Jock Royal Page 24
He must be better at forgiveness than I would be in his position.
“I like seeing you flustered. It’s entertaining,” says the cat to the mouse.
“Entertaining.”
Ashley grins at me. “See? Now you’re doing it.”
“Doing what?” I frown.
“Making questions into statements. Fun, innit?”
I groan. “You and your strange ways of having fun. Are all boys like this in the UK?”
That earns me a laugh. “Hardly. The chaps I grew up with have no sense of humor, and if they did, they’d have been hazing right alongside you that night. My mate Charlie loves a good toilet prank—at least my humor isn’t lame jokes. I’m funny.”
He’s not though.
Not really. Not haha funny.
I’m typically laughing at his expressions when I’m laughing, his reactions to things I do and say—not the words coming out of his mouth.
So we have that in common, I suppose; we’re amused by each other.
He rises and takes my plate, stacking it on top of his. “Whenever you want to move in, say the word—except Saturday. We have a match and I won’t be around.”
This weekend?!
He’s thinking this weekend already?
I was thinking soonish, but…
Not this weekend.
“Next weekend?” God, what am I saying? I want to snatch the words back. “Or at the beginning of the month?”
“It is the beginning of the month.”
“I meant next month. The beginning of next month.”
He pulls a face at me. “Now you’re just making excuses.”
Am I?
He’s probably right.
No, not probably—he is.
Ashley sets our plates next to the sink and I join him with our water glasses. Toss our soiled napkins in the garbage that’s at the end of the counter.
Start the faucet so the water gets warm enough I can wash the dishes.
“You don’t have to do that.” He turns the faucet off. “Come on, I’ll get you home.”
Get me home?
“But—”
“Cleaning lady comes early tomorrow.”
Say what now?
Hold up.
“I’m sorry—what?”
Surely he didn’t just say—
“Cleaning lady comes tomorrow,” he parrots in a droll tenor.
I must be losing my mind, or did I just win the proverbial college housing lottery?
“You have a cleaning lady? Why?”
He’s grabbing his truck keys off the counter by the door.
“It’s Mum’s thing. She won’t have me sleeping on dirty sheets, and she knows I won’t change them regularly.”
Okay, that makes some sense? But only if you’re rich—the rest of us mere mortals get by doing our own chores, our own laundry. Doing our own dishes, cleaning our own places.
And if we don’t, we sleep on dirty sheets and live to tell about it.
My friend Adam went an entire semester never vacuuming his room and never changing his sheets, and Adam is turning out just fine, thank you very much.
Do girls want to sleep on that? No.
Do guys care? Also no.
Ashley’s mom must be really controlling if she’s hiring people to manage his life all the way from England.
“Would this cleaning lady clean my stuff? I can’t afford to pitch in and pay her.”
His shoulders rise and fall. “She can leave your stuff be if you’re not cool with it.”
I don’t think I am—it feels like it would be taking advantage, and I have no desire to do that. Don’t want to wear out my welcome from the start and not pull my weight. Now I can’t even pitch in by scrubbing the floors, though I’m sure they’ll get dirty enough for me to spot clean.
“Thanks. It’s great though that you have…um. A person.”
Weird, but whatever. None of my business.
“Melody—that’s her name—is brilliant. She’s actually older, kind of like my mum away from home.” He smiles. “She and her husband have me over sometimes if I’m not home on holiday. Thanksgiving I went for dinner and watched the game with her family. It was quite the coze.”
That surprises me. I’d think a guy his age would spend a holiday like Thanksgiving at a kegger. I know he spends plenty of time at the rugby house, but maybe it’s because he’s…lonely?
Which is where I come in.
He doesn’t want to live alone any more than I do.
Ashley remembers where I live without me having to tell him, but duh, it’s the dorms, and you’d have to be an idiot if you got lost finding them.
When he pulls up to the curb, his arm goes up to rest on the back of my seat, his eyes glancing toward the building.
“You need me to come up and check everything you’ve got so I know how much manpower we’ll need to get you moved out?”
The thought of giant him in my tiny space makes me sweat.
“Nah, I think we’ll be good. There’s nothing massive—no bed, no couch. Will just be a few boxes and clothes.”
“If you’re sure…”
He knows I’m being polite but isn’t going to call me out on it.
I nod. “I’m sure, but thank you.” Pausing, I’m quiet for a second. “And thank you for…everything, Ashley. The tour, the food, the—”
“Don’t make this weird.” His laugh reaches his eyes as he teases me.
“I’m trying to be nice!”
“You are nice. It’s nice. Now get out of my truck.”
My mouth falls open.
“And close your mouth—it looks like you’re trying to catch flies.”
What nerve!
What a…
What a…a…an ass!
“Hey, Mom. Is Dad with you?”
I decided to call my parents as soon as I got out of the shower, while the excitement was fresh in my mind, at a time I knew they’d both be home.
In fact, I can predict what they’re doing right now at the precise moment I called, so predictable the Parkers are.
My parents are watching one home improvement show or another—probably a ‘design on a dime’ setup since they’re both avid do-it-yourselfers on a shoestring budget. The house I grew up in has had a major overhaul since my mother started bingeing those shows, forcing my father to watch, and every weekend, it’s a new project.
Build lockers in the mudroom.
Install shiplap in the kitchen. Tile the bathroom in the hallway after tearing out the linoleum. Swap out the lighting, add cans. Paint the kitchen cabinets instead of ripping them out and replacing them.
The list goes on and on—my parents never stop, and they’re always watching home improvement shows.
It’s exhausting going home.
The last thing I want to do on a weekend off is mulch the landscaping, or clean the screens, or build raised flower beds, or put up a floating shelf.
Sometimes a girl just wants to lie on the couch and loaf.
Like a normal person!
“Hey sweetie, yeah Dad’s here. We’re just getting ready to watch Fixer-Fix-Upper.”
I smile picturing them sitting side by side on the beige couch, jumbo size popcorn bag between them. “Well, just so he’s close by…there’s something I wanted to talk about.” Hastily I add, “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad.”