Jock Romeo

by Sara Ney

  Awesome.

  It’s freezing outside and the perfect night to veg.

  “What are you guys watching?” I can’t quite figure out what movie or show this is.

  “It’s called Bambulon—they just released the first two seasons yesterday,” Jack explains, patting the couch cushion. “Come sit down, mate, put your feet up.”

  “Thanks.”

  I walk over to the couch and flop down, relieved I can finally relax, and reach forward to snag a carrot from the vegetable tray. Actually, I take a handful of them and lean back to stuff them in my mouth one at a time, crunching and swallowing for the next few minutes.

  No one talks.

  I crunch.

  And I don’t wanna be the asshole who makes noise while they’re trying to watch their show, so I stop eating the carrots, too.

  Eliza eats a chip.

  It’s loud and as crunchy as the carrots I just ate.

  “Sorry.” She giggles.

  “Do you like horror movies, Rome?” Jack asks. “Eliza and I find Marvel movies brilliant, but we love scary programs, too.”

  “We started our Halloween marathon early,” she explains. “It’s my favorite holiday.”

  Do I like horror movies? Not particularly, but I’m not about to sit up in my room alone while these two are down here being social. “Sure, I like them well enough. Mostly, um…” I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans.

  Should I tell them I like musicals and dramas?

  Er, maybe not—that information can wait until the day Jack finds me geeking out to the Hamilton soundtrack.

  “Will you decorate the house?” I ask, despite already knowing an answer. She is definitely going to decorate the house, especially if she’s already watching scary movies in preparation.

  “Um, obviously.” She says it with a delightful little laugh. “In fact, we’ve been sitting here kind of discussing what we want to dress up as for Halloween. There’s a big party at the end of the month, and of course we have to pass out candy to trick-or-treaters.”

  Jack puts his hand on her thigh, and I can see him squeeze it. “Babe, you’re discussing what you want to be for Halloween. I’m trying to watch the telly.” He shakes his head when our eyes meet.

  “Fine, I’ll stop talking about it.”

  They’re funny and get along well.

  I made a good decision to move in here.

  Stretching my legs out in front of me, I prop one up on the coffee table since I’m not wearing any shoes and have socks on. It feels good, and I put my arms behind my head as I lean into the sofa cushions.

  “Sorry about that whole thing with your award breaking today,” Eliza finally says. “Lilly felt terrible.”

  “It was not Lilly’s fault I dropped the box. In fact, the box only weighed about five pounds.”

  “What happened?”

  Jack pauses the show.

  “I’m not sure. One second I was walking through the door, and the next second the box was on the ground. I’m the one who feels like a complete jackass—she shouldn’t feel bad. Not at all.”

  “Well, you’re in for a real treat, because she is a great artist. I know you probably wanted to throw the entire box out, but when she has her mind set on something, there’s no stopping her.”

  “Yeah, I probably should have thrown it out or insisted that she not take it—what if she cuts herself?”

  Shit, I hadn’t actually thought about that part of the equation. What if she is at home partying and crafting and hurts herself on the glass? One hundred percent not worth it, not worth any of the trouble she’s going to go through because she feels culpable.

  You dropped the box the second she winked at you, loser.

  “Can you text her for me and tell her to toss it in the trash?”

  Eliza grinned at me. “Yeah, no. That’s not happening. Once she decides on something, that’s it—specifically if she’s looking for a project.” She probably has something on her mind and needs a distraction, which is why she was so adamant about taking it home. “Let it be. She wanted to do it or she wouldn’t have taken it. Trust me.”

  My new roommate winks at me the same way Lilly did.

  I’m unaffected by it.

  “How long have you known her?” I ask Eliza.

  “We met when I was a freshman so it’s only been a few years, but I really love her.” Beside her, Jack takes her hand then lifts it to his mouth for a kiss. “Aw babe, I love you too.”

  They are a bit mushier than I was expecting them to be, but a little PDA can’t be considered a bad thing. We need more love in this world, as Aunt Myrtle always says. Every chance she gets, especially when she gets busted dating multiple men at once.

  Which happens more often than one would expect.

  “Lilly is one of my best friends—she has a heart of gold and wouldn’t hurt a fly. That’s why I’m so pissed off that Kyle is such a scumbag. I mean, I knew he was a scumbag, but it’s not like you can tell your friend that, right?” She turns to face Jack for confirmation. “Right, sweetie?”

  He agrees. “I’ve never met the bloke, but based on how you’ve described him, he sounds like a fine arsehole. Probably wouldn’t use the word scumbag to describe him though, love—that seems a bit harsh.”

  “And calling him an arsehole isn’t?” Eliza pouts. “Lilly is my friend—of course I’m going to be protective. I should’ve known something was up with him. He just was way too charming.”

  She narrows her eyes.

  Jack looks down at her, tilting his head. “Did he ever flirt with you?”

  “No, but still.”

  I study both of them.

  Eliza truly looks like a nice girl, if you know what I mean. The girl-next-door-with-brunette-hair vibe, all sweet with a sincere smile and honest eyes. She has a few darker freckles on the bridge of her nose that make her look more trusting if a person was stereotyping solely based on looks, so I highly doubt she gets hit on very often—just not the flirty type.

  “I worry she’s not going to trust anyone after this. You know how it is, once someone has completely abused your trust? She told me she is going on a guy detox, and I just don’t want that to affect future relationships.”

  “You’re not going to try to set her up with anyone, are you?” Jack asks her.

  “No. I don’t have anyone to set her up with, unless…you do?”

  “I don’t know anybody but the chaps on the rugby team,” Jack says. “And none of them well enough I would consider matching her with—so don’t start cooking up any schemes.”

  “I just told you she doesn’t wanna date anyone. I’m not going to try to set her up.”

  “I heard what you said.” Jack grins. “I just don’t think you’re going to listen.”

  Eliza leans back to get a better look at him, glancing between the two of us. “Do you believe this guy? He doesn’t trust me to behave,” she says to me. “It sounds like he doesn’t trust me not to meddle in my best friend’s love life—that’s what I’m hearing.”

  “Are you going to meddle in your best friend’s love life?” I find myself joining the conversation.

  She scoffs. “Not right now. She needs some time.”

  We continue watching the show, occasionally commenting on a scene or getting up and going to the kitchen for more drinks or food, the amiable companionship a nice change from the drama and chaos that usually occurs at my parents’ house on a night where we’re trying to watch TV.

  My brother isn’t here to heckle me or try to change the channel, and my great aunt isn’t here to constantly ask me for small favors. Like getting her some more ice for her glass, or turning up the volume, or turning down the volume, or running to get her some fuzzy socks because her feet are cold.

  All in all, it’s been a pretty damn good day.

  4

  LILLY

  It’s Sunday.

  It’s Sunday and I’ve spent my free time this entire weekend—between practice, cheering, and wor
king out—painstakingly gluing this award back into its rightful shape. I had to research online to see what the thing is actually supposed to look like, and I must say, I did a pretty dang good job replicating it considering I had nothing to go on but broken glass.

  It wasn’t easy making it resemble its former self, but luckily, a bunch of the pieces were intact enough that Roman’s name is visible.

  Legible.

  Sort of?

  The rest is hodgepodge.

  I’m not sure what his full name actually is because the letters of his last name appear to be missing from the shards and I wasn’t sure what his last name was to begin with—I feel like this looks okay?

  I hold it up and study it in the light, tilting it this way and that. I went to the hobby store as soon as I left Eliza’s house and got some clear glitter—the super fine kind that’s more expensive and lustrous—to fill in the gaps with.

  The whole thing sparkles like a diamond.

  I’d even added a few clear rhinestones to the back to patch up a few holes. It looks like a trophy that would be presented during a lip-syncing competition or as a white elephant gift, but at least he will still have it to display on his shelf.

  All in all, I’m quite pleased.

  Laying it out on my desk, I roll it in a towel so it’s safe when I put it back into its box. Clean up the mess I’ve made in my bedroom, getting out the vacuum and rolling it back and forth across the carpet beneath the desk.

  My roommate sticks her head in the room and watches me until she catches my eye and I turn off the loud vacuum.

  “Want to come do my room next?” she teases, although I have a feeling there’s a bit of truth to her question—Kaylee would gladly allow me to do the cleaning in the entire house, including her bedroom.

  “Yeah right,” I tease back. “Should I do your windows too?”

  I hate cleaning. There is no way on this earth I’m doing her windows, let alone her carpet. The dust on my shelves is the same dust that has been there since the day we moved in.

  “Sure, why not?” She leans against the doorjamb. “What on earth are you doing anyway? You’ve been in here for hours.”

  I have been, and now I am starving.

  “I was crafting.” Finished with the carpet, I wind the cord before hanging it back on the handle of the vacuum. “I was working on something for a friend, and now I have to go take it over to his place.”

  “Oh a friend? Is this a male friend?”

  I did just say his place.

  And she says it in that way, her tone implying there is more to this male than friendship—but she would be wrong, and I suppose I’m not really in the mood for her banter.

  “Eliza and Jack have a new roommate, and he broke a glass trophy when he was moving in so I decided I was going to fix it up for him.”

  “Let me see.”

  I don’t mind letting her look, especially since piecing everything back together was a lot of work—I don’t mind showing it off to her.

  I’m shocked, however, that Kaylee made no comment when I mentioned Eliza and Jack.

  See, the three of them have a history, and not a positive one.

  I mentioned a few times that Eliza used to be my roommate; well, Kaylee is the reason she’s no longer living in this house. Kaylee is the reason we have an empty room. Some people might blame Jack and Eliza—they began liking each other when Kaylee and Jack were talking.

  Never fooled around or anything, had never even gone on an official date. But Kaylee met him first and befriended him first and had a crush on him first—which means she automatically considered him…hers. She found him so no one else could keep him.

  The night she found out Eliza had befriended Jack, things went downhill, and shortly thereafter?

  Our trio became a duo.

  Carefully unfolding the newly repaired trophy, I set it down gently in the center of my desk, aware that my roommate is sometimes critical of things she doesn’t understand.

  As if on cue, she wrinkles up her nose.

  “What on earth is that supposed to be?”

  “Judging by your tone, I gather you aren’t impressed with my skills.” I laugh, wiping a smudge off the center name plate.

  “Um, maybe I’d be impressed if I knew what it was.”

  “It’s an award he won for a scholarship—a very prestigious scholarship.” Pride laces my tone for a guy I’ve only just met, and I feel strangely protective.

  “It looks fancy. Is it for like, yachting or something?”

  Wow.

  Not even close.

  “No, it’s an academic scholarship. He won a semester at Cambridge University in England.”

  Kaylee is also not impressed by this information.

  “Oh, so he’s a nerd?”

  A nerd?

  What is she, ten?

  “I wouldn’t call him a nerd. He won this because he’s smart.”

  Smart may be putting it mildly; I have a suspicion Roman is actually brilliant and was downplaying the significance of his award. I did a little bit of digging while I was researching photographs of the award online to get an idea of how to reconstruct it and discovered very few college students in the United States receive the honor.

  If no eligible applicants apply, there have been years no one has won it.

  Furthermore, it’s not easy to gain entrance into Cambridge.

  Like, at all.

  I take offense at Kaylee’s criticism and comments about Roman and bristle, straightening my spine.

  What an asshole.

  I say none of these things out loud, because pissing her off has consequences I’m not in the mood to deal with—those or the bad attitude that usually follows. So I zip my lips and study the trophy anew.

  It shines like a disco ball, and while I love it and think it turned out great, he’ll probably be horrified by the shininess. Then again, perhaps he’ll also love it in its new form?

  One can hope!

  “You made that?” Kaylee’s voice is laced with disdain—it sounds as if she’s eating a sour lemon.

  I shake my head. “I didn’t make it. I just told you—it broke and I’m fixing it. He dropped the box it was in and it shattered and I felt absolutely terrible.”

  “Is this a guy you’re interested in? Do you like him? As more than a friend?”

  Is she serious? I just discovered my boyfriend of four months was cheating on me and she honestly believes I’m going to put myself back on the dating market so soon afterward? I’m beginning to think she doesn’t know me well at all.

  “No, he’s just a really nice guy.”

  She considers this, and I know doing something nice for someone for no reason and getting nothing in return is a difficult concept for her to understand. It’s not a concept she is used to.

  “So you don’t want to date anybody?”

  I’m failing to understand how, from her perspective, me fixing this jazzy award and turning it from nothing back into something is somehow me wanting this guy to take me on a date.

  Not to judge her, but she has led a charmed life; she’s a very spoiled person, and I want her out of my room. Taking the towel I had the trophy wrapped up in, I spread it back out on the surface of my desk then gingerly lay the award on top of it and fold it like a burrito.

  Or a swaddled baby.

  Back in the box it goes, away from her perusal.

  I make a show of putting on my sneakers and shrugging into a hoodie, grabbing my car keys off of the hook near my door. “I think I’m going to run this back over to him. The glue is dry enough, and I can’t wait for him to see it.”

  “Whatever floats your boat.” She gets one last word in before disappearing down the hallway and retreating to her own bedroom.

  I wait for the sound of her door closing before hefting the box and cautiously carrying it through the kitchen and out the side door. I set it on the ground while I unlock my car then place it in the back seat, using the seat belt to strap it in. Go
d forbid I have to hit the brakes on my ride to Roman’s place and the damn thing breaks all over again.

  Can you even imagine?

  That would be my luck.

  The house is quiet when I arrive, pulling into the short driveway and parking my car in front of the detached garage. Jack’s truck is gone and my ex-roommate doesn’t have a car of her own, so I’m not sure if anyone will be home. I have no idea and no way of knowing if the Jeep parked on the curb belongs to Roman or one of the neighbors.

  I retrieve the box baby from the back seat. Smooth back the hair escaping from my ponytail before knocking on the front door. Wait a few seconds before pressing the glowing button for the doorbell. No sound comes from inside the house, and there don’t appear to be any lights on, at least not on the first floor.

  Just as I give up and turn to go back to my car, the front door is pulled open.

  It’s Roman.

  And he looks as if he’s about to go somewhere, denim jacket covering a collared shirt he has tucked into dark jeans. His unkempt hair has been combed into a tidy style, and I will admit he kind of looks…cute?

  Or perhaps I’m just surprised.

  When we met, he looked as if he’d just run ten laps around a race track: exhausted, tired, and messy.

  “I’m sorry,” I hasten to apologize. “Are you about to go somewhere?”

  It’s none of your business, Lilly!

  His eyes flit back and forth between my face and the box I’m holding in my arms, cradling it like the precious cargo it is.

  He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Actually, yeah. I’m headed to my parents’ place for Sunday dinner.”

  “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” Technically I haven’t done anything wrong and therefore there’s no need to actually apologize—I just feel like an idiot for standing here holding a box in the middle of the afternoon, unannounced.

  He looks as awkward about it as I feel. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Oh!” I remember the award in my hands, inside the box, inside the towel. “Yes! I’m done putting everything back together.” Then, because I feel a babble coming on… “It’s like Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall.”