’m too far to visit on a regular basis but close enough that I still get in-state tuition.”

  God, I can’t imagine seeing my mother every single day.

  It would be like…being trapped in hell with no escape.

  “How does he study?”

  Eliza shrugs. “You’ll have to ask him that.”

  We’re silent for a few minutes as we pick at the food in the center of the counter, and I put mayonnaise on a croissant sandwich (and a little bit of mustard) before scarfing the entire thing down.

  I’m eating my feelings, and Eliza notices.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

  “Eliza—I’ll be fine.” I smile to prove it. “This isn’t my first rodeo—granted, it’s the first rodeo where the stallion didn’t stop himself from banging other horses…allegedly.” I add an eye roll for good measure.

  She snorts out a laugh. “That was seriously the worst analogy.”

  “Sorry, that’s the best one I could come up with on such short notice.” I lick my fingers. “I’m going to take some time for myself. I’m always in a relationship, and this will be good, being single for a while and focusing on me and what I want.”

  Eliza nods along. “I think that’s a great idea.”

  “I’ve always had a boyfriend.” I hate admitting it, but
I usually waste no time going from one to another if I break up with someone or he breaks things off with me. Relationship jumper—isn’t that what it’s called?

  Yeah…that’s me.

  Embarrassing but true. I love being in relationships. The problem is, they’re typically with immature, emotionally stunted guys who haven’t grown up yet and don’t know what they want. Spoiled guys with egos. Popular, good-looking men who women hit on and who people always want to chat up, causing them to seek attention in every which direction.

  That’s been my type, and it hasn’t been working.

  Something has to change, and that something is me.

  Me.

  I need to change.

  What do I want?

  I don’t know.

  I’ve spent my entire life being told what to do by my parents, my mother, my coaches and teachers—I finally feel like I’m at the point where it’s time for me to decide what I want. And it’s only taken me twenty-one years to realize it.

  “I think it’s wonderful that you want to take some time for yourself, Lilly. It’s time for a little bit of self-love. And you can start by eating some of these chocolate-dipped strawberries.” She pushes the little plate toward me and I nick a berry from it, sinking my teeth into it with a scrumptious moan.

  “Darn this is good—where did you get these?”

  “I made them this morning. It was really easy, all I did was get some meltable chocolate at the grocery store and voila.”

  I steal another one. “How come you never cooked or put out food like this when we lived together? Maybe Kaylee wouldn’t have asked you to leave. Ha.”

  “Oh, you’re a comedian now? Lilly has jokes?” Eliza rolls her eyes and pulls the plate away from me. “No more for you.”

  “Oh come on, I’m just kidding! Besides, you know Kaylee would have asked you to leave no matter what—she’s such a brat and you didn’t deserve the way she treated you. Like I said, I had no idea she was behaving that way or that she’d asked you to move out because you were dating Jack, and if I had…I would have done something. I wouldn’t have let her treat you like shit.”

  “I know she’s a brat,” she says. “I also know she was just jealous. That’s human nature.” Eliza shrugs her shoulders inside her gray sweatshirt. “What are you going to do about it, right?”

  “Um, call her out on her bullshit—that’s what you can do about it.” I pause to chew so I’m not speaking with my mouth full. Swallow. “She’s not completely horrible these days, but she’s not completely pleasant either. We’re getting by, but…things just aren’t the same. The house isn’t the same since you moved out. I miss you.”

  “You always were my favorite of the two.” Eliza laughs.

  “Duh, obviously.”

  “Also, Kyle can suck your dick. You were way too good for him. You know that, right?”

  I mean—Kyle was the running back on the football team and a visible guy on campus so I’m sure plenty of people would beg to differ with her assessment, but those people also don’t know the real Kyle.

  Still, I can use a bit of fluffing these days, and I’ll take any ego boosting I can get.

  “I’m not kidding, Lill. You’re too kind-hearted for a guy like that. You’re kind and sweet and good.” Eliza stands and comes around the counter to give me a side hug, squeezing my shoulders and kissing me on the cheek. “I love you, friend. You’re one of the best people I know.”

  Just then—and before I can reply—a guy walks into the kitchen carrying a cardboard box, tall and broad with hair just long enough to pull back into a short ponytail.

  Dirty blonde.

  Looks kind of like a surfer at the beach, if you don’t count the fact that he has no tan.

  He pauses—halting when he sees us sitting at the counter with Eliza’s arms wrapped around me. I’m sure it looks as if he’s interrupting something intimate, an emotional and heartfelt moment between friends.

  “Sorry, I…” He stammers, glancing around the room as if searching for a place to flee. Locates the nearest exit. “Jack said I can store some of my things in the garage?”

  My friend releases me with another gentle squeeze before rising to her full height. “Oh sure. Here, let me get the door for you—that looks heavy.”

  I watch as my former roommate goes to the side door and opens it for her new roommate, feeling a little regretful about the way things went down with her moving out. Though we are still friends, I have a lot of remorse about the way I allowed Kaylee to treat her. I know I cannot control how people behave, but I could have intervened.

  There’s no way of knowing whether or not Eliza would have stayed with us or gone, but she would have at least known I was on her side from the beginning.

  The new guy disappears outside, returning a few minutes later with a new box, this one with the word FRAGILE neatly scrawled in black marker across each of its four sides.

  I study him and his eyes glance around the room.

  He has an oddly familiar vibe.

  Have we met before?

  Hmm…

  I try not to stare, and he actively avoids looking at me altogether as Eliza, standing near my chair, watches us both. Brows raised but otherwise not commenting on the weird behavior.

  He wants to say something—probably to Eliza—but seems to feel self-conscious with me here, and I can tell he’s on the shy side. Definitely not an extrovert.

  I have my days; sometimes I’m outgoing, sometimes I’m not, sometimes I’m both.

  He blinks over at me.

  Opens his mouth to speak then snaps it shut. Hefts the box again to redistribute the weight.

  So awkward…

  “You must be the new roommate,” I say at last to break the silence Eliza refuses to fill, damn her. “I’m the old one.”

  “I am.”

  “Rome, this is Lilly.”

  “Do I know you? You seem familiar.”

  The guy fumbles with the box he’s carrying, nearly dropping it to the floor and blushing beet red in the process.

  I wink at him.

  This time he does drop his box, the undeniable sound of glass shattering echoing throughout the kitchen.

  We all freeze.

  Oh shit, that didn’t sound good, not good at all.

  “Shit.” Rome drops to his knees and begins to pry open the box, his entire body sagging when both flaps are peeled back and he peers inside. He goes slack, shoulders hunched over in defeat.

  Eliza goes around to stand behind him, and I join her as the three of us look inside.

  “What is that?”

  Whatever it was, it was sparkly and is now in a million bits, the base of something and its top broken into sharp chunks of debris.

  I move to kneel beside him to get a closer look.

  “That looks like it could have been an Emmy Award,” I say breathlessly, touching the shards of glass gingerly so I don’t get one stabbed into the tip of my finger. “What was it actually?”

  “It’s—it was a Cambridge Stein Scholarship Award,” he says quietly at long last, after staring holes into the already broken glass. It still shimmers under the light.

  I feel absolutely terrible, though I’m not the one who dropped the box and broke the award.

  Still.

  It’s obviously a very important memento for him, and now it’s in shambles.

  “What was it for?”

  He struggles to gulp in a breath. “I won an award to attend Cambridge University in the UK—I spent last semester there.”

  Shit.

  “That sounds prestigious.”

  “It was.”

  “I’m so sorry it’s broken,” I tell him quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Guess we’re both having a bad day.”

  He doesn’t ask what that means or why I’m having a bad day, only shakes his head once. I remove my palm, and he regains the ability to take air into his lungs. “It’s just a bit of glass. I have the memories from living there in he
re.” He taps on his forehead. “I don’t need this as a reminder.”

  But still…

  “We could glue it together?” Jack—Eliza’s roommate and boyfriend—strolls into the kitchen as the new guy dumps the pieces back into his box. “Might look like utter shite, but at least you’d still have it.”

  “I love mosaics. I can do it for you!” I volunteer enthusiastically, suddenly perking up. “I used to take classes at a pottery shop in high school, and we did artwork with shards. You should let me try to get it back in one piece.”

  “Really, it’s fi—”

  But the box is already in my arms and I’m already standing, commandeering his busted award.

  “Nope. I’m going to fix this.”

  I am going to make this right.

  After all, this was partially my fault. If he hadn’t been staring at me shyly and I hadn’t winked at him, perhaps he wouldn’t have dropped the box in the first place and his award would still be intact.

  Yes.

  I’ll fix it for him, one way or another.

  3

  ROMAN

  Well that couldn’t have been more awkward.

  Just kidding—it was worse than all that.

  Who drops a box because a pretty girl winks at him? That’s something that would happen to a nerd in a movie—except in the movie scenario, the nerd would also have wet his pants and humiliated himself, so at least I didn’t do that.

  I’m bad, but I’m not that bad, although one thing was glaringly obvious: I have a lot of work to do on myself when it comes to girls and dating and my comfort level with being myself around them. If I was a little more confident, I wouldn’t have dropped that box and gone frozen when Lilly looked at me.

  “Do I know you?” she asked, and I was too stunned to say, “Yes, we met when we were freshmen, we sat for an hour on the stairs at a party and spilled our guts to each other. I can’t believe you recognize me.”

  I’ve changed a lot in the last three years, and she has too. I could see plainly in her eyes that she’s matured—I could also see some hurt, although I obviously don’t have a clue what the story is behind the tired expression and the drooping shoulders when she was sitting at the counter.

  Lilly was only too eager to jump up and help me without even knowing who I was. We may not have a history, but we did certainly spend a lot of time sitting and talking and sharing private thoughts with each other. I remember her telling me about her mother, and I wonder if that relationship has gotten any better. I remember telling her I still lived at home and recall the look on her face when I said I had never lived anywhere else.