by Cd Brennan
She nodded once. “That she did.”
“Okay then…” With a knock on the doorframe, he turned and left.
Down in the kitchen, Rory readied to make one of his post-workout smoothies. Actually, these days, pre and post-workout. From the refrigerator, he snagged kale, berries, and almond milk, and then a half banana and ice cubes from the freezer. He chucked it all plus chia seeds into the blender. Normally, he’d add a scoop of plant protein powder, but it made it taste even worse than it already did.
He kind of liked the idea of a girl living with him and Del. He’d gone from an all-boys school during his youth to living in the dorms at uni with a bunch of lads, back with his folks for a short time before here with Del and Irish. He hadn’t dated much. But then he hadn’t tried either, his focus always on the rugby. And without much experience with women, his confidence was complete and utter bollocks. He sounded like a complete eejit when he talked to them. Some had shown interest, and he had taken sex when it was offered, but ultimately he lived for the rugby.
And Grace was a definite improvement from Irish. Del was gone all the time so it would be nice for some company. He’d been spending most of his time on his own for the last eight months, and he was starting to get bored. What did that say about him? If he couldn’t entertain himself, it was unlikely he could entertain others. No wonder the boys weren’t onto him to go out on the weekends. That and he didn’t get absolutely blootered like the rest of them. Only a few pints max.
The sludge was a kale green and tasted like shite, but he’d never admit that to anyone else. As an afterthought, he poured a second glass for Grace and headed upstairs.
Music was pumping out her open door, so loud it made Rory cringe. She was singing along when he approached, but only a word here or there. He stayed in the shadows to watch. He felt like a voyeur, but he found life more enjoyable this way. Observed from a distance, no direct engagement.
There was some sort of kit on the bedside table that she unzipped and withdrew a syringe. At the sight, he slinked farther behind her half open door. Was it Padraig all over again?
Rory had never understood, having no inclination himself. After a bit of hash in secondary school, he hadn’t indulged in any drugs. He lost too much self-control. He didn’t like it. While that same feeling was most likely exhilarating to many, Rory had found it…uncomfortable. Scary at times. Much preferred to have his few jars. Rarely even got aff his heid.
Grace raised her shirt and held it in place with her teeth while she gave a quick jab into her stomach. When she was finished, she tucked everything back into her case and let out a long sigh. A new song came on, tinny and synthesized, and Grace perked up. She grabbed a shirt out of a pile and placed it on a hanger. She held the shirt as if she was dancing with a partner, swinging around the room in a bad waltz. Rory pinched the laugh back into his mouth. That was cute. She was most likely high, but bloody cute.
Grace had hung a Brave poster, the Disney animation with the flame-haired Scottish lass, over the side of her bed, which she’d placed flush against the wall, most likely for more dance space.
He finally knocked with one of the glasses in his hand. It wasn’t a solid knock, more of a clunk, but she turned to him, the shirt pressed against her chest. “Oh, hey.”
“I saw you…” Rory gestured to the bedside table.
The smile fell from her face. “Oh, that. It’s no big deal. I have to take insulin for my diabetes.”
“Ah.” That was understandable then.
After she turned down the music, she approached Rory. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Maybe.”
She leaned into him close. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Aye.”
“Don’t tell anyone about it.”
“Your diabetes?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Lots of reasons.” Her normal smiley features were now drawn, sad. She placed the hanger with the shirt in the closet and then turned to him, her hands on her hips. “Diabetes has controlled my life since I was a kid.” She sighed out a big breath between pursed lips. “That and my momma, who worried constantly about it. I’m not gonna die from it. It’s just diabetes. Life has always been about my blood sugar level, and I don’t want to think about it anymore. That’s why I moved. I’m an adult, ya know? I can take care of myself. My momma had it so everyone was looking over my shoulder watching me. It sucked.”
“That’s not a bad thing. People looking after you.”
She whipped off her hat and threw it on the bed. “It is to me. Here, I just want to be Grace. Not Diabetic Grace, okay? So please, just don’t mention it.”
She was getting irritated, and Rory had only been talking to her for a few minutes. He acquiesced, “Okay, if that’s what you want.”
She beamed. “Yep. I’m just like everyone else. Think of me that way.”
That wasn’t possible. From the first day he saw her at the gym to the rugby tackle on him the boys were still taking about, Grace had already made an impact on Rory’s life. Within a few days, she’d etched herself into his mind, an annoying conundrum of attraction and repulsion. On one hand, she had a vivacity that drew him, an energy that he’d love to tap into and take for himself. But if she let him, he’d drain her dry. On the other, her larger than life personality scared him to death.
He lied and said, “Will do.” And to show her that her diabetes didn’t matter, he dropped the subject. “What are you listening to?”
“This is the music Gillian loaned me. It’s kinda good actually.”
“Who are they?”
She shrugged. “Dunno.” Grace grabbed a CD case off the desk and squinted at the small portable player on the same. She turned down the volume. “Track three… Right, it’s called ‘Come on Eileen’ by…Dexy’s Midnight Runners. I think that’s how you say it. I’m more of a country girl, but this ain’t too bad.”
“It’s all right, but I’m not an expert. I never really got into music.”
Grace set the CD case down. “That’s okay. Some people just aren’t into it that much.” She motioned to the glasses in his hands. “Whatcha got there?”
He’d stood there for five minutes with the smoothies and had forgotten about them. “Oh, right. I thought you might want a smoothie.”
“Aw, that’s very nice of you, Mr.… Oh yeah, I don’t know your last name. We aren’t on that basis yet.” She winked at him and nudged him in the arm.
“Cameron, and have a go. I think they’re quite good. Using them to build some bulk.”
She took the glass and sniffed. “Hoowee, what is in this?”
“Kale, almond milk, berries, banana, and chia seeds. I didn’t put protein powder in it. That has a taste that stays with you all day. You wouldn’t want that anyway with all your muscles and all.” He smiled to let her know he was joking. “Cheers.” He tinked his glass with hers.
She made a face and eyed the glass again. “That sounds way too healthy for my new life here, but since you are my roomie and all, and in the name of camaraderie…”
Chapter 5
His indifference toward himself was the stuff of legends. Not one arrogant vibe radiated off the man. Oh, my. If she were her sister, she’d have her fan out, making googly eyes at Rory. Lucky, she wasn’t her sister, or anything near. “See you at the bottom.”
She took a sip of the green concoction and clenched her stomach to hold back her gag. She knew it was going to be unpleasant but, dayum, if it wasn’t worse than she remembered. He was taking it in one tip, glugging it down. She wished she could do the same, really she did, but even the smell made her cringe. She’d pinch her nose, but was that too obvious?
She took another tentative sip. “How about I give this up for the night”—she waved her hand around the room—“and we get some pizza instead?”
The dregs of his drink still clung to the sides of the glass. “Aren’t you going to drink yours?”
Biti
ng her lip, she glanced down at her full glass. It couldn’t hurt. Well, except her taste buds. She gave him a look to say of course. “Aw, yeah, sure I am.” She chugged the thick, green liquid, waiting and hoping for the bottom of the glass. With a dramatic “ahhh,” she slammed it down onto her open palm. It was still half full. “Now, how about that pizza?”
He looked skeptical, his brow furrowed. “I don’t really eat pizza.”
Whoa. Stop right there. Who didn’t eat pizza? And then it hit her. He must be joking. She was being naïve, falling for it because she wasn’t from here. Didn’t belong to the Blues, wasn’t one of the gang. “Fuck off. Pepperoni or sausage?”
He grabbed her glass, not a word, but his lips were pinched. “No pizza.”
“Beer?”
“I suppose we could have a couple.”
She clapped her hands like a little girl. “Yeah, let’s. We can make a night of it. You reckon Del will be home? And we can do the whole roomie thing. Ya know, drink beer, watch a movie, chill on the couch.”
He snorted at that. “I doubt greatly Del will be back.”
“Oh, right. Is he not around often?”
“You could say that.”
She followed him down the stairs.
“He likes rugby, drinking, and girls.”
Grace raised her eyebrows at that, but there were worst things in the world than a man-ho for a roommate. “Well, then it’s just you and me. Is that so bad?”
Rory had swung around the banister at the bottom so he faced her. “No.”
He sauntered into the living room and picked up his cell phone from the coffee table. “There’s a bunch of Del’s beer in the fridge. I’ll replace it tomorrow.”
“Nice. I’ll just get us a couple then.” Grace walked to the kitchen with a skip in her step. On the fridge was one of those small magnetic mirrors, so she took a quick peek to make sure there were no boogers and her hair wasn’t a static mess. This damn cold, dry air was like one of those balls you see at museums with the colored electricity zapping through them.
In the fridge, there was a twelve-pack of Labatt’s opened and on its side. She grabbed two beers and headed to the living room where Rory was standing in front of the TV with the clicker in his hand.
“We can either watch some of Del’s rugby movies or we can play one of my games.”
“Oh right, that’s your Xbox, is it?” How the heck could he afford all this? Grace barely made it from paycheck to paycheck. Plus, all his clothes were good quality, from his shoes to his jeans.
“Yup, I only have a few, but there’s one multiplayer you might like.”
She handed one can to him before opening the other for herself. “Hmm…maybe the rugby. If I want to get involved with the Blues, I might need to know what’s going on.”
“Still determined, huh?”
“Yeah. I still want to play.”
“I don’t know that’s a good idea.”
Of all the nerve. She wasn’t asking his permission anyhoo. “Well, it’s not your idea. It’s mine. So you don’t have to think about it.” A bit snarky for their first roomie night together, but these days her hackles were easily provoked. Normally, she wasn’t so grumpy. It must be the winter and the short days up here.
That left him silent, and he started the DVD. He settled back into the big chair, giving Grace the entire couch that lay front and center to the TV. She sat on the end farthest from him and tucked her legs underneath.
The DVD started with a shot of the middle of the field, a stadium full of spectators in the background. A team in black was doing some sort of tribal dance in front of the other team. Rory explained it was the haka and what the New Zealand All Blacks and other islander teams did before a match to intimidate their opponents. It was full-on, she had to admit. They were stomping and smacking their chests and arms while one fella in the middle called out to them in a foreign language. They answered in the same. The All Blacks ended by sticking their tongues out of their mouths while motioning a slice across the throat with their thumbs. Wow. That would scare the shit out of her if she was standing in front of them. Shoot, she was buzzing a bit just watching it on the TV.
The opposing team had stood stoic the entire time, some shifting their weight from foot to foot, but mostly they watched intently, steel and determination in their own eyes.
This rugby shit was passionate for sure, and the game hadn’t even started. “I can see why you love rugby. It looks like a great sport.”
“You saw us the other night.”
“Yeah, but it’s not the same watching it from the sidelines as it is seeing it all here. And with professional teams and all…”
He frowned. “I s’pose not.” Then he stood. “You want another beer before the game starts?” On the TV, pictures of hot guys were flashing up with the team position, a commentator voiceover talking tactics, strengths and weaknesses, and all that pregame stuff that was babble to Grace.
“Sure.”
When Rory returned, he handed her another can of Labatt’s before he sat down.
Maybe she should check the alcohol level. Or better yet, the sugar content of a can of Labatt’s. It was a full-strength, not even a light beer, which is all she’d had in the past. And very little.
Nah, she’d rather get him talking again. She loved to listen to his voice, the cadence rising and falling, a slight inflection at the end of each of his sentences. If she fell asleep listening to his voice, what would she dream of? Of highlands and moors, of lochs and mountains that she’d have to summon from the Brave movie since she’d never been to Scotland.
At the end of her first beer, Grace was already feeling a little buzzed. The fear of God and her mother, and God being her mom’s bestie, had kept her from drinking at home in the past. The first time she’d had a beer at a family reunion, her momma pricked her finger on the hour. Not only that, but years of diet discipline had been drilled into her ever since she was young. She opened the next can and immediately took a sip. This drinking thing wasn’t so bad. Felt kinda good, actually.
She snuck a peek at Rory out of the corner of her eye. He was so handsome it was hard to look at him. Soulful, dark eyes and dark hair that he manicured in a side part. It looked better mussed and wild like it was after his shower, most likely from a feisty towel dry. Her tummy twisted as she remembered him naked, all sinew and strength, just a bit of chest hair and a trail that led to his—
Lawd, she needed to get her mind off his body. “How long have you been playing rugby?”
He cleared his throat. “Since I was five.”
Then silence again. As they watched the game, Rory would sporadically cuss at the TV or yell at the referee for a bad call. She couldn’t really tell what was happening. A few things she recognized from the other night, but the game moved so fast she could barely keep up.
When she went to take another sip of the beer, only a trickle met her mouth. Now where had that beer gone? She couldn’t have drunk it all, could have she? Huh.
“Do you want another?” she asked Rory.
He glanced at her briefly. “Maybe one more…”
“Aw, go on. I’m going to have another one.”
He seemed nervous, not quite as comfortable as he was trying to portray. Instead of lying reclined in the La-Z-Boy like most others would do, he sat erect in the chair. Maybe she was the one making him nervous. She smiled to herself at the thought. Wouldn’t that be something?
When he cleared his throat, it broke her daydream.
“I’ll get them.” Before he gave her the affirmative, she jumped out of her seat to go to the kitchen. Bad move. She had no idea how tipsy she was until she stood up. But she wouldn’t back out of it. They were bonding over rugby and beer, a great start to their roomie relationship.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Ah sure, I’m fine.” She steadied herself and walked with an exaggerated sway of her hips so he would look at her butt. She thought she heard him snort, but nah, Gra
ce had a good backside she’d been told. But that took too much effort, and the sway turned into a stumble, so she concentrated once she hit the hall, one foot after another. It was like following footsteps in the snow the way she placed each step in a specific spot on the floor. She chuckled at herself. At the fridge, she took another look in the mirror. Yikesy. Here she thought she’d been emanating hot stuff when really her mascara had smeared and her hair was a mess. She ran a finger under each eye and flipped her hair over to a side part to give it some volume. Obviously drinking also made you care about things you usually didn’t.
The last beer she’d take it easy, just sips, or even pretend sips. She grabbed two out of the fridge, and then on second thought grabbed another one for Rory since he was a guy, and was back into the living room just as there was a try in the game. Rory swore softly.
“I’m not sure I understand.” She handed him his two beers before plopping on the couch heavily. Whoa, spins. “You’ve seen this game before yet you still get upset when you watch it.”
“That’s because New Zealand is playing Scotland.” Rory said Scotland like Skotelin. She didn’t think that answered her question but then she was a bit foggy.
Rory dropped his beers to the floor by the chair and lurched to his feet. “Just have to go to the loo…”
Alrighty then. She hiccupped. But he was already out of the room. Hopefully he hadn’t heard. Grace tipped half of her beer into the potted plant between the couch and chair. It was a scraggly thing with pointy leaves and brown tips, all limp like a Charlie Brown Christmas tree. The plant could probably use the beer more than herself. She’d heard plants thrived on Guinness. Maybe a bit of lager would do the trick, too.
When he returned, she gazed upon his form with hungry eyes. Or maybe horny eyes. Or maybe horny loins. Hiccup.
He leaned over to pick up his can and, oh my, the butt on the man. She clamped her thighs together and took another gulp of her beer. She was liking this drunk feeling. She’d always wondered what it felt like. It might be hard to change her ways, but that was what she aimed to do.
