Jock Romeo (Jock Hard 6)

With my head held high, I leave him standing inside the open door staring after me.

Snap.

7

ROMAN

Should I text her, or should I not text her? That is the question.

I pace around my bedroom, walking back and forth from one end of it to another, contemplating whether or not to send Lilly an invitation to have Sunday dinner with my family and me. I told her I would invite her again—and my mother followed up after our FaceTime chat in the student union the other day by continuously asking after Lilly. Constantly berating me to invite that pretty girl to dinner.

It can’t hurt to reach out, right?

She said we’re friends, and this is what friends do—feed one another food. Introduce them to family.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been friends with a female; I believe the last girl friend I had was Ariel Sanders back in third grade. She was very interested in biology and frogs and wanted to be a marine biologist at the time; we spent hours upon hours in the pond behind her house with small nets and microscopes.

Lilly said ‘next time.’

Tonight is technically next time.

Would I be rude not inviting my roommates along also? My parents haven’t met them either—not that Mom is planning on an entire crew at the house. She might lose her shit with two additional guests.

Best to keep it small, I rationalize.

Sticking my head out my bedroom door, I give a listen to see where the sound is coming from. Hear someone in the bedroom and cross my fingers that person is Jack.

“Jack?” My inquiry is hesitant, just loud enough to be heard without straining.

“Yeah?”

Great—it’s him. Last thing I want to do is ask Eliza for her best friend’s phone number. Don’t want her to get the wrong idea…

Jack appears in the doorway holding a shirt but not wearing one.

“Do you happen to have Lilly’s phone number? I have something to ask her.”

“Sure do, mate.” He fishes a phone out of the pocket of his track pants, thumbing through it then rattling off a number. “I’ll send you the contact, eh? Easier.”

My phone pings a few seconds later. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He goes to put on the shirt—a long-sleeved tee—but stops short. “You going to be ’round for supper? Eliza and I are off to the cinema if you want to join. Popcorn, crisps, and the like?”

“Uh—thanks, but I’ve got plans.”

Jack nods. “You settling in alright?”

“Totally. The place is great. Thanks again for letting me move in last minute and for being so cool. Wish I’d have moved out years ago.”

“Years?” He doesn’t look as if he believes me.

“I tried, man—parents weren’t supportive.”

He nods at that. “I get it. It’s rough when your mum can’t let go. Never really lived with mine, so it was different. Still strange, but that’s how we do it across the pond, yeah?”

I think he means he must have been in boarding school most of his school years, which makes sense—that’s common among wealthier Brits. My mother would rather lose a limb than ship me away to school—look at how long it took her to agree to let me live on my own.

Jack and I stand in the hallway shooting the shit for a few more minutes before his phone goes off—it’s Eliza, checking on his status, which instantly puts him on autopilot, shrugging into his shirt and grabbing his jacket from his closet.

I watch as he bounds down the stairs for his movie date.

Glancing down at the new contact in my phone, I return to my bedroom and flop down on the bed. I’m completely dressed for dinner, just have to do this one thing.

Me: Hey Lilly, it’s Roman Whitaker. We had lunch in the union? I’m Eliza’s roommate. Anyway, I’m just checking in to find out if you’re hungry—heading to my parents’ for Sunday dinner and my mom has extended another invite. Let me know if you’re at all interested.

I stare and stare at that message, change it around a few times, rewording the last sentence.

You interested?

That sounds way more chill and less enthusiastic. Or does it? Maybe it sounds way too chill and not enthusiastic enough? Jeez, I’m way overthinking this. It’s just a simple invitation to spaghetti dinner with my parents and dumb brother, not a proposal to visit the Vatican.

Lying on the bed, fully dressed and ready to roll, shoes included, I wait for her to reply.

Lilly: Of course I know who you are, silly. You don’t have to explain!

I sit up on the bed. She knew who I was?

Me: Jack gave me your number, I hope you don’t mind.

Lilly: It’s totally fine!

Me: Anyway, sorry to bug you if you’re in the middle of something—wasn’t sure if you had practice today or not, but

I delete that first part. It sounds passive aggressive and a bit insecure—less take charge.