by Ney, Sara
I tilt my head. “Why do you look different?”
He shrugs. “Dunno?” Lifting a hand to his face, he rubs. “I shaved?”
Why.
Why did he have to go and shave?!
Blissfully unaware that my insides have gone completely haywire and batty, he smiles, a dimple flashing in his right cheek.
Gap in his teeth winking.
One dark eyebrow devilishly rising.
Oh my god, Georgie, look away.
LOOK AWAY.
I don’t look away.
I look at his legs, propped up on the ottoman before us. The thick bulge of his athletic thighs. The t-shirt pasted to his hard chest.
His damp hair sticking this way and that, as if he just ran his fingers through instead of a brush.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuckity, FUCK!
Is the universe kidding me right now?!
I bite into a carrot—a carrot that essentially gets lodged in my dry throat, my ability to swallow completely gone.
The carrot is loud.
“Taste good?” he asks, chuckling in the dark room.
“Yeah?”
Another chuckle. “Sounds like it.”
Oh my god.
Shoot me now.
I have nothing to say to that because there may be drool coming out the side of my mouth, mind going in a billion BILLION different directions, wondering how on earth I’m supposed to spend the rest of the year shacked up with this…this…
Hottie.
Like, I noticed he was cute.
That’s a given.
Maybe it’s the way he smells—the fresh woods and whatever body wash he must have used permeating clear across the couch and up my nostrils like Pepé Le Pew in a Warner Brothers parody, and if my ass wasn’t planted on the couch, my feet would leave the ground to follow the smell.
“What are you watching?” There. That sounded normal enough, tone even, eyes to the front of the room.
My voice didn’t even crack—high-five!
“Nothing really, just a documentary on race car driving.”
Inwardly, I groan.
“Do you want to watch something else? We can change the telly, I don’t mind.”
I sneak a look at him while he hands me the remote, eyes scanning his forearm: the tattoos covering his skin, the bicep full of color.
Swallowing, I clasp the remote in my hand and settle back against the cushions, self-conscious about the fact that I’m wearing pajamas with no bra—not that he’s glanced at my body.
Not even once.
Still, it feels vulnerable being alone in this house with him wearing just clothes intended for bed.
Clearing my throat, I glue my eyes to the television screen; it practically blinds me with its size, giving off so much light I squint toward it. The room is dark, but the TV is hella bright.
I point the remote at the TV, arm suspended in the air.
Pull it back so I can stare down at it, learning the buttons. It’s so different than mine and I… “Have no idea how to work this. What do I push if I want to find the guide?”
“You push guide.”
Ah. Duh.
I scroll through the shows, not really finding anything I like, then hit exit, settling back into the documentary about car racing, tossing the remote onto the center of the massive couch, between us.
“We don’t have to watch this,” Ashley offers again.
I yawn. “No really, it’s fine. I’m content just sitting here resting. I’m exhausted.”
Exhausted but not quite ready for sleep, I tip my head back against the couch cushions and watch the story unfolding on the screen in front of me—the documentary Ashley was so interested in when I busted in with my dumb bag of carrots and stupid peanut butter that I can no longer eat because they’re loud AF.
Get over it, Georgia. He doesn’t care.
And if he does, he’ll make fun of you for it.
This isn’t a guy I need to worry about; I don’t have to worry about how I look—he’s going to see me looking my worst in the mornings.
I don’t have to worry about going to the bathroom—I can take a poo in my own bathroom and he never has to smell it.
I don’t have to worry about chewing too loud, or eating too much, or looking cute while I’m doing it because he has no interest in me anyway, nor I in him, and even if I did…
Roommates don’t date roommates.
That’s gotta be a rule somewhere…
It’s around eleven o’clock when his phone rings, and I half expect him to decline it but he takes it instead, lifting the phone to his ear with a smile.
“Hallo, Mum. Why are you up so early?”
Hallo, Mum.
Ugh, that accent.
I pretend not to eavesdrop, but it’s impossible—he’s four feet away.
“You’re what? Doing a fitness bootcamp?” He pauses for a few minutes, head slowly nodding. “Are you cracked?” Then, “Sorry, Mum. I shouldn’t have said that. I meant, are you mad?” Another pause. “Bootcamp? With who?” His mother speaks on the other end of the line and he listens. “Uh-huh. Yeah.” More silence. “Engaged? They’ve only been together six months.” He’s quiet. “I know but…six months? Be real.”
She must be lecturing him because then he says, “I know, Mum, when you know you know, but he’s twenty-four for bloody sake. The last time I saw Alfie Langley he was taking a piss off the bridge at the Townsman Arms he was so plastered.”
Watching him is hilarious—it’s obvious he’s doing his best to school his tone and his inflection as he chats with his mother, and he’s doing a fantastic job of it; he’s only cursed once that I could tell, and used the term piss, which seems just as offensive, especially if his mom is as stuffy as he’s made her sound.
I shift on the couch and pause his show so he doesn’t miss any of the good parts.
“You can watch it,” he whispers over to me. “Who am I talking to? That was my roommate.” Pause. “Yes, I have a boarder now. Did I forget to tell you?”
Ashley glances over and sticks his tongue out at me playfully as he teases his mother, pulling a face and crossing his eyes.
“Just today. We were watching the telly when you called.”
The telly.
Lord I love that so much.
“Her name is Georgia.” Pause. “Yes she’s a girl.” Ashley rolls his eyes and laughs. “No we’re not sharing a bedroom—this house you rented me has two bedrooms, remember?” Pause. “We met at a party and wound up in the same class.” Pause. “Business class. Yes, I’m studying.” Pause. “No I’m not dating anyone.” He’s quiet then as she speaks, glancing over at me as I watch him. “Yeah, she is.”
Yeah she is…
What.
Yeah SHE IS WHAT?
He’s talking about me now, I JUST KNOW IT. What are they SAYING?
Did his mom just ask if I’m cute?
Or pretty?
Or funny? What could she have asked him?!
“It’s not like that, Mum. Relax.” He pulls the phone away from his ear and glances at the screen. “It’s been fifteen minutes—don’t you have to go? You’ll be late.” Pause. “I love you too, Mum. Say hello to Dad and Jack.” He rolls his eyes toward the ceiling dramatically. “Yes, and Caroline too.” He covers the microphone with his hand and whispers, “But not really Caroline—she’s a tit.”
A tit?
What the hell kind of insult is that?
If I had been taking a sip of something—my water—this would have been the moment I spit it all out, spewing it onto the floor.
Ashley is funny, funnier than I’d thought he was.
He and his mom chat a few moments longer, a smile on his face the entire time, the dimple in his chin winking at me—mocking me, really—as only a dimple can.
How did I not notice he has one? The beard wasn’t that bushy.
When he disconnects the call and sets the phone back down, he chuckles. “Mum is doing a f
itness bootcamp.”
I’d gathered that from my eavesdropping. “What time is it back home?”
“’Bout five? She’s up early. Normally she dozes until late morning.”
“Ooh la la.”
Ashley nods. “She’s quite the princess, but she’s got that empty nest.”
Sounds like she’s had an empty nest most of his life considering he was shipped off to boarding school, but I keep my mouth shut about it and the words to myself.
Besides, he seems well adjusted enough, and it seems like he and his mother have a great relationship. I don’t think this is the first time they’ve spoken in the past twelve hours or so that I’ve been moved in.
“How often do y’all talk?”
He considers this. “A few times a week. I think she’s lonely.” Ashley leans over and riffles a few carrots from the bag, popping one in his mouth. “My brother Jack lives in London and doesn’t go home often, and Dad works a load. It’s nice that she’s joined a gym and not just a charity club where they fundraise and it’s a group of one-uppers who only want to show off who has the most Botox.”
His chewing isn’t nearly as loud as my chewing, or maybe I’m just too self-conscious about it. Either way, there is no chance I’m jamming any more carrots in my mouth.
Not risking it.
Ask me a week from now and perhaps I’ll change my mind, but I didn’t sign up for this version of Ashley Dryden-Jones. I signed up for the hairy, sloppy version.
“Mum is lovely,” he adds, and my heart softens.
Mum is lovely.
Not sure what it is about that sentence, but if I were ice cream, I’d begin melting down the sides of the cone and into a puddle.
“How old is your brother? Do you only have the one?”
He nods. “Jack is younger and he’s already working for Dad during the summers whilst I stay here playin’ rugby. Not sure if he resents me just yet…I’ll know when I go back.” He chews on another carrot. “Are you close with your family?”
“Yes, I’m an only child so we’re close, but my parents aren’t the type to just swing by. Even when I was in the same state, they still rarely came and visited. They spend lots of time together.”
“Did you tell them you moved out of the dorm?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell them you’re living with a bloke?”
“Yes.”
He waits patiently for more information, and when none is forthcoming, he prompts me. “And?”
He’s worse than a girl!
“And…they’re fine with it. They had nothing to say about it.”
“Nothing to say about it.”
There he goes, making questions into statements. “Nothing.”
“Why?” Suddenly, Ashley rises from the couch, pushing himself up to grandstand, twirling in a circle. “I’m one hundred eighty-seven centimeters—a strapping lad. They’re not worried?”
“Worried about what?” I feign ignorance.
I know exactly what he’s talking about; he wants me to tell him how big and scary he is and how terrified my parents may be that I’m living with a giant lummox of a male.
“This!” He gestures up and down his body with his hands as if presenting himself as a top prize.
“What about it?” I take a carrot and stick it in my mouth, mostly so I don’t bust out laughing. He’s trying so hard to be a badass.
He flops back down. “What kind of parents aren’t worried you’re living alone with a man?”
A man.
I laugh, chewing.
He scowls.
“They trust me, and therefore, they trust you.” Pausing, I think back to the conversation he just had with his mom. “What did your mom say when you told her your new roommate is a girl?”
That trips him up. “Nothing.”
Liar! She definitely had something to say about it because if I remember correctly, he told her we met at a party and had a class together, then he said he wasn’t dating anyone—then he looked over at me and said, “Yeah, she is.”
She is WHAT?
“Mum had nothing to say about it either.”
“Nothing at all?” I roll my eyes. “Then what had she asked when you replied, Yeah, she is?”
Ashley snickers. “You little eavesdropper.”
He’s right.
I’ll never let it go.
I shrug, having no comeback. “If you wanted privacy, you should have left the room.” I pronounce it prih-vuh-see. “What did she ask?”
He looks at the television, giving that his attention, trying to ignore me.
“Come on, tell me!” I throw a pillow because I’m a girl but also acting like a child, throwing a mini tantrum to get what I want.
“What’s stopping me from lying and just making something up?”
“You’re too honest for that.”
“Fuck. You’re right.”
I raise my brows. “So?”
“Why do you care? The conversation was ten minutes ago.”
Because she asked him something about me and he said, “Yeah, she is,” and I want to know what it was.
Is she single? Yeah, she is.
Is she smart? Yeah, she is.
Is she a hard worker? Yeah, she is.
So many possibilities—I want to know which one!
“She asked if you were attractive and I said yes.”
Except that one.
That I did not see coming.
“Oh.”
Attractive.
Is that British speak for cute? Or pretty?
Or hot?
Ashley hmphs, unresponsive, crossing his arms and staring back at the TV, carrot sticking out of his mouth like a cigar.
The point is, he thinks I’m attractive.
And he admitted it to my face.
Calm down, Georgia. He was making conversation with his mother; she asked him a simple question and he answered, and it’s not as if you’re a troll.
I am cute. I am pretty.
I am attractive.
Somehow, though, it feels like a small victory.
We sit in silence for a few more minutes until I lose interest and stand, excusing myself for bed with a yawn. Checking the kitchen door to make sure it’s locked and putting away the plate I used for my snack, checking the front door to make sure that’s locked, too.
“No one is going to break in,” he calls from the den.
Hasn’t he ever heard of college students getting shit-faced and walking into the wrong house?
Trust me.
It’s happened.
In my room, I’m finally ready for bed and flop onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling with the lights off. Only my phone lights up occasionally with a text from Nalla or Priya, who’ve been asking about my day all day. How it went, what Ashley’s like so far, if the house is clean, blah blah blah.
A note from my mother, who’s checking in on me and wants me to call her in the morning.
Through the pitch-black darkness, I stare, rolling over to face the door, phone on the nightstand.
It pings again, lighting up, and I reach for it, expecting one of the girls.
It’s not.
It’s Ashley.
Ashley: Are you still up?
Me: Yes? What’s up…
Why is he texting me when he’s only just down the hallway?
Ashley: You tired?
Me: Um. Kind of? But I’m excited I get to sleep in tomorrow.
No practice on Sunday, obviously.
Ashley: Should we do something?
Me: Uh—like what?
Ashley: I don’t know, I was thinking we could go hiking. The Ice Age Trail in Dunhaven.
Is he serious?
Hiking is my favorite.
Me: That sounds fun.
Ashley: Cool. It’s supposed to be nice out, not hot, so we don’t have to rush out in the morning. We can get coffee and breakfast on the way out of town.
Me: Cool.
&nb
sp; God, now I’m repeating what he said.
Ashley: Get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.
Me: Good night.
Except I don’t sleep. I lie here for hours, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into. Living with girls is one thing; living with boys is another, and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to prevent my mind from wandering when I see his tattooed arms and have to look at that gap in his teeth when he smiles.
We have class together.
We live together now.
Way too late to admit he’s growing on me in the way a roommate shouldn’t, and it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours.
* * *
“What do you want?”
We’re in the drive-thru at a coffee shop bright and early. I couldn’t sleep in, and even though I tried to stay in bed longer, I climbed out and went downstairs to find my roomie already in the kitchen planted at the counter.
With no shirt on.
All tattoos and ripped muscles, downing a bowl of cereal, surprise on his face to see me standing in the doorway so early.
“I thought you were sleeping in,” he said, wiping milk from his mouth and sitting up straighter from a slouch.
He removed his elbows from the counter, too.
Too bad he was half naked or the manners meter would have skyrocketed.
“Couldn’t.” I stood there in just a tank top and shorts, having gotten up in the middle of the night and changed because I got hot, then went to check the thermostat in the hallway only to find it set at seventy degrees.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I was self-conscious not to have been wearing a bra.
“I’ll go change and then we can go?”
Ashley nodded, and a few minutes later we were pulling out of the driveway and heading out of town.
First stop: coffee.
I can’t choke down the regular stuff, so I order something iced—apparently a little too frou-frou for Ashley’s taste because he snorts, ordering himself an espresso shot, which comes in the cutest, smallest cup.
“Oh my god, this is adorable,” I can’t help saying when he passes our order to me as the barista hands them out the window.
I hold up the tiny cup then peer inside. “There’s barely anything in it.”
What a waste.
“It’s just a shot.”
