Jock Reign (Jock Hard 5)

Baby boy.

I both love and loathe that nickname, but I suppose, since I’m the younger of her two sons, it’s accurate enough.

“Everything is brilliant, Mum. Just brilliant.”

“What have you been up to?”

“Just schoolwork, mostly. Rugby.”

She makes a sound in her throat, followed by the sound of a bite of toast. White toast with elderberry jam, always. “That game will be the death of me.”

“Then you’ll be glad to hear I won’t be playing for a while—hurt myself today.”

The other end of the line goes quiet. “Hurt yourself? Do you need me?”

I stretch out on my bed, yawning. Arms above my head, folding them to get more comfortable against my pillow as I lean into the conversation with my mother.

“No, it’s just some minor bruises. Nothing was broken except my pride. Happened right away, I wasn’t in the game very long, and my roommate tidied me up as soon as I got home.”

“Your roommate? When did that happen?”

Blast it.

I forgot to mention Eliza moving in to my parents—I haven’t even mentioned it to my brother. There hasn’t been time. Been so busy with school and getting Eliza moved in that it didn’t occur to me to fill anyone in on the details of my living arrangements.

“Yes, I have a roommate now. Her name is Eliza, and she’s been here about a week.”

“Eliza? That sounds like a female’s name, darling.”

“That’s because it is a female’s name, Mum.”

“Oh lord, here we go again.” I can practically see her exasperation through the mobile.

Here we go again? “What is that supposed to mean?”

A loud sigh comes through the mobile. “Why do you and your brother insist on living with women? We all know how this is going to end.”

“How this is going to end? I’m hardly going to pull an Ashley and marry my roommate, Mother. Besides, we have rules.”

Mum’s trilly little laugh comes through clear as a bell. “Oh Jack, you do make me laugh.”

“What’s so amusing? I’m being serious—Eliza and I are just mates. We have a set of rules to keep things professional.”

Mum takes a bite of toast before saying, “Darling, if you need a set of rules to keep things professional, there must be feelings involved. Otherwise you would hardly need them, would you?”

I can visualize her sitting in the breakfast room back home, sun streaming through the windows as she sits in her dressing gown eating breakfast, legs crossed and curlers in her hair.

“There are no feelings involved.” Because Eliza has decided those don’t matter and we’re to keep our hands to ourselves.

“Okay. Humor me then. What are a few of these rules?”

“I don’t have them sitting in front of me, Mother. I’m not the one who wrote them down.”

“Surely you can remember just one?” She sounds amused, not believing for a second that I don’t remember what these bloody ridiculous rules are.

“Fine. One of them is knock before entering.” There, that should satisfy her curiosity.

“That sounds like common sense,” she mutters. “What else?”

I think. “No inviting random guests back to spend the night without telling the other person first.”

Mum makes a humming sound. “Go on.”

“No, um…” I hesitate, the words on my tongue suddenly making me bashful.

“Yes?” She coaxes the words out of me. “No, um…what.”

“No touching.”

“No touching?” Her voice rises. “What does that mean?” She sounds entirely too entertained, amusement lacing her words. I imagine her perfectly manicured brows have risen to her hairline and her mouth is gaping open.

I shrug, even though she can’t see it. “It means no touching.”

“None?” She sips at her tea. “At all? What happens if you’re both in the kitchen and you brush against her while you’re at the sink and she’s at the stove?”

I sigh, frustrated. “Not that kind of touching, Mum.”

A chuckle. “I know that, darling. I do have two children.”

Great, she’s humoring me. “Snogging and stuff.”

“Why on earth would you want to snog your roommate? You just told me you’re best mates.”

“Not best mates.” I feel the need to clarify. “The regular kind.” My tone is sulky, even to my own ears. “She wanted to add that rule—not me.”

“Why would she want to do that, dear?”

Goddammit—leave it to my mother to insist on knowing every laborious detail. She wants the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God, even if it’s humiliating.

“I may have snogged her at a house party at one point…and once in the kitchen.”

“And she doesn’t want it to happen again?”

“No. She wants to keep things on the up and up.”

“What’s wrong with her—why doesn’t she like my baby?”

“Nothing is wrong with Eliza. I think the problem is—I think she’s secretly worried I’ll kick her out and she won’t have a place to live. Because that’s what happened with her last set of roommates—they kicked her out.”

“Why on earth would they do that?” Mum is hanging on my every word as if this were a soap opera. “What did she do?”