Bedhead: A Romance

by Kayt Miller

  On the screen, Cooke goes from standing somewhere in a room to lying on his bed. A white pillow fluffs up around his head as he places one hand behind his head while the other holds his phone above him. It gives me a bird’s-eye view of his chest. The pose makes the arm behind his head look corded with muscles. I’m staring like a dang fool, but I’m forced out of my daze when he asks, “What did you think?”

  What did I think? About what? I shake my head. “Oh, about your little rugby movies?”

  Cooke chuckles. “Yeah, our little movies.”

  There were two short videos about his team and their road to the Rugby World Cup. He was in it a lot: getting measured for a suit, being hooked up to a heart monitor, doing a lot of running around with his teammates. “I liked it.” The truth is, I know nothing about rugby. “My, erm, friend Bryant’s roommate plays rugby for Iowa State, my university.”

  “Have you been to a match?”

  “No. I… he just told me.” God, why is talking about Bryant making me all squirrely?

  “Are you blushing, lass?”

  Yes. “No.”

  “Who is this Bryant fellow? Boyfriend?”

  Now I feel the heat on my cheeks. “I wish,” I whisper. “No. We’re just friends.”

  “Friend-zoned, eh?”

  I nod. “Exactly.”

  “He’s a fool. You’re lovely, Quinn Maxwell.”

  “Ha,” I say too loudly. “He’s out of my league.”

  I stare down at my phone and watch Cooke’s face change from one that’s smiling and jovial to one that’s serious and rather angry. “I’ve only just met you, love, and I happen to think you’re in a league all your own.”

  “Well, therein lies the problem. You just met me, and anyway, I don’t think FaceChat really counts as ‘meeting’ someone.”

  “The feck it doesn’t,” he snaps. “You’ve become the bright spot in my day, Quinn, and we’ve only just met on FaceChat. If we met in person, I’m sure I’d fall madly in love with you.”

  I’m blushing, but not in a good way. Why do I get the feeling he’s fucking with me? I don’t need this. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re not here, because you’d be disappointed.” I feel my eyes water, but I’m not about to let him see me upset, so I quickly say, “Hey, Cooke. I need to, uh, get to class. I’m late.”

  “Quinn.”

  “Bye,” I chirp, doing my best to sound happy, though it’s hard to when it’s been a shit day. “Nice talking to you.”

  It’s true. I take everything way too personally. I’m not sure I know how to stop doing that, though. I grew up as the youngest of five kids, three of whom weren’t especially nice to me. It probably stems from that, I guess. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family. I do. Now that we’re older, I think they get that they weren’t very nice to me. Hell, I’m sure they know now. My mom likes to tell everyone that I pretty much cried the first sixteen years of my life. I’ve no doubt that’s partially true. It’s probably why I hate crying now. It’s also why I internalize everything people say, even if it’s not intentionally mean-spirited. Like what Cooke just said. He meant well, but I know without a doubt that if he were here in person, he would not be attracted to me. How could he be? I’m a size sixteen on a good day. Guys like Cooke Thompson don’t fall in love with the Quinn Maxwells of the world. They just don’t.

  Chapter Nine

  Entering my house, I set my backpack down next to the kitchen table. The first thing I notice is the house is unnaturally quiet. With five roommates, there’s always someone home, and they’re usually watching a movie or listening to music loudly. When I step into the living room, I see four out of the five huddled together, whispering. So I’m not a creeper, I say, “Hey.”

  They jump apart quickly, three of them giggling and Robbi merely smiling. “Shit, girl. You surprised us,” Susanna says with her hand over her heart.

  “Sorry.” I’m not actually sorry. “Hey, Pats,” I say, nodding in her direction.

  “How was your day?” asks Kat sweetly.

  “Goo—” I’m about to say “good,” but I decide not to lie. “Shitty, actually.”

  “Oh?” all three say in unison.

  “Why? What happened?” Patsy sounds sincerely concerned.

  I know I shouldn’t say anything because this is going to get to the rest of the roommates and probably to others, but what the hell. “Bryant wants Kara’s number.”

  “Yay,” Susanna squeaks as she claps and bounces up and down in her seat. “She’ll be so—oh.”

  “You like him?” I think it was Kat’s question.

  “I do.” I shrug. “Or I did. But I know he’s out of my league.”

  “Oh,” Susanna coos. “That’s not true. You have such a pretty face.”

  Now, here’s the thing. I know she means that as a compliment, but it’s not. Sure, she said I had a pretty face, but what I heard was “It’s too bad the rest of you is hideous.”

  “Thanks.” Looking over at Susanna, I tell her, “I’ve got Bryant’s number if you want to give it to her.”

  “Oh, um, sure.” She smiles weakly.

  “Also, I really like you guys. I’ve enjoyed hanging out with you at Cy’s and here, but if you go out and Kara’s going to be there, please let me know so I can bow out gracefully.”

  “Not over a guy.” Robbi sounds indignant. “Hoes before bros, Quinn.”

  Shaking my head, I say, “She’s not nice. To me, anyway. I don’t need that in my life.” I had to deal with that enough with my family and the bullies in middle and high school. I’m not doing that again.

  Patsy nods. “Sure. We’ll tell you if she’s going out with us.”

  “But…,” Susanna starts but then hesitates.

  I arch my brow, waiting for it. I know what’s coming. Susanna is going to tell me, “Kara’s not so bad.”

  “Kara means well.”

  Close enough.

  Susanna feels compelled to continue, I guess. “She had a rough childhood.”

  I stand in silence, waiting for Kara’s sob story. No matter what it is, there’s nothing so terrible that should make her into such a vile human being.

  “Her sister died when she was a baby.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” I really am. “It’s sad.”

  Robbi scoffs, “It’s still no excuse for being the world’s biggest bitch.”

  “Robbi…” Susanna whispers.

  “Welp,” I say with my happiest voice, “I’m going to make some ramen, and then I’ve got studying to do.”

  “You know….”

  Holy shit. Is today going to be the world’s biggest fucking cliché day or what? When it rains, it pours, as they say. I look over at Patsy. “Yes. I know ramen is bad for me. If I didn’t eat it, I’d probably lose weight.”

  Patsy nods.

  Shrugging, I say, “But, it’s cheap and I’m broke, so that’s just the way it is.”

  “I could help you.”

  I’m doing my utmost to not roll my eyes hard. I smile instead. “Yeah?”

  “You could start running with me.”

  She’s right. I could. I could also win the Nobel Prize in math. Definitely not. “I’d have to walk. I’m going to start working out at the rec center as soon as I save up enough money for the membership.” Save up? How am I going to do that? I don’t have a job.

  “Good.” She smiles. “I just care—”

  Interrupting her, I return her smile. “I know. Thanks, Patsy.”

  “No problem.”

  I turn on my heel and grab my backpack from the dining area. Instead of making ramen right now, I opt to go down to my room instead. I’ll make it later, after everyone gets settled in their rooms. I’ve had enough interaction with people for one day.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  I lift my head off my textbook. “Yeah,” I say sleepily.

  “Quinn? It’s Patsy. Can I come in?”

  “Sure.” I quickly scan my room to make sure I don’t have anyt
hing out that would embarrass me—you know, like dirty undies and such.

  When she steps in, she looks first at me, then around my room. “Do you like it down here?”

  “Yeah. My room is big.” And it is. It’s twice the size of my room at home. It’s also super moist, and I’m pretty sure there’s a colony of spiders living under my bed. So, I’ve got that goin’ for me.

  “Good.” She points at my desk chair.

  I nod.

  Turning it to face me, she sits. “Look. About earlier.”

  “No, it’s okay.”

  She holds up her hand, and I stop talking. “You and I met last year, so you didn’t know me before.”

  “Before?”

  “Before I lost just over one hundred pounds.”

  “Wow. Really?”

  “Really. It took me two years and a fuck-ton of work.” She giggles. “Keeping it off is twice as hard thanks to beer.”

  We both laugh at that.

  “So, when I said I’d help you, I meant it.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but she holds her hand up again. “But with the caveat that you need to know that I meant what I said. You’re beautiful.” I’m about to roll my eyes when she adds, “All of you.”

  She knows. I’m sure she heard about her pretty face a time or two.

  “If you want to go for walks, I’d love to go with you. They’re free, and it beats the hell out of running.” She laughs. “I fucking hate running.”

  “Me too. Running hurts.”

  “Heck, thirty-minute walks every day will give you more energy. You know, endorphins or whatever. If that’s all you do, then you’re still doing something proactive and healthy.”

  I walk a lot already. Going across campus several times a day is good enough, right?

  “I know what you’re thinking. Yes, we walk a lot on campus, but you’re probably not getting your heart rate up since they’re short distances.”

  I swear, the woman is a mind reader. “Tomorrow?” Might as well bite the bullet. I have a feeling Patsy won’t let this go anyway.

  “Meet me downstairs at six. We’ll do thirty minutes. On the days we have class, it’ll give us time to get ready for class afterward.”

  “Ugh, six? In the morning?” I whine, but then I laugh. “Sure. See you then.”

  After she leaves, I scowl at my textbook. I’m tired of studying, so I grab my nail polish supplies and set to work to give my nails a new look. Since it’s now September, I’ll do autumnal colors. A different one for each nail.

  With my supplies out, I sigh. Doing my nails is my stress reliever. I lose myself in the process—just what I need right now.

  Chapter Ten

  Six o’clock came faster than I’d hoped. I tossed and turned all night, though I’m not sure why. I’m usually like that right before a big test, but that’s not it this time. It could have been because I knew I had to get up early. I don’t know how many times I looked over at my clock on the nightstand and calculated how much time I had left to sleep. Yeah, that doesn’t help.

  When my alarm finally buzzes, I roll out of bed with a groan and turn on the lamp by my bed so I can search for something to wear. I blink rapidly because I swear I saw something move across my floor, and it wasn’t small. I release a shiver, then race over to the light switch. Once the entire room is illuminated, I scan the floor. “Nothing.” I sigh with relief, figuring I was probably just hallucinating. I groan again and pick up a pair of my leggings that are only a little dirty. I’m exercising. I don’t need perfectly clean clothes for that.

  In my top drawer, I find my one and only sports bra. I struggle to get it over my chest, and it’s not because my boobs are big. They’re not. It isn’t easy, but I finally get it on. Panting and sweating from the effort, I rationalize that that was a pretty good workout, so why do I need to go for a walk?

  Who am I kidding? Patsy would never agree to that. Next, I slip on an old ISU tee from my bottom drawer and glance at the clock. I’m late, so I grab my tennis shoes and a sweatshirt and head upstairs.

  At the top of the stairs, I hesitate at the sight.

  “Hey, Quinn,” says a hoarse Kat.

  “Morning, uh, everyone.” I say everyone because all five of my roommates are standing in the kitchen slash dining room. “Are you all going for a walk?”

  “Yep,” mutters Susanna. “We could all use some exercise around here.”

  I smile. They’re doing this for me, and it’s the weirdest feeling. I swear my heart just jumped a little in my chest.

  “It’ll be fun,” says a way-too-perky Patsy.

  “Uh-huh,” Robbi grumbles. “Sure.”

  I laugh and it feels good.

  “Here,” Robbi says, handing me a bottle of water. “Let’s get this shit-show on the road.”

  I laugh again but say nothing else.

  We walk for thirty minutes, and it’s not easy. Patsy set a brutal pace. We’re all breathing heavy and sweating by the time we turn the corner onto Beedle Drive.

  “You’re a bitch, Pats,” Susanna says, panting.

  “I know.” She doesn’t appear to care if she’s a bitch or not.

  Nearing the house, I’m taking a drink of water when I see movement to my left at the house across the street.

  “Jack!” Kat yells.

  When he looks up, he flashes a big smile and begins to walk toward us. “Beedle babes. You’re out early.”

  Beedle babes? I scan the group. Yeah, I can see that.

  “And who do we have here?”

  I turn my head and meet Jack’s eyes. They’re nice. Blue with little crinkles in the corner. Crinkles that tell me he smiles a lot.

  “Jack, this is our new roommate, Quinn.” Patsy turns to me. “Quinn, this is Jack Monroe, just one of the cute boys who live in that house.” She points to the dark green ranch house directly across the street from ours.

  “Boys?” He puffs out his chest. “We’re manly men.” Then he laughs. Turning back to me, he smiles again, but it’s a little shy. He holds out his hand for a shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Quinn.”

  “You too,” I say, shaking his hand like I’m running for mayor. Ugh, I have no game.

  “Well, we should celebrate the newest babe. Barbeque at our place?” he suggests.

  “Hell yeah,” says one of the girls.

  “You ladies bring the beer; we’ll provide the meat.”

  Susanna snorts, and it makes us all laugh.

  Before Jack turns to leave, he leans down and kisses my hand. “You, beautiful Quinn, don’t need to bring a thing.”

  “Oh, well….”

  “Thanks, Jack,” says Robbi as she takes my free hand and pulls me away. A good thing since I was frozen in time.

  “I’ll talk to the guys, see what date works. I’ll let you know.” He smiles brightly. “Have a wonderful day, ladies.”

  “You too,” several of us say at once.

  The minute we walk into the house, they start.

  “Oh. Em. Gee. He likes you, Quinn,” squeals Susanna.

  “No, he—”

  “He does,” Kat jumps in. “He’s never flirted with any of us.”

  I shake my head. “I’m sure—”

  “We’ll see at the barbeque, won’t we? Hm?” says a smirking Patsy.

  “No.”

  Oh geez. What will I wear?

  Chapter Eleven

  Cooke: What is a scrum?

  The past few days, Cooke has taken to texting me weird questions like that one. I know it’s related to rugby, because after looking up the first two, I saw a theme—Day one: What is a fly-half? Day two: What is a sin bin?

  Me: Scrum is another name for that gross soapy ring around the bathtub.

  See what I did there? I made something up. I’ve been doing that for all of them because it’s funny. I’m not sure he agrees, because after my latest funny, he wrote:

  Cooke: Quinn, love. Don’t be cheeky. If we’re going to be mates, you need to learn all abou
t the first love of my life.

  I know what cheeky means, but when he says “mates”…. I know it means ‘friend’ in British.

  Fine. I can stop being cheeky.

  Me: A scrum is: an ordered formation of players, used to restart play, in which the forwards of a team form up with arms interlocked and heads down, then push forward against a similar group from the opposing side. The ball is thrown into the scrum, and the players try to gain possession of it by kicking it backward toward their own side.

  Thank you, Google.

  Me: You know I just pasted that from Google, right? I still don’t know what it means.

  Before I know it, he’s sent me a link to a video tutorial about scrums. It’s only three minutes long, so I watch it.

  Me: Oh, I get it.

  Sort of.

  Me: Thanks for dumbing it down for me. ;)

  Cooke: Cheeky lass.

  I shouldn’t like that last text. Not at all. But I do.

  Day four:

  Cooke: Who is the best fly-half in the entire world?

  Me: Um… you?

  Cooke: Quinn Maxwell, you’re bloody perfect, you are.

  Me: So, all I need to do is stroke your ego and I’m “bloody perfect”?

  Cooke: That about sums it up, yeah. Stroking is always encouraged.

  Me: Ugh. No you didn’t.

  Cooke: My apologies. That was ungentlemanly.

  Me: Apology accepted.

  Cooke: ;)

  Day five came and went. So did days six, seven, and eight. It bugged me just a little, because I was getting used to waking up to a text every morning. No matter, I’ve got other things to fill the void. After all, Cooke isn’t real. Well, okay, he’s a real person, but he lives in another country, he’s a professional athlete, and he’s gorgeous. It was just a matter of time before he grew tired of the stupid girl from Iowa. In the meantime, I’ve been keeping myself busy with school and my roommates. We’ve gone for a walk every morning so far. Most everyone makes it, but there have been mornings that one or two couldn’t drag themselves out of bed due to hangovers or, erm, company of the manly variety.