The Jock Next Door (Straight College Jocks #16)

Chapter 1

“No, no, no—dude, behind you?—”

The voice punches through the wall, so clear it’s like the guy is standing right next to me. I can hear every word. Every syllable.

He’s been at it all afternoon. All week, really. Yelling, groaning, celebrating, all filtered through the cheap wall separating our rooms. Once in a while, there’s an outburst that sounds like a sob of pure gamer rage.

“Come on, come on, come on. YES! Eat it, you son of a?—”

I tighten my grip on my pencil. If I’d known the walls were this thin, I would never have taken this room.

I paid extra for a single. Sixteen hundred bucks for the semester.

Money I don’t have. But it was worth it for a room of my own.

A quiet place to work on my portfolio and get enough sleep to pass my morning classes.

My old roommate snored like a dying bear, so this had to be better.

“Use your ultimate! USE YOUR ULTIMATE! Oh my god.”

So much for better.

I could put my headphones on. But my only pair are the big over-ear kind that get hot and uncomfortable after ten minutes. And I’d still hear him. I’d still feel it. The floor vibrates when he gets going, and every now and then there’s a slam of what I can only assume is a fist meeting a desk.

My pencil hovers over the page. I’ve been at this one for days.

A close-up of a girl, her face turned away, a single tear tracking down her jaw.

Everything is in the details. The way the tear catches the light.

The quiver in her lower lip. The fine hairs escaping from her ponytail.

I’ve drawn it, erased it, redrawn it a dozen times.

Getting closer each time. But I need focus.

And how am I supposed to focus when there’s a nonstop barrage of tactical advice being screamed next door?

“GG, my ass. Y’all are trash.”

A moment of silence. I breathe out, a little puff of relief. Maybe that’s it for the day? It sounded final. I shift in my chair, roll my shoulders, and lean back over the drawing.

The silence lasts for about thirty seconds.

“Alright, run it back. Let’s go, let’s go.”

I throw my pencil down. It bounces off the desk and clatters onto the floor. I leave it there, staring at the drawing. She looks so sad. So serious. Done with everything.

I get it, girl. I really do.

I could knock on the wall. A firm shut-up tap. But that feels passive-aggressive. And I have to live next to this guy for the rest of the semester, so starting a war isn’t ideal. I’ve been here a week. I don’t know a single person in this building.

The real move would be to go over there. Knock on his door. Have an actual conversation. Face-to-face, like an adult. It would be a reasonable request. “Hey, I’m your neighbor. I was wondering if you could maybe keep it down a bit?” Polite. Friendly. No big deal.

Except the thought of it makes my stomach clench. I wipe my hands on my jeans. I’m the avoid-conflict-at-all-costs type. Always have been. Ask me to draw a hyperrealistic portrait from memory? No problem. Ask me to send back a wrong order at a restaurant? I’d rather eat it.

It doesn’t help that I’m not a big guy. Five-nine on a good day, with the kind of build you get from forgetting to eat when you’re deep in a project.

My roommate used to say a strong breeze would carry me off.

And judging by the voice booming through my wall, the guy next door is in a different weight class entirely.

He’s getting fired up again. A stream of commands and commentary peppered with creative profanity. If this is going to be the whole semester... sixteen hundred dollars... I have to go now, or I never will. Better to set the boundaries early. First impressions and all that.

I push my chair back and stand. My heart’s already going.

Grow a spine, Nico. You pay for this room. You have every right to ask for a little quiet.

I run a hand through my hair, trying to look more...

assertive? Whatever that means. I smooth out my shirt.

Take a breath. Open my door and step into the hallway.

No one around. Just worn-out blue carpet, a sad-looking ficus, and a trail of someone’s spilled coffee.

My room is at the end of the hall, a corner unit. His is the only door next to mine.

And I can hear him from out here too. A string of muffled words, then a loud “GET SOME!” that carries down the empty hall.

My fist hovers in front of his door. I can do this. I can do this. I’m not asking him to stop playing. Just to keep it down. Perfectly reasonable.

I knock. Three short raps. But he’s still going, still talking, and I know he didn’t hear me over whatever war he’s fighting in there. I knock again, harder, and this time the talking stops. A sudden, dead silence that’s almost worse than the noise.

Then footsteps. A heavy tread. The lock clicks.

The door swings inward, and I have to look up. Way up. He’s huge. A wall of muscle filling the doorway in nothing but gray boxer briefs and a gaming headset slung around his neck.

“Yeah?” His eyes are wide, unfocused, pupils blown. He has one of those faces you’d want to draw. Dark skin, strong jaw, stubble that’s almost a beard but not quite. A clean fade, lined up sharp like he just walked out of a barbershop.

I open my mouth to say the thing I rehearsed in my head, the polite and reasonable thing, but what comes out is, “Um.”

His impressively thick eyebrows draw together. “What’s up?”

“Hi,” I manage. “I’m Nico. I live next door.”