Girl Abroad

Part 2 – September

MY HEAD’S TAKEN A GOOD POUNDING, AND I MIGHT HURL IF I SIT up too fast. Last night’s makeup is smudged on my pillow. Sharpie doodles cover my hand after Lee got hold of a marker somehow and we took turns drawing on each other over a plate of bacon when we all stumbled in from the pub last night. I smile as I remember us sitting in the kitchen listening to the walls creak from Jamie’s latest conquest upstairs.

Which is to say I’m finding my place here.

My first week of classes are over, and aside from several reminders to adopt British spelling conventions, I’m keeping up. A part of me was worried I wouldn’t make it a week. That pessimistic little bitch sitting in the shadowed corner of my psyche said I couldn’t cope outside the protective confines of Daddy’s house, that I’d wither and crumble out on my own. Hated by my roommates, resented by classmates, and shunned by professors.

Despite any reports to the contrary, I am not, in fact, a complete disaster.

Hell, I’m practically a functional adult.

Slowly, I peel myself out of bed, throw on a pair of sweatpants and slippers. I hesitate at my door, remembering I’m not wearing a bra beneath my loose tank top. I debate putting one on before heading downstairs, then remind myself this is my home now and I need to get comfortable with going braless. Because bras suck.

The house is quiet when I make my way to the kitchen. We left a mess last night. Most of which I blame on Jamie trying to make pancakes at 3 a.m.

I feel the ground rumble beneath my feet as I fix myself a bowl of cereal, signaling Jack coming down the stairs. He’s shirtless, as usual. His perpetual Gold Coast tan and undulating abs obliterate the remnants of sleep from the corners of my eyes. I promptly grow distracted by the way Jack’s sweatpants cling to his ass as he saunters toward the sink.

It isn’t fair he just…does that. I don’t know how I’m going to survive this living arrangement if he keeps flaunting his physique like some Aussie Magic Mike. Every time he walks into a room, that giddy, stupid energy surges up in my gut all over again.

It doesn’t help that I’ve made myself come to fantasies of him almost every night.

The reminder brings heat to my cheeks while at the same time puckering my nipples. Great. Where is that bra when you need it?

“Morning,” Jack says, turning to face me.

“Morning.”

He pours granola into a bowl of plain yogurt, then drizzles honey on top, licking some excess from his finger while meeting my eyes.

“Did you know your nipples are poking out of that shirt?” he says helpfully.

Oh my God.

“Your observation is noted,” I grumble. “Perv.”

“Just saying.”

“Say it quietly and in your head next time,” I suggest in a saccharine tone.

Jack chuckles and shoves yogurt in his mouth.

“Apparently Australians need to take some etiquette lessons from the Brits,” I add, rolling my eyes at him.

“We’re a very vocal bunch,” he agrees. “If you think I’ve no filter, you should meet my older brother Charlie. Chronic foot-in-mouth syndrome, that one. And our eldest brother, Noah, holds the record for getting his teeth knocked out at bars for talking shit.”

I furrow my brow. “How many siblings do you have?”

“One sister and three brothers.”

“Wow. That’s a lot. You’re saying there are three other Hot Jacks walking around— ” I stop, cursing myself when I realize what I’d said.

A half smile curves his lips. “Hot Jacks?”

My cheeks are on fire.

The grin widens. “You think I’m hot, do you, Abbey?” he drawls.

“Shut up. You know you are.”

He props his hip against the counter and drags a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “Honestly? Nobody’s ever said that to me before.”

I stare at him. “You’re fucking with me.”

He bites his lower lip. There’s something very vulnerable in the way he’s—

“Yeah, I’m fucking with you,” he confirms, that brash glint returning to his expression. “Most women agree with that assessment.”

“Cocky much?” I try to distract from my red cheeks and thundering pulse by pretending this has all been a bit of banter.

He brings his bowl over to lean across the breakfast counter where I sit. “Hey, you’re the one going on and on about my good looks.”

That devastating smile should be a war crime. In fact, no man should be so handsome and charming at once. Like, one or the other, buddy. Save something for the rest of the guys.

“G’morning.” Jamie strolls in looking all shiny and new.

It’s remarkable how well he cleans up after a night out. No puffy eyes or signs of a hangover. Still manages to make a T-shirt and jeans look couture. He’s got a runway model build and effortless cool. It’s very annoying.

Jamie goes to start a kettle for tea and turns to look at us. “Lee and I are off to Surrey today. I need to drop in at the estate for a few things. You’re both welcome to join if you don’t have other plans.”

Jack shakes his head. “Can’t, mate. Got a match this afternoon.”

“Abbs?” Jamie asks. “Care for a drive out to the country?”

I’m not exactly claustrophobic in the city already, but I could use some greenery and blue skies. Might be nice to get out from under the gray buildings and car exhaust.

So I say, “Sounds delightful.”

“Lovely.”

“And on the way, maybe you let me try a little of that driving on the other side of the road?”

It came up last night, though from the puzzled look on Jamie’s face, he doesn’t recall our conversation. He laughs, shaking his head.

“Not bloody likely. I’d sooner lose a foot than give you the keys of a machine like that. American drivers are notorious.”

“You know movies aren’t real, right?”

“Isn’t crashing cars literally a sporting event there?” he responds. “Depends who you ask.”

Jamie pours himself some tea, defiant. “Americans are the most destructive force the world has ever known, and I won’t have one behind the wheel of my car. Especially not a teenage girl.”

“The most dangerous kind,” Jack says with a mocking ominous voice.

“I’m turning twenty in January,” I protest.

“It’s September. Ergo, today you’re still a teenager who won’t be touching my car.”

“Forget him.” Jack winks at me as he carries his empty bowl to the sink. “I’ll take you driving when we get a chance.”

A flush of excitement warms my cheeks. “Really?”

“Sure. What’s living without the imminent threat of death?” Jack elbow-jabs me on his way out of the kitchen, leaving Jamie to chuckle to himself as he scrolls Insta.

Boys are dicks.NôvelDrama.Org owns this text.

Once Jamie, Lee, and I are on the road headed south out of London, I come to understand why Jamie is so militantly protective of his car. The Jaguar is gorgeous on the inside and rides like it’s on a cushion of air. Of course, this makes me more determined to break down Jamie’s resistance. I’ve got time. He hasn’t seen me put my mind to a task yet.

“Nate’s got another gig at the Polly next weekend,” Lee says from the passenger seat, reading off his phone. “Should he put us on the list?”

At the mention of the hottest bassist on planet Earth, my heart does a very predictable somersault.

“That depends. Are they going to play a song I’ve not heard forty times?” Jamie asks dryly.

“They’d have to write a song that isn’t one of their eight thinly veiled Bob Dylan covers, so I doubt it.”

“Okay.” I laugh with relief. “I didn’t want to say anything, but I thought I was the only one.”

“They try so hard,” Lee says. “Does have the feeling of a child’s school recital, though, don’t it?”

“Shame, because Nate’s bloody damn good,” Jamie tsks. “Come to think of it, Kenny’s a fine singer. And Rodge kills it on those drums.”

“Perplexing,” Lee agrees.

“My dad always talks about how he was in this band in high school. They were all fine individually. Together, they were a dreadful mess.” I shrug. “I guess it takes more than standing on the same stage to make a band.”

“That’s quite good,” Jamie says. “I like that.”

Now that they’ve brought it up, however, I can’t help being a little curious about their friendship with Nate.

Or…okay, fine. Maybe I’m more than a “little” curious. The memory of his dark, mysterious eyes is haunting me.

“How do you all know Nate?” I ask lightly. “School or…?”

“Met him through Yvonne,” Lee says. He doesn’t elaborate, which impedes my fact-finding mission.

“Okay. So how do you know Yvonne then?”

Jamie glances over at Lee. “Yvonne was your friend first, wasn’t it?”

“We hung out my first year at uni, yeah, but eventually she became more Celeste’s friend.”

“How long has she been with Nate?”

Trying to put together a picture of him in my head, it’s hard to reconcile the guy I met with someone who would date her. Those two seem so entirely incompatible. Nate is very chill, albeit broody. There was something equally enigmatic and lustful about him, a hint that beneath his hard-to-read exterior lies something wilder, raw. Yvonne was elegant, posh, and outgoing, with a hint of drama beneath the surface. She also came off a bit snooty.

“I don’t know,” Lee answers. “Like six months, maybe.”

Jamie, proving to be more perceptive than I gave him credit for, meets my gaze in the mirror and smirks slightly. “All academic there, right, Abbs? Just being thorough.”

I narrow my eyes at him.

Lee turns in his seat to stare at me. “Oh dear. Does someone have a crush?”

“Absolutely not.”

Even if Yvonne wasn’t in the picture, how could I go home telling my dad I’d fallen for a bassist? He’d disown me.

“I knew this one would be trouble from the out,” Jamie says with a chuckle. “Yvonne had better be wary.”

“I don’t have a crush,” I mutter, scowling at them both. “Just catching up on the histories.”

It isn’t long before the concrete buildings and city streets give way to small villages, trees, and sprawling green hills. Estates delineated by wooden fences and hedgerows. It’s not so different from the secluded suburbs outside Nashville. The roads become narrow and winding as the homes grow larger and farther from the road until they disappear entirely behind iron gates and tall foliage.

“That’s the Allenbury estate,” Lee tells me as we pass a narrow driveway. “Their eldest son had to be plucked from the Ligurian Sea by the Monaco coast guard after he was tossed off the yacht of a Genoese billionaire. Rumor has it the husband flew out on his helicopter to find the lad sunbathing naked on the bunny pad with the missus.”

“What, seriously?” I ask in disbelief.

“That’s the story,” Jamie confirms. “He floated east for three hours on a life ring the crew tossed him after the husband ordered them to cut it loose from the boat.”

“Wow. That’s terrible but, like, also sort of gangster.”

Coming around a bend, we see a sign for an estate sale.

“I can’t imagine what a garage sale out here looks like,” I remark. “Whose estate is that?”

“The Tulleys,” Lee supplies with a graveness in his voice. “Few have fallen further.”

“What does that mean?”

“Was a time they were quite chummy with the royal family, but they fell out of favor with the Crown over the years. Those poor Tulleys have been in a slow-motion free fall for the better part of a decade.”

“Money troubles?” I guess. When rich people let strangers pick over their life’s possessions, it usually means one thing.

“That’s part of it,” Jamie says. “More a symptom than the illness, perhaps. That whole clan’s rife with black sheep. Drug addicts, adulterers.”

“That doesn’t seem so bad.” There are worse sins, after all.

“For commoners, no. In private even, not that unusual. British aristocracy flaunting their skeletons in public, however? There’s no greater faux pas. The levee broke, as it were, when the duke’s brother was arrested with a prostitute overdosing in his Bentley outside the gates at Kensington. After that, the palace had no choice but to disavow the whole lot of them.”

“Yikes.”

Lee glances at me over his shoulder. “Yikes indeed.”

“Excommunication hasn’t stopped them from name-dropping like they’re doing Christmas at Sandringham,” Jamie says derisively. “To hear them tell it, it’s all a simple misunderstanding that’ll be cleared up any day now. Never mind a series of poor investments and fraud investigations has left them near squalor. I’m surprised they’ve kept the estate this long.”

“Well, now we have to take a look,” I say, sitting forward to poke my head between their seats. “Can we go to the estate sale? Just for a few minutes?”

“Yes, can we, darling?” Lee bats his eyelashes.

“Right. Hang on.” Jamie makes a sudden U-turn. “If you both promise to behave yourselves.”

Lee’s quick to quip back. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”