“You’re not living with me, mate. I would have asked by now.”
I push up, puffing out a breath, the bar clenched in my grip, heavy.
Up, one.
Down.
Up, two.
Down.
I do six presses more before Andy helps me rest the bar back on the rack. Breathe in and out, reaching for the water bottle next to the bench. Squirt it in my wide-open mouth, chugging.
“Good job,” he coaches. “If you have a girl living with you, can I come hang out there more? Like, work out in your garage?”
“You’re not going to come over just to leer at Georgie.”
“Leer? What the hell does that mean?”
“Gawk. Stare. Pant after. It’s weird and it’s my house, not a breeding ground.”
“Right, but you’re the only one who’s living co-ed, and she is single, right?”
Stewart listens on. “Wait—if you’re not dating her, you can do the date with Ariel.”
Could he not? “Please don’t start that shite with me.”
“But—”
I hold my hand up, prepared to get up off this bench if he starts talking about double dates and that girl with the flaming red hair.
“If I lend you my truck, do I get to hang out with you at your house?” Andy wants to know, interrupting us both.
Why are they both like this? And Andy doesn’t have a truck, he has his mum’s old Suburban, which I guess would work.
“You’re not lending it to me, you’re helping Georgia move.” I feel the need to clarify.
He’s quiet a few more seconds. “And I’m not allowed to ask her out?”
“I didn’t say that.” I pause. “You don’t even know what she looks like, you arse. How do you know you want to ask her out?”
“Stew said she was hot, and Tyler said he saw her at one of the parties and you cockblocked him, so I figure she must be. Besides, you wouldn’t live with a troll.”
I’m insulted. “I’d live with a troll—looks have nothing to do with it.”
“Would not. You only like hotties.”
Only like hotties? “Based on what?”
Where is he getting this from?
“Based on the fact that you’ve only gone out with hotties.”
“I don’t go out with anyone, so your argument is invalid.”
Stewart and Andy are not to be deterred.
“Remember that one blonde, Jessica? You dated her for half of sophomore year because her parents own the bar downtown and you wanted free drinks.”
“I was an arsehole back then, and it was a coincidence that she happened to be good-looking.”
Stewart snorts. “You’re so full of shit.”
“She had a great personality.” I laugh. “It’s not my fault her mum and dad own the one place we hang out.”
“Used to hang out. You fucking ruined it when you broke up with her.”
Dammit, he’s right—we can’t go to that pub anymore because I broke it off with the owner’s daughter, but in my defense, she became a wee bit obsessed with me to the point that she wanted to get married.
Bloody married.
To me.
At twenty years old.
She was cracked, so I broke up with her, which caused a ripple of outrage in the rugby community since I ruined it for everyone.
I was doing her parents a favor, for the love of Christ. Her father would have killed me if we’d gotten engaged.
Killed.
I haven’t dated anyone since, not really. Shagged, yes. Dated, no.
And even shagging random young women holds no excitement anymore, no matter how many come on to me.
The number of them that solicit me at parties blows my mind, but not enough to let any of them blow my cock. Probably because most of them seem desperate. Cleat-chasing girls wanting nothing more than a popular boyfriend they can brag about.
I know my appeal; realized it soon after arriving here, girls asking me to repeat my words, cooing about my accent, touching me when I spoke, giggling and laughing at things that weren’t bloody amusing.
Not by a long shot.
I dated a few of them but never connected.
Guess I have one foot out of America’s door already, ready to move on to the next chapter.
So why is it annoying me that Stewart and Andy are talking about Georgia as if she’s some random girl up for grabs at a party? She’s going to be my roommate; they need to treat her with respect.
My house isn’t a goddamn pick-up joint.
The last thing I need is Andy and whoever coming by unexpectedly to hit on Georgia; it’s not what she signed up for.
“Can you help out this weekend? I’ll buy you a pint.”
“At an actual bar, or do you mean taking me to the house and giving me free beer?”
I laugh because he’s got me there. “A pub. And I’ll feed you, too.”
“I wanna be fed!” Stewart whines.
The look I give him is bemused. “You had your chance and you blew it by nagging me about Ariel. Unless she changed her hair from Flaming Hot Cheetos to normal, I’m still not interested.”