Okay fine—a super-hot, attractive, masculine, rugged slob.
Not that I noticed, because Jack Jones is not mine to notice…
Kaylee saw him first.
Stop it, Eliza. Stop it. You are not interested in Jack McBritishHottiePants. Not yesterday and not today, and especially because your roommate is.
You might have been…
Nope.
No. You are not going to internal-dialogue this either, Eliza—Kaylee is looking at you like you’ve lost your damn mind.
Duh, because I have.
“Was he at practice this morning? He said something about a match or something.”
“Um…I think it was a practice. A scrimmage?” I pretend I can’t remember. “Dirty gym clothes. You know how it is.”
“Did he eat anything besides eggs?” Kaylee pushes again.
“Yes. Scones. And tea.”
Lots and lots of scones, and he ordered five to go.
Takeaway, he called it.
This new information seems to mollify her, and she nods. I can see the cogs churning in her brain as she files this information away for later.
“Can you get me some when you’re there next? For me to give him?”
“Get you what? Scones?”
“Yes.”
The last thing I want to be is a go-between or an errand girl, but I feel a bit guilty and concede.
“Sure.” Why not.
No harm in that…
Five
Jack
Eliza sure was a suspicious little thing.
I could see the wheels turning in her brain while she was across from me at the café—and though she wasn’t saying a word, she was doing her best to use her computer as a diversion to avoid me.
It technically made no sense that she would join me at the table, unpack all her things, and engage me in conversation if her intention was to be alone and avoid people…
As mine was.
It seems to me we’re both similar in that regard, although it’s just an assumption and not based on facts.
I didn’t actually come right out and ask if she was there hiding like I was, or if the coffee shop is just a place she loves enough to hoof it across town.
Kaylee pokes me in the ribs, reminding me she’s there.
“Whatcha thinkin’ ’bout?” she asks in her perky accent—one I just began noticing, and I vaguely recall that she’s from the South and not local to this Midwest region where we’re in school.
We’re at another party, the one place I can’t stop bumping into her, on the rickety old porch swing out front.
I can’t very well tell her that right now I’m thinking about her roommate. I can’t tell her I’m thinking that later, when the night is over, I’m going to ask to walk her home due to the likely event that I will bump into Eliza like I did last week.
I can’t tell her any of this because I know how women are. She would get jealous and want to scratch my eyes out.
And I certainly can’t sleep with her—not when my mind is on someone else completely.
Weird, right?
Not that I’m interested in Eliza in a romantic way; she just felt comfortable to me, and I had a good time relaxing with her and being myself. Nothing felt forced, and it was casual and…nice.
Or perhaps I’m merely interested because she is the antithesis of the women I’m used to—and by that I mean she is not interested in me romantically, either, which I’m certainly not familiar with. Women tend to throw themselves at me. Women who:
Are from England and know my father is a baron. Doesn’t even matter that I’m not the heir.
Are social climbers.
Hear my accent and lose their minds over it. Doesn’t matter what words are coming out of my gullet. They would listen to me spout off nonsense—which I oft do.
Girls who are only enrolled in university to earn their MRS degree, i.e., find a rich husband.
Newsflash, ladies: I am not rich—my parents are.
Someday, maybe. But right now? I’m surviving on their good graces and my monthly allowance, something I’ve always had and wish to maintain.
Would it have behooved me to get engaged to Caroline? Probably.
She comes from a wealthy, high-born family. Not titled, but landed and old—a fact that thrilled my mother more so than anything. Didn’t matter that Caroline was a bit of a shrew from the time we were in secondary school; what mattered was her pedigree.
Matters in my family, though my brother managed to shirk it beautifully, and I aim to follow in his footsteps.
Not that I’m here to land myself a wife.
Too young for that…
Ash is too, but he has plans to stick it out and make the thing with his wife Georgia work…though if my mother had her druthers, the entire “Vegas wedding” part would be erased clean and replaced with a lovely, English church wedding.
Tails and top hats and the like.
“Yoo-hoo, earth to Jack…”
Beside me, Kaylee tries to regain my attention. I shake my head to sift out the fuzz, lifting a bottle of beer to my mouth.
Bottled this time and not in a cup. Seems the rugby team is moving on up in the world—or rather, has a wealthy alum visiting from out of town who is paying for the party.