Jock Royal (Jock Hard 4)

Ashley laughs. “I’d say you were a bit mad.”

A bit mad.

Love that.

“Are you comfortable sleeping in the same house as your MAD ROOMMATE?” I laugh my best evil scientist laugh, tossing my head back, ball cap falling to the ground for the second time in one night.

“I’m confident you won’t slash me in my sleep.” As if the idea is so preposterous he can’t keep the grin off his face.

Hiding my own smile, I swipe the hat from the ground and plop it back on my head.

“I hate to ask because I don’t want to spiral you, but do you kind of know when you want to move in? It’ll be easy—I have that truck and can get a few mates to help out.” He chews. Swallows. “Stewart has a truck as well.”

One his girlfriend would probably run me over with, Ariel in the passenger seat.

I consider this. I’ll go online and give my thirty days to the university. They already have my money for the semester and I won’t be getting any back for at least a few weeks, but technically there is no reason why it can’t be soon that I move in with Ashley.

Officially.

And if he is willing to help me move my stuff out of the dorms…

“Why are you being so nice?” I blurt out.

He looks up, watching me. “Why are you being so suspicious?”

Hmm. I cluck. “Why are you answering a question with a question?”

“Why are you?”

He has a valid point.

“This is getting us nowhere.”

“Nope.”

“But seriously. Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Honestly?”

No, I want you to lie.

Instead of being sarcastic, I nod. “Yes, honestly.”

“It’s fun.”

It’s fun? It’s fun.

What an odd thing to say!

“How is it fun?” When we got off on the wrong foot? When our friendship started in such a fucked-up way—a way I’m ashamed of?

He must be better at forgiveness than I would be in his position.

“I like seeing you flustered. It’s entertaining,” says the cat to the mouse.

“Entertaining.”

Ashley grins at me. “See? Now you’re doing it.”

“Doing what?” I frown.

“Making questions into statements. Fun, innit?”

I groan. “You and your strange ways of having fun. Are all boys like this in the UK?”

That earns me a laugh. “Hardly. The chaps I grew up with have no sense of humor, and if they did, they’d have been hazing right alongside you that night. My mate Charlie loves a good toilet prank—at least my humor isn’t lame jokes. I’m funny.”

He’s not though.

Not really. Not haha funny.

I’m typically laughing at his expressions when I’m laughing, his reactions to things I do and say—not the words coming out of his mouth.

So we have that in common, I suppose; we’re amused by each other.

He rises and takes my plate, stacking it on top of his. “Whenever you want to move in, say the word—except Saturday. We have a match and I won’t be around.”

This weekend?!

He’s thinking this weekend already?

I was thinking soonish, but…

Not this weekend.

“Next weekend?” God, what am I saying? I want to snatch the words back. “Or at the beginning of the month?”

“It is the beginning of the month.”

“I meant next month. The beginning of next month.”

He pulls a face at me. “Now you’re just making excuses.”

Am I?

He’s probably right.

No, not probably—he is.

Ashley sets our plates next to the sink and I join him with our water glasses. Toss our soiled napkins in the garbage that’s at the end of the counter.

Start the faucet so the water gets warm enough I can wash the dishes.

“You don’t have to do that.” He turns the faucet off. “Come on, I’ll get you home.”

Get me home?

“But—”

“Cleaning lady comes early tomorrow.”

Say what now?

Hold up.

“I’m sorry—what?”

Surely he didn’t just say—

“Cleaning lady comes tomorrow,” he parrots in a droll tenor.

I must be losing my mind, or did I just win the proverbial college housing lottery?

“You have a cleaning lady? Why?”

He’s grabbing his truck keys off the counter by the door.

“It’s Mum’s thing. She won’t have me sleeping on dirty sheets, and she knows I won’t change them regularly.”

Okay, that makes some sense? But only if you’re rich—the rest of us mere mortals get by doing our own chores, our own laundry. Doing our own dishes, cleaning our own places.

And if we don’t, we sleep on dirty sheets and live to tell about it.

My friend Adam went an entire semester never vacuuming his room and never changing his sheets, and Adam is turning out just fine, thank you very much.

Do girls want to sleep on that? No.

Do guys care? Also no.

Ashley’s mom must be really controlling if she’s hiring people to manage his life all the way from England.

“Would this cleaning lady clean my stuff? I can’t afford to pitch in and pay her.”

His shoulders rise and fall. “She can leave your stuff be if you’re not cool with it.”

I don’t think I am—it feels like it would be taking advantage, and I have no desire to do that. Don’t want to wear out my welcome from the start and not pull my weight. Now I can’t even pitch in by scrubbing the floors, though I’m sure they’ll get dirty enough for me to spot clean.