It’s not one of the recent movies; it’s the original show that probably aired thirty or forty years ago.
I rest my arse on the arm of the sofa. “You’re into comics?”
Eliza nods faintly.
I’m suddenly insatiably curious. What young woman sits around on a weekend with a notebook in her lap at nearly midnight, watching comic book telly rather than spending the evening with her friends?
Her eyes are half on the screen, half on the book in her lap, pencil poised.
She’s sketching.
Glancing up at the telly, then down at her pad.
Telly.
Pad.
“Are you drawing the Hulk?”
Eliza shakes her head. “No.”
“Then what are you drawing?”
I’m like a nagging child pestering its mum.
The pad gets set down and she lifts her head, eyes focusing on my face. Patiently waits for me to be done being curious. Are you done now? her intelligent gaze seems to say.
I nod, feeling like a chastised pup.
I train my gaze back to the telly above the fireplace, and we sit in companionable silence and watch the scenes unfolding, Eliza tipping her head down every so often to doodle in that pad of hers, then looking up at the screen.
“Is this the original?” I ask her.
“Yes.”
“How are you watching this?”
“I paid for it.”
“You paid for it?”
She heaves a sigh. “Yes.”
“Why?”
I’ve never met another person into vintage comics before, let alone a female who was into them. Or perhaps I’m mistaken and she isn’t.
She’s paying to watch a vintage series set in the seventies, you bloody idiot—no one does that unless they love this shite.
“Have you watched any others?”
Once again, Eliza stops fiddling with her pad, fishing around above the couch cushions and producing the remote control. Points it at the screen and pauses the program.
Stares at me pointedly.
Right.
Stop talking, Jack.
I stop talking.
She un-pauses the Hulk and it springs back to life, action-packed and old school, all coming to life on the large, flat screen above the fireplace.
I sink down onto the couch beside her and lose myself in the show.
Two
Eliza
Well.
This guy is interesting.
Not a complete departure from Kaylee’s norm, but close enough to set him apart from the usual herd of would-be admirers.
It’s not uncommon for her to have them.
Admirers, I mean.
My roommate is blonde, petite, perky, and sweet as apple pie. It’s a sincere sweetness one cannot fake; I wouldn’t be living with her—with either of them—if it were a front.
Kaylee and Lilly often get stereotyped based on their looks, extracurricular activities, and the way they talk. Flirty, flighty, and bubbly, they are mirror images of each other and completely misunderstood.
Whip smart.
Clever.
Almost always underestimated.
I watch Jack from the corner of my eye, pretending to be enthralled by what’s on the television but cautiously maintaining my distance from this dude.
I don’t know him from Adam.
He could be a murderer.
Relax, Eliza, he would have murdered Kaylee in the car on the way over if he were a villain.
Girl, you’ve been watching too much sci-fi…
It’s not as if there haven’t been plenty of guys in and out of the house before. Both Kaylee and Lilly have active social lives and are always looking for romance—sometimes in all the wrong places, if you want my opinion.
I keep telling them they’re not going to find true love at a frat party or on Jock Row, but that doesn’t stop them from looking.
They’re both hopelessly romantic.
I wish I could be the same way, carefree and willing to kiss a world full of douchebags to find a guy who isn’t one—but I haven’t come across a single guy in my age range that has swept me off my feet yet.
Not even close.
Not even a little.
Jack is British—something I was absolutely not expecting when he opened his mouth. His attractive, full mouth.
Guh.
Kaylee has good taste in men, I’ll give her that.
And this one…?
Ugh.
I try not to stare or look directly at him as he plops down on the couch, settling in to watch the show with me, oblivious to the fact that my roommate will eventually emerge from her room dressed down and ready to do…whatever she’s going to want to do with Jack when she gets back.
Make out.
Talk.
Eat.
Who knows—I don’t flirt the same way she and Lilly do.
Athletes are out of my wheelhouse; I may be best friends and roommates with two cheerleaders, but I know nothing about sports. I have little to no interest in any game, unless there is a party involved with platters of chips, hot dogs, and taco dip.
Yup.
Sign me up for all the stadium and Super Bowl party chow!
But I digress…
Jack must be an athlete—wasn’t Kaylee headed to the rugby house tonight? She loves that hangout. Loves how rugged those guys are compared to the rest of the bunch. Loves how big most of them are.
Oh, and bearded (though Jack appears to be clean shaven and, dare I say…proper). Proper for a rugby player, I mean.