Arrogant Brit

“He, uh, his grandparents are dying. I mean, just his grandfather, I guess,” I responded mindlessly. “He asked me to go over, but I didn’t think it was a good idea. When I said that, he got mad at me.”

“Of course he’s mad at you, you big, dumb oaf,” Natalie chuckled, shaking her head. “Look, so you’re not exactly the most comforting chick on the block. Whatever. You know where he lives, right? Go see him.”

Jared nodded quietly, trying to contribute to the conversation in some way.

“But he’s angry.”

“So what? He’ll be fine when he sees you. Maybe not immediately, but if you work some of your feminine charm on the guy… eh, he’ll come back around.”

“You want me to sleep with him?”

“You do you, girl,” she smiled cheerily. “If that’s what you want, then yeah. Just don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. I don’t think he’ll exactly be ready to totally jump your bones if this is still sinking in.”

“That sounds reasonable,” I agreed.

“Good. So, get out of here and go to him.”

“You just want me out of here so that you two can fuck,” I grinned sort of slyly, placing my hand on my hip. “Because you guys are. Loud. As. Fuck.”

“If fuck had a volume, I guess it would have to be pretty loud,” Natalie nodded to herself. “But the loud sex is how you know it’s great sex. You’re totally right, though. I want to take this beautiful, stupid boy to Pound Town until the night’s halfway gone.”

“Did you just call me stupid?” Jared raised his eyebrow at her.

“Oh, baby,” Nat replied with a high, cooing voice, caressing his cheek. “Of course I did. Honey, you’re as dumb as a burlap sack of crap. But you’re cute, and your cock fits so good inside me…”

“I am not listening to this,” I loudly reminded.

“You sure as fuck are if you’re not getting pretty and hopping in that rust-bucket car of yours!” She replied airily, turning towards me and ignoring Jared’s contemptuous look. “Go forth, young padawan. Your man doth require thy supple, womanly figure! Fulfill thine destiny and fuck until the sun rises!”

“I’m not fucking him tonight!” I declared, covering my ears and retreating from the room.

Natalie was loudly continuing her awful old English accent and reciting pseudo Shakespearean gibberish, but I playfully muffled out the noise as I changed into something more flattering than loose pajamas.

Confident in my selection, I modeled it off for her beside the couch.

Natalie responded in her most outlandishly regal voice, accentuating practically every syllable: ““Oh, darrrling, you look magnificent.”

After a smug, countering smile, I snatched up my keys and bid them goodnight. As far as I was aware, I was coming back, but I didn’t want to make any presumptions about the night.

Especially when Dalton was mad at me.

Pulling up the directions on my smartphone, I kicked my car into drive and navigated into the streets. It was awfully convenient that he didn’t live very far at all. Even with some congestion, it was insisting that I could be knocking on his door within a tentative fifteen minutes.

After a few red lights, some jackass almost sideswiping me to get into my lane, and a flock of pedestrians stalling traffic for a moment, I was pulling in front of his home.

Dalton appeared to be renting a small house, located on the edge of the city. There was enough room for maybe two cars in the driveway – I could see his motorcycle, as well as a car I didn’t recognize. Makes sense that he has one of each, I figured to myself.

Instead of trying to fit in there, I found a spot a couple of houses down and parallel parked out in front.

My confidence wavered for the first time since leaving my apartment. Confronted with actually seeing him again within a matter of seconds, I wasn’t precisely sure what I was going to say to him.

Way to think this through, Clara.

I double-checked the address twice before knocking on his front door. His house was wrapped in white wooden siding, with his front patio receding beneath the overhang of the roof. There were a couple of windows, with the curtains drawn, but I could see light filtering out.

A shadow moved. The curtain drew apart slightly, and I couldn’t make out who was behind it. But the silhouette moved back into place without greeting the door.

Oh great, I thought to myself. I’ve gone through all this effort, and he just doesn’t want to see me at all?

Swallowing my frustration, I knocked again. This time, the silhouette moved out of sight, and there came the sound of creaking footsteps from just on the other side of the door.

I noticed the peephole, and stepped back from it to give a better look, although I fully expected to be recognized.

“Hi?” I heard from the other side of the door. The voice belonged to someone else – a guy, somewhere between both our ages.

“I’m here for Dalton?” I replied, guessing I was speaking to a roommate. “Do I have the right house? This is where he said he lived.”

I heard the sound of the door unlocking, and it creaked open enough for a grimy face to peer out. The stranger was clearly trying to grow out a beard, but he wasn’t getting anything more than a thick, scruffy mess. His eyes were jittery, and he could stand to wash his face off.

“For Dalton? Who’re you?”

I sighed.

“My name’s Clara. Is he here?”

The guy looked at me suspiciously before shouting over his shoulder. He conspicuously kept his eyes glued to me, as if I were the shady one here.

“Hey, Dalton? Some girl’s here for you. Clara? Ring a bell? Want me to make her go away?”

A muffled response came, and the guy looked over at me with a half-sneer. “Uh, come in, I guess. Make yourself at home. Don’t touch my stuff.”

“This is my first time here,” I told him in barely-covered exasperation. “How am I gonna know what things are yours?”

The strange roommate froze, apparently contemplating that. “You know what? Don’t touch anything then. My stuff is mine. Not yours.”

“Duly noted,” I replied crisply, following him inside. He pointed me towards the couch as he took up residence in a comfortable recliner, snatching up the remote. He turned the volume back up on a TV that practically dwarfed even our own, and I glanced around at my surroundings.

The house was decorated sparsely, but it was surprisingly clean for a place where this character lived. Clearly, I didn’t have to worry about touching any of his things… there’s no way that any of this belonged to him.

The furniture was nice and reasonably expensive, with the exception of the filthy chair that the stranger occupied. There were some throw pillows on the couch and a folded blanket, lying over the back; it seemed like it had been bought without much consideration, just to fill the space and look good.

The walls were a soft opaque tan color, which worked well with the furniture selections and the sprawling Persian-style rug. It seemed that the whole house bore beautiful hardwood floors, which probably meant that it was going to be chilly as fuck when the winter finally came.

As for mental stimulation, a nearby bookcase carried a number of interesting books, including a lot of literary classics and authors: Mark Twain, Stephen King, Anne Rice, Isaac Asimov, and a number of others whom I barely recognized.

While I remained seated, glancing around my new environment and taking in a few pieces of art on the walls, I heard a lazy clamoring from deeper into the house.

A door opened, and heavy footsteps brought someone our way until Dalton’s face finally peered in around the doorway.

“Pete, I thought you said Clara was–”

He looked surprised when he saw me on the couch. “Wait. Clara, why didn’t you just come back here?”

“I, uh, was pointed this way?”

His face settled on his roommate. “Look, Pete, the next time I tell you to let someone in and send her my way, I’d

like you to actually let them in and send them my way.”

Pete shrugged, his eyes glued to the screen.

Covering his face and sighing, Dalton motioned for me to follow him. He led me down a long hallway and towards the light of an open door, presumably his bedroom.