Jock Reign (Jock Hard 5)

“Did he have a girlfriend?”

“Yes, they broke up.”

“She looks like a cold fish.”

And properly British, too, I imagine. “That’s what he tells me. She’s a stuck-up snob.”

“His parents look nice. His brother is married?”

“Yes. He married his, um…college roommate.”

“His college roommate? The one from here?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting family.” I hear her laptop close. “Well, I should get ready for bed, but I’m glad you called to talk to us. We miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“You really should think about coming home—we can have a girls’ weekend.”

“Mom, I’ve barely been at school for a few months.”

“I know, but your birthday is coming up. We can go shopping. Have Jack bring you down.” She hesitates. “Wait—can he drive?”

“Yeah, he drives. He has a big pickup truck—that was his brother’s, too.”

“Wow, he really is living in his brother’s shadow. Poor kid.”

I snort. “I don’t think he’s poor. Like, at all.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Mom lets out a tired yawn. “Okay kiddo, I’m off to take a shower before hitting the sack. We love you.”

“Love you too, Mom. Good night.”

Nineteen

Jack

I have to quit the rugby team.

It’s the right thing to do. Not only for the team—because I suck so hard—but because I still don’t know what I’m doing on the field. Everyone knows there will be a day I’m going to get seriously hurt because of it. Not this fake limping bullshite I’ve been doing the past few days, but an actual injury that could knock me on my arse.

Ignorance could be my downfall.

The last thing I want is to get my face broken because I’m too stubborn to talk to Coach, humiliating as it’s going to be. Decided, I hunker down deeper into my down-filled comforter, the storm outside matching my mood.

I do love a good rain. Good for the soul. Good for thinking about one’s life and whatnot, content to be alone with my thoughts while it thunders.

A bolt of lightning cracks in the sky somewhere in the distance, and I snuggle down, getting more comfortable beneath my gray bedspread.

Happy with my decision to be done with rugby, peace settles over me, despite the raging weather brewing beyond the window. We’re in for a rough one tonight, and I am here for it. Reminds me of home—not that we get horrible storms like this in England, but we do get a lot of rain.

I listen to the steady beat of water hitting the glass separating me from the outside world as it sluices its way heavily in the dark.

A crack of thunder shakes the house, and I sigh, quite relaxed as my entire room illuminates from the glow of sizzling energy across the night sky.

Boom.

Is that the sound of a splintering tree? Can’t be.

My ear strains.

Crackle.

Crash.

Yup, definitely a tree being struck by a lightning bolt.

I hunker down.

All of a sudden, the door to my room flies open and Eliza flies inside, body pressed flat against the wall near my closet.

Feels like I’m bloody Fraulein Maria from The Sound of Music when all the VonTrapp children come busting into her room one by one during the storm.

Uncanny similarity, minus the dreadful nightgowns they wear. I shudder at the thought of those hideous garments.

“Whoa, buddy.” I laugh at her dramatic entrance. “Where’s the fire?”

Eliza’s eyes shift to my face, to the window, and back again.

“I’m sorry, I j-just…j-just…the weather. I didn’t know it was going to storm so bad.” She wrings her hands several times before her fingers begin playing with a long strand of hair falling over her breasts.

I can’t help but notice she’s wearing a T-shirt and underwear but nothing on the bottom. No sleep pants, no shorts. Just a pair of skimpy underwear.

Shite.

“Thought we weren’t supposed to enter each other’s rooms without knocking—not that I’m complaining,” I jest, casually leaning to one side and balancing myself on an elbow.

“I’m so sorry, I-I…” Her eyes fly to the window, flinching when another bolt lights up the sky.

I drag my eyes up to her face. “It’s just a bit of rain, Eliza.”

Uttering the words casually because I’m getting tired, I might as well be saying ‘just a spot of tea’ or ‘just a blot of cream’ for all she cares.

The words mean nothing and do nothing to relieve her.

“Aren’t you scared? Even a little?”

“No, we have rain all the time in England.”

She shakes her head adamantly, whispering, “This isn’t just rain—this is my worst nightmare.”

Her worst nightmare? I can think of a million things scarier than a little lightning and thunder, starting with snakes.

Yeah, snakes. Shady, nasty little bastards. Guess I wouldn’t want them banging outside my window while I was trying to sleep, so there is that.

Still. I try to soothe her to no avail. “There’s nothing to worry about. You’re safe inside the house.”

I notice then that she’s shaking—her entire body, not just her hands or her shoulders.