“Oh, I’m not stopping you from going, am I?”
“Not at all, Blaze. I don’t enjoy football, I’m very much a rugby guy. But even if I were a fan, I’d choose you over the match any day.” He boops my nose as my stomach performs a little somersault. “Unfortunately, we have to stay clothed for a littlewhile, though, because Trey refuses to leave until he's met you. Let's get that over real quick so we can kick him out.”
My laughter trails behind us as I'm unceremoniously dragged across the gravel driveway into the house, my bag in Brad's other hand. When did he even grab that?
The house is very obviously a bachelor pad with its lack of decor – just plain white walls, light oak lino flooring, and basic flatpack furniture. But at least it looks and smells clean. Or rather, it smells like bleach and Febreeze, so it has very recently been spruced up at least. I’m grateful he made the effort. Could've been so much worse.
A tall mixed race man with his hair braided in cane rows steps out from a door in the hallway and flashes a heart-stopping grin at me. Seriously, what do they put in the water here? The guys at my uni didn't look like these two.
“Shari, this is my roommate and best friend, Trey. Trey, this is my future wife, Shari. Now leave.”
Trey's booming laugh settles my nerves as he pulls me from Brad's grip and into a bear hug. I can feel his deep voice travel through my chest as he states, “Shari, it's so good to finally meet the woman who's going to put my boy on his ass. He will not stop talking about you.”
Is that an American accent I detect?
I don't even know what to say to that, so I settle on a very profound and witty, “Hi.”
This, of course, just makes Trey laugh even harder before Brad's slapping at Trey's hands and tugging me from his grip. “Ok, enough, you can't have her. Get your own. In fact, leave right now to start your search.”
Trey is still smiling even as he shakes his head at Brad's antics. “I truly hope to see you around more, Shari. You kids have a good weekend, and don't forget to use protection.” And with that, Trey's out the door.
“Where's he going to stay this weekend? I feel bad that he has to leave his own house.”
“Don't. He has plenty of beds on offer to him and I'm sure he'll be making the most of it. But enough about Trey.” His lips descend on mine and I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
“Bloody hell, I missed you. Is that weird?”
I feel my cheeks heat with his admission, and I answer honestly, “It should be because we've only known each other a few weeks, but...I feel the same.”
“You ok with dessert first?”
I'm a little taken aback by the sudden change in topic, but also dessert, so, “I’m good with that. What's for dessert?”
I squeak as he throws me over his shoulder, and with a light smack to my ass that I'm garnering is his signature move, he replies, “You.”
“Have you always lived in England?”Brad asks with a quirked eyebrow.
I side eye him. “Noooo, but I am curious as to what might have given me away.”
We're sitting on the sofa, eatingactualdessert – apple crumble and ice cream – with our backs to opposite armrests so we're facing each other, our legs tangled together.
He hums his amusement around the spoon. “Your accent, for one. It's generic English eighty percent of the time, but some things have an American or even Australian twang. Almost like you can't decide which accent you want to use.”
Laughing my agreement I admit, “I can see exactly what you're saying. I grew up in Malaysia and went to a Britishinternational school. Hence, mostly generic English accent. But with so many foreign students with all their own accents coming and going over the years, I guess we all picked up bits and pieces from each other.” I think back on my school years, “Plus, we used to hang out with all the other international school kids. You'd be amazed how many there are in one city.”
“International kids or international schools?” he grins.
“Well, both, I guess,” I huff another laugh. “I can name at least eight international schools in the capital without trying.”
“It answers the other thing then, too,” he states.
“The other thing?”
“Mm-hmm, sometimes your terminology is very North American. Terms Trey uses all the time,” he shrugs.
“Like what?” I've never really thought about it because all my friends from home talk the same way I do.
“When we were in the town centre at the festival to get you some clothes, you called it a sidewalk instead of pavement. And earlier today you asked where my trash was instead of the bin. But weirdly, you then called it a bin not an hour later.”
