Jock Royal (Jock Hard 4)

My intention wasn’t to share; my intention was to hand them to Ash in a feeble attempt at amends, and now the whole plan has gone to shit thanks to these nosey groupmates of ours.

Ugh!

Why is nothing working out for me the way it was supposed to? Why has everything gone to shit since I moved here?

My so-called “friends” who turned out to be bullies and who I’m stuck with until I make new ones.

This boy who hates my guts and won’t even look at me.

The cupcakes remain on my lap, a total magnet for Brian and Jamal, who have made it their mission to ignore the professor at the front of the room and attempt to get them off my lap.

If I set them down, they’ll be gone.

But if they see me handing them over to Ash at the end of class, they’re going to think I’m…in love with him or something, bringing him treats when I wasn’t willing to share with them.

Down in front, someone dims the lights—probably the TA—and the projector glows to life, the size of a small movie screen down in front.

“Ways we are terrible. At. Communicating,” Professor Drexler says, marker squeaking the entire time she’s writing on the board next to her projector. The slide shows a list of ways we need to communicate to effectively navigate in business, but she wants us to list the ways we’re bad at it. “Go ahead and work this through in your groups, and then we’ll go around the room and see how many we have that overlap and seem to be common themes.”

The lights flip back on, though let’s be honest, it probably wasn’t necessary to dim them to begin with.

“We suck at communication because we’re always on our phones.” Nalla kicks off the discussion. “Should I write that down?”

“I nominate Nalla to take notes,” Jamal teases, shooting her a wink.

She rolls her eyes but opens her laptop and clicks open a new document with nary a sigh. “What are some others?” She glances up at us through the lenses of the computer glasses she’s got perched on her nose.

“Lack of eye contact,” I blurt out, shooting a sharp glance at Ash, wondering if he’s making the connection or if it went right over his head.

“Lack of directness,” Priya says smartly with a nod. “No one says what they mean—it’s nothing but guesswork.”

She’s not wrong.

“Social media’s given everyone a case of the dumbs.” That from Jamal, and he’s also not wrong. “Get off your damn phone.”

“How about—underexplaining,” Priya adds.

“Totally.” I’m nodding. “And overexplaining. That’s horrible too.”

“Agreeing with something you disagree with. Is that bad communication?” Nalla nibbles on her bottom lip.

“I think so, because isn’t agreeing with something you disagree about dishonest? Plus, if you can’t speak up or can’t speak your mind, that’s a breakdown in trust.”

Beside me, Ashley Dryden-Jones snorts through his nose.

A loud, obnoxious snort.

Everyone looks at him.

“Dude, what was that?” Brian asks him.

“I find it ironic that she’s talking about a breakdown in trust when she does shite all the time she doesn’t agree with.”

Of course, he says all this in a swoony British accent that has both Priya and Nalla melting a little. And, not going to lie—my insides get a bit warmer.

All heads swivel to me.

Cupcakes still in my lap, I pop the top and offer them up to the group. “Brian, would you like a cupcake?”

Ashley’s nostrils flare. “I thought those were going to be for me.”

Ha! As if. “Why would you assume they were for you?”

“Coz you’ve been trying to kiss my arse since Friday.”

Kiss his arse? Please!

I’ve been trying to be nice. I haven’t…I…

Fine. I’ve been trying to kiss his ass—I feel horrible, and there’s nothing wrong with trying to make amends.

Brian takes a cupcake before the chance slips away; so do Jamal and Nalla, who licks her fingers clean before resuming taking notes on her laptop.

“Where’s mine?” Ashley wants to know.

“I changed my mind.” The lid snaps shut.

Our groupmates make mmm and nom-ing sounds while they lick frosting and bite into the moist cakes.

“So a girl can shite on a bloke then he can’t catch a fairy cake? Got it.” He leans back in his chair, crossing muscular arms.

The gash on his mouth seems to have healed, along with the bruising on his face, dark blotches fading.

He still needs a shave.

“Did you just call this a fairy cake?” Jamal holds his up for inspection, eyeing it this way and that.

“That’s what it’s called, innit?”

“We call them cupcakes,” Jamal tells him, licking the frosting from the side. “Dang girl, this is good.”

I sit up straighter under his praise, three cupcakes left in the box.

Priya took a pass, I’m not eating one, and I haven’t let Ashley take one yet; granted, they’re all technically for him, but…

He stares at me.