Lost in Translation (An excerpt from the rough draft)

(Currently working on a romance novel, revolving around a beautiful, but naive international student who accidentally gets roomed with the University's biggest douchebag/womanizer, who takes advantage of his gullible and naive roommate in order to try and eventually convince her to sleep with him (A goal he makes with his other douchebag buddies) Although he DOES in fact change and actually gain feelings for her at some point, i'm still in the works of the beginning chapters, developing the characters and their voices. Please help me out with any kind of feedback/suggestions! I'm all ears!)

Otherwise, enjoy this cut-out excerpt from my draft. It starts from the bottom half of chapter one, so it's right to the point of introducing the characters as that's my primary focus. Juust to make it easier for those who see this! :) 

At last, a familiar name. Pinewood Hall; a looming four-story monstrosity adorned with ivy and the faint echoes of frat chants in the distance. It seemed far more welcoming in the pictures online, standing high, mighty, and vibrant, yet– standing before it now felt more intimidating than she could ever begin to realize. It towered over her, taunting her heavily with all that it held. There was so much that she was to experience within those walls, yet now this was all nothing but overwhelming unfamiliarity to a young girl who had never faced the world alone until this very moment.

Taking a deep breath, and then another, Rosalie hauled her baggage through the heavy oak doors and prepared to face the unknown.

Wary legs brought her inside. The atmosphere almost immediately hummed with a cacophony of unpacking chatter, pop music thumping from unseen speakers, and the unmistakable aroma of burnt popcorn – a culinary mystery lost on Rosalie’s Parisian palate. It felt like she was in the airport yet again as the sound of chaos ensued from various overflowing luggage and quick-paced feet eager to find their room.

Rosalie weaved through the crowd, gripping her dorm key like a lifeline. With time, she navigated the labyrinthine corridors with far more ease than she did the campus, her heart fluttering like a trapped hummingbird as she envisioned her future roommate. She had nothing here yet— but at least she’d have her. At least she’d have somebody.

Based on her limited American pop culture knowledge, it would likely be— a bubbly blonde cheerleader named Sarah!-- or perhaps a studious brunette named Emily. She was going to be someone exciting, and welcoming, refreshing. Rosalie pictured late-night gossip sessions, shared Netflix binges, spa days, and maybe even a trip to the mall to acquire the requisite crop tops and platform sneakers even if she’d never find the confidence to wear them.

Reaching her floor, Room 312, Rosalie froze. A booming rap song filtered from beneath the chipped paint of the door, punctuated by the occasional wolf whistle and what sounded suspiciously like a thrown shoe. This... this wasn't Emily or Sarah territory. This was something else entirely.

With a hesitant knock, she braced herself for the unknown. The music cut out abruptly, replaced by a loud, rough voice calling out from the other side.

“What!” The door creaked open, revealing not a bubbly blonde or studious brunette, but a walking cliché of American collegiate masculinity.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his eyes a cocky blue set against a tan honed by too much beach time and not enough sunscreen. His ebony hair, perpetually tousled, framed a face etched with what Rosalie would later discover was practiced charm, his raising brow a calculated mix of confusion and utter intrigue.

"Who the hell are you?" He drawled, sharp piercing eyes sweeping over her with an unnerving intensity.

“There must be a mistake,” Rosalie stammered. “I— I was assigned a roommate, a girl.”? Everything she prepared for was quickly going down the drain. This was not the welcoming, exciting introduction she was eager to experience. Her foreign accent slipped with ease off her tongue, making the man raise a brow, momentarily speechless from her voice, those eyes of his sparking with fascination. That voice; it was alluring and sweet and that thick French accent that clung to each syllable stroked his nerves.

Was even happening right now?

The girl watched as the brooding jock turned his head back toward his newfound room, an obvious emptiness to the right of the mess that he had already long created. But then he turned back, those eyes looking over what felt like Rosalie’s entire soul before he finally met back with her own wavering gaze. Something was brewing within those eyes, she just couldn’t tell what.

Somehow, she just knew.

“You– You’re my roommate..?” Slender, trembling digits hesitantly held up slightly crumbled papers, the ink almost nearly faded from the nervous sweat emitting from her palms.

“Give it here.” A sigh and a far more assertive move came from a far more confident individual. He took the paper, nearly snatching it, and let his eyes wander.

And then an eyebrow raised. Those eyes looked back and forth between the fine print and the even-finer beauty that stood before him. The girl was not lying, for this was indeed her dorm.

This had to have been a mistake. The man contemplated, almost entirely unsure of what to say. Dumbfounded perhaps was one of the only words to describe such a sensation he was feeling. What lay on that faded print was the same information provided to him. He was indeed her roommate.

A mistake, he thought. What kind of idiot at housing messed up so bad they stuck him in with a girl?

His dorm. His space. His freedom. Gone.

And yet his gaze drifted back to her…

The uncertainty in her wide gray eyes.

The subtle tremor in her breath.

The foreignness in every part of her, from the way she held herself to the way she spoke.

So innocent. So oblivious.

A mistake nobody knew.

Oh, this was bad. An instantaneous infatuation, he felt, and quite the predicament he was in. A hesitant foreign beauty with an obvious obliviousness within her gaze. What an interesting mistake, this was. A very bad mistake.

An opportunity, he thought instead. A mighty fine opportunity.

Only then would a brow raise on the face of the young man, deep, incredible intrigue filling his face, a heavy deviousness emitting within his eyes, a smirk soon taking over those lips.

Oh, sweetheart… you have no idea what you just walked into

He folded the paper neatly, taking his time. Then, looking her straight in the eye, he stepped back and motioned into the room.

“Why, yes I am.”

His voice was smooth, confident, final.

Rosalie hesitated. Something about the way he said it felt off. But he was so sure of himself. So confident. He belonged.

And after all… he was American.

He would know.

Chapter 2: A boy?

There were several things intimidating about this strange man. Could be his tall stature, his muscles poking through his clothes, those fiery eyes or his bone-chilling voice. Maybe it was only because he was foreign– or perhaps because she was the one that was foreign. Not only was Rosalie completely alone, but she was lost in a space with customs unfamiliar to everything she could ever know about. Rooming co-ed was completely unheard of back home, yet somehow here she found herself standing right before her roommate that was as much man as man could be. Rosalie could not say the same about herself.

Like predator to prey such an individual felt like. That was a dangerous look those eyes had, yet the girl held nothing but obliviousness to them. The man whom she now found herself irrevocably confined to moved aside, a hand over-politely motioning her within the room.

With fluttering eyes, she would hesitantly proceed with caution, footsteps slow and careful as her hand began to tug upon the handle of her suitcase.

“Relax, sweetheart.” The other would say, his hand reaching over to take the heavy luggage from her grip. Rosalie, as timid as she was, could not interfere, for she simply allowed him to bring her things in alongside her. Just as he did, a whiff of what Rosalie could only describe as an intoxicating mix of tobacco, vanilla, and maybe a little bit of rum swept past her enough to make the goosebumps raise on her arms just a little more than before.

He then glanced over his shoulder at their door that was still open and turned slightly to push it closed. Leaning against the doorframe so casually, his arms crossed, eyes scanning her like he was trying to solve a puzzle—one he already knew the answer to.

"Beckett Mitchell," he said smoothly, his voice dripping with amusement. "Most people just call me Beck."A slow smirk curved on his lips as he extended a hand—like he already knew she’d take it."And you are?" he asked, his tone playful, teasing—like he had all the time in the world to figure her out.

Beckett could not wait to tell his homeboys about this shit. He was already imagining it: they’d be placing their bets now on how many sheer hours it would take before two beds turned into one. And that bitch Karen down in Admissions would probably lose her shit if she found out her personal vendetta put Beckett in a room with a female; her guilt would mortify her. This poor girl had no idea they threw her into a lion’s den and how insatiable Beckett could be. Just the very look on her face was enough to read her entirely.

He left her luggage alone and took a small step back from her before he turned to grab his bags from off the floor and moved over to his side of the room to set them on the bed. He glanced over his shoulder at her, his eyes once again sizing her up. It was impossible not to look at her. She was by far the most beautiful girl he had seen, and Beckett had seen his fair share of pretty girls, clothed and unclothed, but this girl? She automatically got placed at the top of his to-do list, right in slot #1.

“My– ..It’s–..Rosalie. Um–..Beaumont..” The girl shyly, yet awkwardly replied as she held her hands together and stood still. Beckett stood amused, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he nodded with that grin before returning to his own bags. Strange that it was seeing so many families assisting their children moving in, yet he– was alone. Just like her.

Pausing momentarily, he took a seat on his naked mattress. Rosalie watched as he reached into one of the side pockets of his bag, pulling out a medium sized metal container and opening it up, revealing to himself the stash of blunts he kept stored. A smirk pulled at the corners of his lips and he peered up at Rosalie, his head tilting slightly in curiosity.

“Mm.” He hummed, amused. “You’re not from around here, are you, sweetheart.” His question came off more as a statement than a question. It was obvious she wasn’t from here but he was curious to know exactly how foreign here really was for her.

Beckett took a blunt from its tray and placed it between his lips, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a lighter, flicking the wheel down with his thumb to ignite the flame. He lit the end of his favorite drug and inhaled sharply, letting the smoke settle in his lungs briefly before it was exhaled slowly through his nose. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes fixated on her once more. “You look like a damn lost puppy, you know.”

Rosalie was rather unsure just how to react, thought it was best to not react at all. Was smoking allowed here, she wondered. Surely not, yet Beckett was doing just that, seeming more than comfortable. Perhaps it was..

Rosalie hesitated for a beat, shifting on her feet. “No, I—I’m from France. A small town.”A soft, almost nervous smile curved onto her lips. “It’s really beautiful. Like something from a fairytale—old cobblestone streets, little pastel houses, flowers everywhere.” Her voice grew lighter as she spoke, as if the memory itself warmed her. “People always say it looks like a storybook.”

Bingo.

Beckett was never one to truly believe in the man upstairs, but he found himself absolutely believing today. This girl was drop dead gorgeous, foreign, and utterly screamed of innocence. She was the perfect blank canvas that he always dreamed of, and the urge to put his fingerprints all over it was growing.

She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, glancing at him. "Have you ever been?"

Beckett smirked, shaking his head. "Can’t say I have."

But I sure as hell want to ruin a fairytale like you.

Rosalie nodded, completely unaware of the thoughts running through his mind. “Well… it’s lovely. A lot quieter than here.” She exhaled a soft laugh, glancing around the messy dorm. “Very different.”

She was so pure. So untouched by reality.

And he was going to have fun with this.

“So you had no clue it was, uh– American..tradition to put guys with girls, huh?” His tone was smooth, amused—a question that wasn’t really a question.

Rosalie, still struggling to process this absurd reality, shook her head.

"No… I—I’ve never heard of that before."

“Well don’t mention it, doll. It’s normal here. Happens all the time, boys with girls. Very..American.” He’d nonchalantly explain as he’d wrap his lips around the blunt once again, emitting a smoke with a sickening smell.

“R-Really?” Her voice was small, hesitant. It was almost sickeningly sweet how airy and melodious that sound was. That made his smirk widen.

She was so gullible. So trusting.

“Oh absolutely. Free country, babygirl. You do whatever the hell you want.” Beck stood up and moved over to the open window, settled in the space in between their beds,” His voice dipped lower, deliberately lazy, like this conversation wasn’t worth much effort. He flicked the blunt out the window, then turned, closing the space between them. His muscular physique towered over hers and he felt the beast within him slightly stir.

Rosalie tensed but didn’t move, clutching the fabric of her dress as she focused on unpacking.

He watched her for a beat—the way she carefully folded her clothes, the faint flush on her cheeks, the way she avoided looking at him for too long.

God, she was adorable.

“Wouldn’t that cause trouble?” She asked finally, brows furrowing as she risked a glance at him. "For the school?"

“For the school? Nah..For your boyfriend, maybe.” He said smoothly, not that having her having a boyfriend would stop him from any forthcoming agendas that were playing more and more in his mind. “Not much room for him, you know.”

He let the words hang there, watching her reaction closely.

Beckett Mitchell was known for his doggy ways. He loved girls, and oh did girls just love him. He was never one to commit, doing such seemed too boring and restrictive. He hated rules and he loved breaking hearts even more. It stroked his ego to know that girls would do anything for him, knowing good and well that he would only be theirs but for one night. Sometimes two if they stroked his desires just right. He was down to try anything new at least once and Rosalie was definitely new.

“Boyfriend?” The girl replied, perplexed. “N-No, I–”

"Good."

One word. Firm. Satisfied.

She stiffened.

Beckett let the moment breathe before stepping closer, eyes flicking down to a stuffed animal sitting on her bed. With an easy smirk, he plucked it up, turning it over in his hands.

"Cute." He gave it a small toss in the air, catching it effortlessly. "Let me guess—brought this from home?"

Rosalie swallowed, nodding.

"Thought so."

The way he said it made heat creep up her neck, like there was something childish about the sentiment.

Beckett tossed the stuffed animal onto her pillow before turning back to her.

"Just give me a heads-up whenever you have a guy over, yeah?" His voice was low, teasing. "I’ll find something to do to pass the time."

“What..?” Rosalie barely managed to whisper the sound of the coherent word, gulping big and loud as her eyes anxiously watched his every move, keeping as still as one could be.

"Y’know," he continued, voice softer now, more deliberate. "So you two can fuck like rabbits in peace."

Rosalie’s breath caught. How could she react? What possibly could he mean?

Beckett tilted his head, watching the way her lips parted—not in offense, but in sheer, stunned disbelief.

Oh, sweetheart.

She was too easy to rattle.

Too fun to mess with.

A strand of platinum blonde hair had fallen across her face, and before she could react, his fingers were there—tucking it gently behind her ear, letting the pad of his finger just barely brush along its curve. His touch lingered, just a little longer than necessary, which inevitably caused Rosalie’s breath to hitch.

Beckett smiled—slow, knowing as he stared deeply into those mesmerizing gray hues, locking her gaze with his. Then, without looking away, he picked up the stuffed animal and pressed it into her hands. An attempt to comfort.

"Try not to look so shocked, sweetheart." His chuckle was deep, amused, almost affectionate. "I’ll try to do the same. But no promises."

He winked, then turned, stretching his arms behind his head as he walked back toward his side of the room.

Rosalie stood there, gripping the stuffed animal like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

She was dumbfounded. Utterly dumbfounded.

Rosalie slowly exhaled, still gripping the stuffed animal, her mind scrambling for something—anything—to say.

Beckett, however, seemed completely unfazed.

"You’re nervous, huh?"

She blinked, turning toward him, but he was already making himself comfortable—flopping down onto his bed, stretching out like this was the most natural thing in the world.

"You don’t have to look so scared, doll." His smirk was lazy, but there was something sharp underneath it. "I don’t bite. Not unless you ask."

Rosalie’s breath caught in her throat. How could she respond to such a thing?

Is this… normal? Is this how Americans talk?

He turned onto his side, watching her openly now, like he was trying to figure her out. She could hardly focus on a single task with those eyes beaming down on her.

Then, like it was the most casual thing in the world, he reached across and plucked one of her notebooks off her desk.

Rosalie immediately tensed. "Oh, wait—"

"Relax, sweetheart." He flipped through it lazily. Sketches, and little notes. Some looked scenic and Parisian; an Eiffel Tower, a cart of flowers. Then there were simply modern structures, he assumed from the airport. Looked almost like a journal of sorts. "Just seeing what kinda girl I’m stuck with."

Rosalie pressed her lips together, shifting uncomfortably. It was just a notebook, but something about him touching it felt...wrong.

"You always let strangers into your space this easy?" He mused, glancing at her.

"N-No, I—"

"Mm." He smirked, tossing the notebook back onto the desk like it didn’t matter. "Guess I’m special then."

Rosalie swallowed. "I… I should probably talk to housing."

The words left Rosalie’s mouth before she could stop them. It felt like the only logical thing to do. Even if it were a normal thing here, wouldn’t it be better to be with another girl like she had hoped for?

On the other side, Beckett didn’t move. He just raised an eyebrow. There was a small, uneasy moment of silence.

"Yeah?" His voice was even, unreadable, and his lack of response filled the room with air far more tense than before.

"I mean—" She fidgeted with her sleeve, "I-I don’t want to cause trouble, but I was sure I was going to be with a girl… It’s a mistake, right? I should—"

"Go ahead." He shrugged, completely relaxed. "See what they say. But it’s move-in weekend. You think they’re gonna rearrange the whole system just for you?"

Rosalie froze.

"It’s your call, though." His smirk deepened. "If you wanna run around campus all day talking to stressed-out admins instead of getting settled, be my guest. Might not be the best first impression either, sweetheart.”

His voice was so casual, so confident.

And suddenly, the idea of going back out there—getting lost again, talking to people she didn’t know, trying to explain something she barely understood—felt exhausting. She didn’t wish to cause trouble on the first day, desperately hoping to make a good impression on everybody she’d be lucky enough to stumble across.

Beckett stretched again, running a hand through his messy dark hair.

"I mean, hey. You wanna make your life harder, go ahead. But I think we’ve got a good thing here, Rosalie." He gestured lazily between them. "Might as well get used to it." Beckett said like it was already decided. Like she had no choice but to stay.

Rosalie bit her lip. He…wasn’t wrong.

She then exhaled, trying to process everything.

Just for now, she told herself. Just until I figure things out.

She reached down, unzipping her suitcase, trying to act normal.

"That’s the spirit," Beckett murmured.

She looked up—and suddenly, he was right there.

She hadn’t even noticed him move. Her breath hitched.

"Relax." His voice was too smooth, too easy. He was in charge and he reminded her with every syllable that stroked from his tongue. "You’re so tense, y’know that?"

Before she could react, he reached past her, grabbing one of her sweaters from the open suitcase. "This yours?"

Rosalie blinked. "Yes?"

"Damn. It’s tiny." He held it up, inspecting it like it was completely fascinating. Then, with zero hesitation, he pressed it against his chest, a playful grin growing on his lips. "Think it’d fit me?"

Rosalie stared, completely thrown off. "I—..Don’t think so?"

Beckett grinned, tossing it onto her bed before moving past her, brushing against her shoulder as he walked. "Shame. Looks soft. It’s cute.”

Rosalie didn’t move. Her brain was lagging behind the moment. She could not figure this man out. He prowled around the room like a lion, ready to strike when an opportunity presented itself..

Her hands clenched against her knees.

Beckett, already back at his bed, smirked at her like he had all the time in the world.

"Get comfortable, sweetheart." He kicked back against the pillows, stretching his arms behind his head. "We’re gonna have fun."

Chapter 3: Roommates

“You’re lying!”

“No way, dude!”

“I’m fucking serious! Housing put me with a girl.”

“Lucky bastard.”

“You think anybody’ll notice?”

“Not on my damn watch. I’ll kill any fucker who tries to say something.” Beckett took a swig of an alcohol he had already forgotten the name of. Alcohol was alcohol. As long as it did it’s job, he had no care for it’s taste. “She’s French, she fuckin’ gorgeous, and–” He let out a small chuckle, “ she’ll believe anything I tell her.”

That got them. His friends reveled in his words. Laughing and nodding along to the words. Almost a little jealous.

“Beckett Mitchell. With a girl. You son of a bitch, what are you going to do?” Chris Wesley would say, a party boy as much a womanizer. The only reason he was standing foot on this campus was his wealthy parents. He had never worked for a thing in his life except for getting a girl in his bed. “You’ve got a foreign, virgin sacrifice delivered straight to your door.”

"And you’re not balls deep yet? Slipping, Mitchell."There was also of course, the last addition to this infamously terrible trio. Antonio Lopez. Always with a blunt in between his lips or a glass within his hand. Sometimes both

“Just give me some time. Let the girl settle in. She looks scared of every move I make.” Another swig went down his throat. Beckett sat back in his chair and watched the scene unfold before him. “I left her be for now.”

“Right. Can’t– spook the prey, right?” Chris snickered, his arm playfully shoving against Antonio’s.

Exactly.

Antonio leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes flickering with interest. "So? What’s the game plan?"

Beckett exhaled, a slow, easy smirk curling onto his lips. "Patience. Got to get her comfortable first. She couldn’t focus on unpacking her shit with me in there. I’ve got to take my time with this one. The last thing I need is to upset her and have her report this to housing. Every plan we could ever have would go down the drain.”

Chris laughed into his drink. "Jesus. Almost feel bad."

Antonio snorted. "I don’t."

Chris nudged Beckett with his elbow. "So when do we get to meet her? I need to see this shit for myself."

“This is way too good to be true.” Antonio took one last swig and sat back, finally placing his empty glass on the bar table before them.

Beckett tilted his head back, thinking. "Soon. We’ve got to get to know one another. Make her trust me. Roommate shit.”

"And then?" Antonio grinned.

That infamous smirk grew upon the lips of an even more infamous individual. "Then?" He took another swig, licking the alcohol off his lips before he placed his own glass down. "Then, boys, we have some fun."