Jock Romeo Read online

  “Not,” he says with a laugh that makes me want to throttle him.

  “Don’t you have anything better to do? And why are you even home, anyway? It’s the middle of the day.”

  “We had a half-day today. Teacher in-service or something like that.”

  “Who brought you home?”

  “Brandon’s mom.” Brandon is my brother’s best friend, has been since they were in kindergarten.

  “You should’ve told me. I was running errands and took Aunt Myrtle to physical therapy—I could have grabbed you on the way home.”

  “I think Mom forgot, so I just hopped in the car with Brandon.”

  That sounds kind of like our mom; she is very forgetful and used to do the same thing to me when I was growing up. Every so often, my parents would leave me at church after dropping me off at Sunday school. Don’t even ask me how that happens—thank God we have cell phones.

  “What’s in that box?” my brother wants to know.

  “Just stuff from school—textbooks and shit.”

  “Aren’t textbooks mostly digital now?”

  “Maybe. But not at Cambridge.”

  I studied over there on a scholarship I’d been fighting to earn since I was a freshman in high school, busting my ass for good grades and joining every and any club that could be academically beneficial, on top of playing tennis.

  Tennis, right? Who even plays that anymore?

  “Did you meet any girls while you were over there?” my brother asks as he fumbles with the remote control for my TV. I’m sure he intends to stay awhile and watch one of his favorite programs, something he’s probably been doing every day since the day I left.

  “No, I didn’t meet any girls.” I fold a t-shirt that’s at the top of my box and set it off to the side. “I mean, obviously I met girls, but I assume you mean did I date any.”

  “You never date any girls. Do you even know how?”

  Smartass little shit.

  “What do you mean I never date any girls? I’ve had girlfriends—I dated Britney Bevins for a few months my freshman year.”

  “Britney doesn’t count,” Alex informs me with a scoff. “Our parents are friends.”

  I mean, that’s kind of true, plus it wasn’t all that romantic of a relationship. Britney is a brainiac like me and was only enrolled at the university until she got her acceptance to an Ivy League college, which came our sophomore year. She packed up her bags and moved to California to attend Stanford and chase that doctoral degree she’s been coveting since we were kids.

  I hardly hear from her anymore.

  Other than that, sadly, I haven’t had any other relationships, if you don’t count family and friends. I’m talking about romantic relationships, and yeah—sexual relationships too, I guess. I would say it’s because I don’t do the casual sex thing, but that would be a lie. The truth is I don’t actually have the guts to have casual sex even if I wanted to.

  Alex watches as I lift a soccer ball out of the cardboard box and toss it to the ground.

  “What are you doing with a soccer ball?”

  “I got it while I was in England. They’re huge into football over there.”

  I bought this one during one of the playoffs when every other store in town was selling souvenirs for the different teams. It was chaos but fantastic fun and I wanted something to remember it by, so I brought home the red and blue football.

  “You packed a soccer ball in your luggage? Why didn’t you deflate it?”

  He has a good point—deflating it would have made more sense if I hadn’t been in such a hurry to pack up my crap at the end of this semester. Packing was the last thing on my mind; I got swept up in my new friends and working out and, of course, studying, and I waited until the last day to pack up my boxes, address them, and mail them back.

  Truth be told, I didn’t have a ton of stuff—some clothes, academic tools like textbooks and my computer and other office supplies, and…that’s really about it. But I did buy some things while I was there, like gifts for my family.

  Alex flips on the TV and begins thumbing through the channels, the volume blaringly loud as if he were hard of hearing.

  “Turn that down. You’re going to wake the entire house.”

  “It’s not even noon. No one is sleeping.”

  “Aunt Myrtle might be taking a nap. Do you want her coming up here?”

  “No. Besides, she wouldn’t come up here—she’d shout at us through the intercom. Myrt loves the intercom, but she doesn’t know how to work it properly so she repeats herself ten times and blows into it with her old lady breath. It’s obnoxious,” Alex grumbles.

  “Well turn that down anyway, Jesus. And get your feet off my bed.” I smack at his legs.

  He’s still wearing his sneakers, and I don’t want his filthy shoes on my comforter.

  Where was this kid raised, in a barn? Mom would have a heart attack if she knew he was running around the house with shoes on.

  “Don’t they leave you a list of chores you’re supposed to do when you get home from school?”

  They used to do that with me.

  “No. I’m busy with sports.”

  “You don’t look that busy with sports to me.”

  Alex glances over at me as I pull more stuff out of my box. “Practice isn’t until later today. Someone will have to drive me back to school if Mom isn’t home by then.”

  “How about Brandon’s mom?”

  “Brandon doesn’t play lacrosse.”

  “You’re a real pain in the ass. Do you realize that?”

  He shrugs. “I’m twelve, and it’s too far to ride my bike.”

  I mean, he’s not wrong.

  I take the empty cardboard box and toss it out my bedroom door into the hallway just in time to see my mother coming up the stairs. Her eyes flit from me to the box then back to me.

  “Someone is getting settled in, I see. I hope these boxes make it down to the recycling. Break them down, would you? And stack them neatly next to the garage.”

  That’s obviously what I was going to do with the boxes, but she wouldn’t be my mother if she didn’t constantly remind me to tidy up my things and take the trash out.

  I glance back at my brother, who is ignoring us both now that he’s fixated on the anime series on the television screen.

  “Hey Mom, can we talk later?”

  I can’t get something Aunt Myrtle said out of my mind and now I want to discuss it with my parents, but first I want to talk about it with my mom—feel her out a little bit, gauge her reaction.

  “I have time now if you want to talk.” She steps into the bedroom and goes to sit next to my brother on the bed. It dips beneath her weight.

  “In private?”

  Mom raises her eyebrows and looks down at my brother. Notices for the first time that he’s wearing sneakers and pushes his legs off my bed. “Hey, get out of here with your shoes on, mister.”

  Alex grumbles again but bends to untie his shoes, kicks them off, and trudges out to the hallway.

  “Close the door behind you,” Mom calls.

  Alex returns to shut the door a bit harder than necessary.

  Mom gives me her full attention, and I take a seat across from her on my desk chair, swiveling it away from the window to face her. This conversation is more difficult to start than I thought it would be, but if I don’t have it, it will linger in my mind and fester.

  “I didn’t realize how much I missed you until you finally got home.” Mom looks rather emotional. “I could just squish you right now I missed you so much.”

  “Please don’t.” I laugh.

  “How was the flight? We haven’t actually had a chance to talk alone since you’ve been back, and I apologize for that. I’ve been so caught up with this fundraising event for the women’s club—we’re raising awareness for fostering—that I haven’t had time to spend with you. Tell me what’s been going on.”

  This is just going to make what I’m about to say that much w
orse considering I’m about to drop the bomb on her about potentially moving out and onto campus.

  “I thought you’d have a British accent.”

  She really is funny. “We’ve spoken every week for four months—you knew I didn’t pick up an accent.”

  Mom picks at some lint on her jeans. “Fine. I was hoping you would. Like Madonna when she lived in London.”

  “Who?”

  She groans and runs a hand down her face. “Don’t make me feel old.”

  I pick up a pencil on my desk and begin tapping it nervously against the wooden top, knee bouncing below it.

  “So I’ve been thinking about my living arrangement the past few days.”

  This has Mom’s attention and she sits up straighter, folding her hands in her lap. She nods.

  “And you know I love living here—I’ve never lived anywhere else—but being on my own the last few months was awesome, and now that I’m back, I think it’s probably time for me to find my own place. Or at least find some roommates.” I rotate in the chair and look out the window for a moment, down at the neighbor’s house and into their backyard where a big, blue swimming pool sits. “It’s going to be practically impossible to find someone who still needs a roommate, but I think I should look.”

  Mom doesn’t say much for the next several seconds, but I can practically hear her thinking. “I can understand why you feel the need to…” Her voice trails off. “Spread your wings.”

  I spin back around. “I mean, Mom—Alex busts in here whenever he pleases and makes himself at home. He’s been using this room as a hangout spot and thinks he still can. I have no privacy whatsoever.”

  I do, but that’s not the point—we have a ‘No Locked Doors’ policy in this house, and I don’t see that changing any time soon. Alex doesn’t give a shit that I don’t want him in this room; he’s used to coming in here, and he’s going to continue coming in here.

  He’s spoiled and young and does what he wants.

  The point is, there are four other people living here and every one of them is in my business, including my eighty-three-year-old great aunt, who may live downstairs but always seems to be lingering.

  Kind of like a ghost.

  Almost as if she’s here to do my late grandmother’s bidding, bossing us around the way Nan did when she’d come by (and she did so often), outlandishly taking over the whole household.

  And did I mention Aunt Myrtle is online dating?

  Yeah.

  “How do you plan on finding an apartment?”

  We both know I haven’t made a decent number of new friends—not in the three years I’ve been at school, too wrapped up in my course work for socializing.

  “I met someone in England who has a contact here—coincidentally.”

  Mom doesn’t seem convinced. “You went all the way across the ocean and found someone who knows someone who may have a room for you to rent in the same city you need a room to rent?” She furrows her brows. “How is that possible?”

  “Give me a second to process what you said,” I joke with a smile. “Yeah, crazy right? I met a guy whose brother lives here. Goes to school here and has a house—all I have to do is reach out and cross my fingers. There’s no guarantee, but…”

  Mom doesn’t look pleased. “You’re so helpful.”

  “Mom, I’m twenty-one years old—I can’t live here for the rest of my life just so I can shuttle Aunt Myrtle around and feed Alex when you and Dad aren’t around.”

  It’s not fair.

  “It’s my senior year—how am I supposed to study in this house?” I take a deep breath. “You could hire someone to help with Aunt Myrtle and Alex. A nanny for them both.”

  Mom buries her face in her hands and laughs. “Oh my god, can you imagine. I don’t know who would run a nanny off first, your brother or your auntie.”

  “One hundred percent it would be Aunt Myrtle and her parade of geriatric boyfriends.”

  “Please.” Mom holds her hands out with more laughter. “Do not remind me. The last guy gave her piña coladas and wine and she wound up puking on the living room rug when he brought her home.”

  “What?” I shout, shocked and horrified. “Wait—what? Rewind.”

  “She went out with this younger gentleman who said he was sixty-nine but was actually seventy-eight. He took her to a tiki bar, and it didn’t sit well with her.”

  “What?”

  “She’s still trying to party like it’s 1999, and it came up both ends.”

  “That’s not even funny.” Well, it kind of is, but in a weird, I’m going to hell for laughing kind of way.

  “No one is laughing. It was horrendous. Your father about had a heart attack, and I made him help clean up the mess. Meanwhile, Auntie went to brunch with a gentleman who owns a golf cart dealership while we cleaned the carpets.”

  “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

  “Nothing. You say nothing. It’s been a revolving door of gray-haired single men. Widowed men. Confirmed elderly bachelors. She’s having a field day with it all. I don’t know how a caregiver could manage, and I can barely manage your brother.”

  Which is where I come in. “But Mom…”

  “I’ll have to talk to your dad, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt for you to text your friend’s brother and see where he’s at with his spare room.”

  I want to fist-pump the air for the small victory but manage to restrain myself until Mom leaves the room.

  “And maybe if you live by campus, you’ll meet someone.”

  Meet someone? Like, a girl? “That’s not the reason I want to move and be closer to school, Mom.”

  Girls are distracting, and I have goals.

  Mom pats me on the arm. “I know that’s not the reason, sweetie. I was just thinking out loud.”

  That’s all anyone in this house does—thinks out loud.

  2

  LILLY

  Kyle cheated.

  My boyfriend cheated.

  Sexting, sending dick pics, late-night phone calls—the whole nine yards.

  He was one step away from actual, physical cheating.

  But why.

  Why not break up with me instead? Why sneak around behind my back and lie about being happy? Surely telling the truth would have been easier than the subterfuge.

  Let’s be real: some guys get off on that shit, and those are not the guys you want in your life.

  My roommate Kaylee isn’t home at the moment, and I have no desire to be alone with my thoughts. I tap my feet on the linoleum kitchen floor, staring out the window across the street at the university’s administration building—at its beautiful rotunda and wide steps leading to the massive doors at the top.

  We live directly across the street from campus, conveniently located near—well, everything.

  Everything except my friend Eliza’s house. Even she doesn’t know exactly how many times Kyle and I have gotten into arguments. How many times he’s made me cry. How many times I’ve had doubts about his reliability and faithfulness. The number of times we were ‘on a break’ in the short four months because he couldn’t fully commit.

  The number of times I caught him leaving the room to text someone else then immediately put his phone face down.

  Red flags.

  Red flags.

  Red.

  Flags.

  Kyle doesn’t deserve me.

  I know this.

  I know he’s a bag of shit, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

  I stare out the window, wondering if I only dated him in the first place because he’s a popular member of the football team—it’s not like he’s winning any awards for his humor and personality. Kid can’t hold a conversation to save his soul, but he sure is pretty to look at.

  Big muscles. Handsome face.

  Everyone knows him, not just here but nationwide.

  Kyle is going places, most likely to the NFL.

  Honestly, our whole relationship was like high school 2.0
, and I was foolish enough to get caught up in that fame trap. Hate to admit it, but some might consider me a jock chaser, despite my own popularity and status on the cheer team.

  Kyle was not a good fit for me; he made me feel insecure about myself, my intelligence, and my body, and it took his cheating to snap me out of the rose-colored daze.

  I bust my ass; I work out and work hard to earn and keep my position as a cheerleader for the university, but something about the way he treated me always made me feel…inferior. Always made me feel like I had to work harder to keep him than he had to work for me.

  I fought harder to date him than I did to stay on the team.

  Dating him became a full-time job.

  The balance of power shifted the day he had me hooked. Some girls accept that kind of behavior because they want to date an athlete, and I was caught up in it, too.

  Well not anymore.

  For the time being, I plan on working on myself from the inside out and healing from the emotional gaslighting that was Kyle. Eliza can cheer me up, so I text her to see if she’s around—maybe even has a full fridge?

  I’m starving.

  Me: Are you busy?

  It takes Eliza a few minutes to reply, and I wonder what she could be doing today; she has a new boyfriend and lives in his house in a more residential part of town, not far from campus but not up against it, either.

  Eliza: I’m making linner. Why, do you need something?

  Me: What’s linner?

  Eliza: Lunch and dinner.

  Eliza: But seriously, is everything alright?

  Can she actually tell from the tone of my text that everything is not alright? Wow. She’s good.

  Me: I need to talk—can I come over?

  Eliza: Sure. Of course! We’re here, just hanging out. New roommate moving in, but his stuff is mostly in the house. Come on over.

  Me: New roommate?

  Eliza: Yeah—Jack and I sublet my room and I’m sleeping with him, LOL.

  Me: Oooo you’re a couple now?! You should have told me!

  Eliza: You’re so busy and we’ve been busy…

  Me: I can’t wait to hear all about it and see your place. What’s the address? I was thinking I’d leave here in a few minutes.