Jock Royal (Jock Hard 4)

It was calm.

Nice.

When she talked about how she barely knows anyone but has befriended Nalla and Priya from our business class. How bored and lonely she is in the dorms…

I grab the mobile off the nightstand before I can change my mind.

Me: I’ve been thinking.

Georgia: Oh boy—that sounds serious.

Me: I am serious.

Georgia: That was a figure of speech. You’re so literal.

Georgia: What’s on your mind, Jones?

Me: I’ve been thinking—what if you lived with me?

Georgia: Lol

Me: What’s so funny?

Georgia: You. That was so random and came out of nowhere—are you drunk??

Me: I’m lying here thinking about it, and it makes perfect sense.

Georgia: Uh—what? You don’t even like me. Why would you want me to live with you?

Me: Who said I don’t like you? You fed me, twice. All is forgiven.

Georgia: You’re way too easy then…

Me: Most blokes are.

Georgia: Are you actually being serious right now? I can’t just move out of the dorms, you know. I pay to be here.

Me: You voluntarily pay to sleep, bathe, and eat in the same room, probably with a bunk bed.

Georgia: I don’t BATHE in my room.

Me: Right. You shower in a communal room wearing thongs.

Georgia: I don’t wear a thong in the shower!

Me: Shoes. Shower shoes.

Georgia: Oh—is that what you meant by thong?

Me: Yes.

Georgia: Touché, touché.

Me: I’m not jesting.

Georgia: Sorry, you sprang this on me out of nowhere; I’m still not convinced this isn’t a prank.

Me: Do I look like I’d pull an elaborate stunt like this? You’re the one who’s into hazing—I haven’t done it since secondary school.

Georgia: Gee, way to keep bringing that up.

Me: The truth will set you free.

Georgia: I’d only consider living with you if rent was equal to or less than what it’s costing me now, plus utilities. I’m really…strapped for cash.

Strapped for cash.

Is that slang for broke?

Must be.

I’m too lazy to google it though.

Georgia: I don’t know what it comes out to per month, I’d have to do some math. And I’m terrible at math.

Me: Okay.

Georgia: Um. What did you have in mind for rent?

Me: I hadn’t gotten that far ahead in this grand master plan of mine.

Georgia: LOL. Well when you have it figured out, let me know.

Me: Okay. In the meantime, do some math.

Georgia: **eyeroll**

Me: You better cut that out—you’re going to eye roll yourself into another dimension.

Georgia: **winks** See you in class.

Ten

Georgia

I’m chatting with Nalla and Priya when Ashley plops down in a seat behind me, long legs smacking the back of my seat.

His legs are spread—he has to spread them or he wouldn’t fit—his knees so high above my seat back I’d bump my head against them if I leaned back.

Priya nudges me with her foot, brows raised.

Scribbles on a sheet of notebook paper and slides it in my direction.

He’s all up in your business.

I roll my eyes. No he’s not—what would make her say that?

Oh yeah—I left the party with him last Friday. Not that anything happened…but girls and their active imaginations.

When I tell them he invited me to live with him, they’re going to freak.

In the past few weeks since classes started, I’ve gotten closest to these two, not wanting to spend any more time with my teammates than I have to.

When the professor begins her lecture at the front of the room and we all give her our full attention, I’m still well aware of Ashley’s presence behind me.

It’s like sitting with my back to a wall, except one that’s breathing and staring holes into the back of my head.

I know he’s watching because I can feel it.

Me: Stop staring at the back of my head.

Ashley: I’m not.

Me: Okay, what did the professor just say?

I don’t know what she said either because I’m also not paying attention, but he doesn’t have to know that.

Ashley: Something about business.

Ha! I knew it. He’s not listening.

Me: LOL quit staring at the back of my head. Do you think I’d want to live with a creep who does that? I can imagine waking up and finding you in a chair in the corner of the room watching me sleep.

Ashley: That’s fucking weird and wouldn’t happen. Plus all the bedrooms have locks.

Ashley: Maybe I’d have to look out for YOU. How do I know you’re not a pervert?

Me: You don’t.

I snicker. That’ll give him something to think about.

And besides, I’d worry less about me being a pervert and more about me potentially being a murderer. For all he knows, I’m a few screws short of a full tool box.

I sit ramrod straight, staring ahead, doing my best to listen to the lecture. The professor and her TA are giving us an assignment to work on in our groups—we have to take an everyday object that we all use and create a business plan to market it—and I scribble notes.

I don’t hear a pen behind me or laptop keys, so I crane my head around. Does Ashley not care that we have specific things that need to get accomplished for this project?