Jock Royal (Jock Hard 4)

“You’re not a first-year anymore—this is what happens when you become an adult. Mum and Dad cut the cord. You feel rubbish because you’re still living in the dorms.”

Rubbish?

What the hell is that all about?

“Don’t give me that face. You know it’s true.”

My mouth gapes open, but I snap it shut because it’s bad manners.

“Georgia?”

“Hmm?”

“Is there a reason you don’t wanna live here?” Ashley has a piece of broccoli on his fork ready to pop into his mouth. “Are you…I don’t know.” He shifts almost uneasily in his chair. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

It’s as if the idea just crossed his mind—that a young woman may have doubts and reservations about living with a big brute of a boy she barely knows.

Granted, students in college do this all the time, live with people they wouldn’t know if they passed them on the street.

This sort of thing is normal—but the thought that Ashley may be too physically intimidating to live with?

Makes perfect sense.

He can’t bring himself to eat the broccoli until I answer his question. Know how I know? The fork hovers in front of his lips, suspended in midair, his mouth slightly agape.

“I’m not afraid of you. And I’m not afraid to live with you.” I pause. “You’re just a giant teddy bear.”

For a second, he doesn’t seem to know what to say. Then, “A teddy bear.”

He’s so good at even, expressionless replies, his question sounds like a statement, face blank.

“You know—big and broody but soft on the inside.”

He blinks. “I’m soft on the inside.”

I shrug. “If you weren’t a big ol’ softie, you wouldn’t feel so sorry for me that you’d make space for me inside your home.”

Ashley’s face scrunches up as if those are the most ridiculous words he’s ever heard. “Firstly, I don’t feel sorry for you. Secondly, I had the space for you inside the house—I didn’t make it for you. Thus, I’m not a softie.”

“Thus you’re not a softie.” I laugh, almost spitting out the water I was about to take a sip of. “Thus.”

“Don’t make fun of me.” He scowls.

“Sorry, it’s just—so cute.”

“Cute.”

“You know you make statements out of everything you don’t like when you’re irritated.”

“You’re daft,” he says, smile forming on his face. I know he’s cracking and that he’s not mad at all, only has a few ruffled feathers because I made him feel less badass than he’s used to feeling, which is his problem—not mine.

“Daft? I like it.”

“It means crazy.”

“Still like it. It’s so British.”

He shakes his head, slightly disgusted with me. “There are far better words if you want to sound distinctly British.”

“Such as?”

“Bollocks.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s a curse word.”

“Blimey.”

I snort.

“Wanker.”

“Mmm,” I hum. “That one I like—it sounds like wiener.” I give him a once-over. “What’s the British word for dick?”

He chokes on his broccoli, sputtering as if he’s never heard the word dick in his life. “Warn a chap before you say a thing like that.”

“You’re acting like a prude.” I lean in, squinting at him. “Are you a virgin?”

“That’s none of your bloody business.”

Now I lean back, studying him. Shit. What if he is a virgin and I just invaded his privacy?

I clamp my lips shut.

He’s right, it is none of my bloody business—but that doesn’t mean I won’t lie in my bunk bed tonight wondering about the answer.

“So. The word for dick?”

“Dick.”

I don’t believe him. “That’s boring.”

Ashley sighs. “You could go with knob in a pinch.”

Knob?

Eh.

“I don’t love it.” I sniff.

That makes him laugh, and he tips his head back, loudly cackling.

I smile into my water glass, pleased to have amused him, the gap in his front teeth glinting at me in the most attractive way.

Ugh, look away, Georgie. He may be your new roommate.

Oh, who are you trying to fool—you know you’re moving in here.

That doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate how cute he is when he’s smiling and laughing.

“Adorable.”

That has me sitting up straighter in my seat, spine straight. Did he just call me adorable, or is he calling my disdain for the word knob adorable? Either way, it hardly makes a difference—so whatever the knots in my stomach are doing, and the fluttering of my heart…they can stop it any moment now.

“Georgie, I won’t nag—I’ve no wish to beleaguer the point. You keep me posted.” His fork digs into his dinner again, knife slicing into the meat.

My whole body stills; I know I have to make a decision, and I ought to do it now.

No time like the present.

“I want to live here.” My nod is definitive. “Yes. I do.”

His mouth forms a straight, bemused line. “Don’t sound so enthused.”

“I am! I am, I’m just—phew!” My puff of breath is weightless. “It’s a big decision!” I phew again as he looks on, staring as if I’ve lost my mind. What is it he called me? Daft? “I’m daft.”