Sweet Rome (Sweet Home) (6 page)

“Yeah?” a timid voice finally sounded from inside.

Exhaling in relief and putting all my worries aside, I asked, “You wanna hang out here for a while… with me?”

“Yeah… okay.”

We’d been sitting out on the balcony, just talking. I don’t think I’d ever been alone with a chick that long before without getting naked. Girls came to me for one thing: a good fuck. But this was different. I kinda wanted to get to know this girl beyond the bedroom.

After watching her almost down her bottle of Bud, she asked, “So why are you up here hiding out?”

“Don’t feel it tonight.”

She dropped her hand to her chest and gasped, “Mr. All-star Quarterback doesn’t want to mix with his adoring fans?”

Every ounce of me froze. She’d found out I played football—
perfect.

I ripped off the label of my beer; it was that or launch the brown glass at the wall. “Well, that didn’t take long. Who told you?”

“Lexi and Cass.”

“Who?” I asked in a far-from-friendly tone.

Her eyes dropped and she fiddled with her hands again. “My roommates, they told me after we… erm, after we… you know…”

“Kissed?”

“Erm… yeah.”

“So what did they say about me?” I pushed.

“That you were
the
Romeo Prince, quarterback extraordinaire for the Crimson Wave and that you were the Prince William of college football, yada, yada, yada…”

“What?” she asked, taking in my blank face.

“The
Tide
,” I corrected, the anger lifting and complete fucking hilarity taking its place.

“Huh?” she asked again, completely confused, her expression making that more than clear. It was probably the first time in years that her genius ass had felt at a loss.

“It’s the Crimson Tide. Not wave.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed, stomach tightening, uncontrollably bursting out laughing. Wasn’t “the crimson wave” code for a chick being on the rag or something? Christ, she’d be lynched around here talking like that about the beloved national champs.

“Whatever. Tomayto tomarto,” she dismissed with a casual wave of her hand.

“Well, we’d better keep that between us. It’s not tomayto tomarto around here. It’s… everything. It’s life and death.” And wasn’t that just the friggin’ truth? Sometimes the pressure to be perfect was insane.

I could feel her stare, her inquisitive mind working overtime. “So, Romeo, eh?” She finally asked after minutes of silence, and I froze.

“It’s Rome,” I corrected immediately. I was “Rome” to everyone but my fucking parents, and I hated any reminder that I was actually named after a pussy-whipped, poison-drinking asshole.

Her face lit with amusement, and she half danced, half shuffled on the spot. “Ah-ah! It’s Romeo. I’ve been reliably informed.”

“No one calls me that, Mol.” I tried to be as polite as possible because fuck, she didn’t know, but that name had me wanting to snap someone’s neck.

“Just like no one calls me Mol,” she immediately snapped back, not taking any of my moody shit.

At that burst of confidence, I wanted nothing more than to close in and kiss that impressive scowl off her face. “Touché, Molly…?” I waited for her finish, relaxing some at the new turn in conversation. Fuck me, I was having fun. Actually having fun. Alert the friggin’ media: Rome Prince had cracked a little!

“Molly Shakespeare.”

Okay, call off the press. I was back to being fucked off.

“What?” I asked, edging in closer.

“Shakespeare. Molly Shakespeare,” she answered with a shaky voice and a slight tremble to her hands.

Someone had to be setting me up.
Maybe Michaels?
That fucker would give anything to screw me over. “Are you trying to be funny?” I asked bitterly.

“Nope. Romeo, I’m a Shakespeare—born and bred.” Hell, she was telling the truth.
Shakespeare
. Her fucking name was Shakespeare! This couldn’t be happening.

I couldn’t help it, but I laughed, and she said, “That’s not the only weird thing about our names.”

“Really? Because things have been all kinds of weird since meeting you today. I’m not sure I understand what it all means yet.” They really had. It was a sobering thought. They say your life can change in a matter of minutes, but up until now, I’d never really given that much thought.

“Well, get a one-way ticket to freaky-ville, my friend, because my middle name, Romeo, is Juliet.”

Man, that was a mindfuck right there. It was a setup,
had
to be. We couldn’t really be that tragic, that pathetic… could we?
Romeo
Prince and Molly
Juliet
Shakespeare… Pass me the fucking bucket. Or was it an omen, a big fuck-off neon sign shouting,
Stay the fuck away! Tragedy awaits!
Damnit.

“Are you serious?” I finally asked.

“Yep, my dad thought it would be a fitting tribute to our family surname.”

“Very fitting.” But all that came to my drunk-ass mind when I thought of Romeo and Juliet was death, fucked-up parents, and that dude from
Gangs of New York
looking at that chick from
Homeland
through a fish tank.

“Yeah, but at the same time, kind of embarrassing.” I shook my head, re-concentrating on Mol.
Molly fucking Juliet.

“Well, Shakespeare, you going treat me differently now too? Now that you know I’m Romeo ‘Bullet’ Prince?” I asked, trying to see if her attitude toward me had changed from earlier today.

“Bullet?”

She didn’t have clue.

“Yeah. Football nickname. Because of my arm.”

Blankness. Complete blankness on her pretty face.

“My throwing arm…”

Still nothing.

I tried a new tactic, pointing to myself, talking slowly. Maybe she wasn’t getting the accent. Mine
is
pretty strong. “Quarterback… Quarterbacks throw the ball… in football… to the other players… They control the game.”

“If you say so,” she delivered with an equally patronizing tone.

She was serious. I’m guessing you could throw a pigskin at her head and she wouldn’t recognize it. “Shit, you really know nothing about football, do you?”

“Nope. And no offense, I don’t want to either. It doesn’t interest me. Sports and I don’t mix.” Shit. Would’ve thought knowing the Tide would have been a requirement to even step foot in the state. Obviously not. I wondered what the hell British folks did for fun.

“I like that you know nothing about football. It’ll be a change, talking to someone about something other than the new blitz defense or spread formation.”

“Eh…?”

“I love that you have no clue what I’m talking about.” I shifted closer, feeling the heat off her smooth skin.

“Happy to be of service,” she said with a bewildered smile.

It felt freeing, speaking to someone new. She didn’t know who I was, didn’t understand the level of my sport or who my parents were, and it felt insanely good. I relaxed, completely chilled the hell out for the first time in months, and reached for another couple of beers, flicking off the tops against the table, and started talking, determined to find out more.

“So, Shakespeare, what’s your deal? I take it you’re a brainiac if you’re already on your master’s and been Professor Ross’s research assistant for the last couple of years. In fact, you must be fuckin’ unreal for her to bring you all the way to Bama with her?”

“Err, yeah. Something along those lines.”

“You don’t like to talk about how great you are in school, do you?” Modest too. I’d won the fucking lottery.

“Not really. It gets embarrassing, talking about being good at something. Anyone who enjoys that kind of attention, I think, is weird.”

“Then that’s something we have in common.” The phrase “putting the pussy up on a pedestal” came to mind, but I couldn’t believe she was this good, and I was still waiting for some kind of fault in her, something to
make
me walk away.

“Well, that and our Elizabethan epic playwright names,” she teased, and I watched as her gaze darted down to our touching arms, a bright-red blush covering her entire face and chest. I tried to not focus too much on that area.

“That too,” I replied with a reluctant smile.

And then Shelly piped up from the lawn. “Rome? Rome? Has anyone seen Rome? Where’d he go?”

That bastard girl was going to end me. She slaps me, then comes looking for me to fuck her. Crazy. As. Shit. I suddenly remembered why I avoided nights like tonight.

Molly abruptly launched herself from her chair, the whites of her eyes shining bright in the twilight, her breathing shallow. “You going somewhere?” I asked immediately.

I watched as she moved to the balcony rail, peering over the top. She was going try and split. Fuck that. She was staying. I
wanted
her to stay with me. To feel this connection for a little while longer, even if it could just be for tonight.

“Are you not going to go to her? She’s pretty wasted by the looks of things.”

“Am I fuck! She can just want. She’ll sleep it off with some other guy,” I threw out bluntly, kicking the chair she’d been occupying her way, pointing for her to sit down. “Sit your ass back down, Shakespeare, and have another beer with your most famously tragic character. You’re not leaving me yet.” For a moment, I thought I’d gone too far, my abrupt insistence too much, too soon.

But she surprised me again, rolling those golden browns and joking, “If I don’t stop drinking soon, I’ll be the one tottering around the lawn. You want me shouting for you, too?” She’d scatter if she knew just how much. Her letting me take control of her tight body, coming at my every move.

She watched my tongue lap around my lip and I watched hers in return. And there it was, that chemistry I’d felt earlier, the pull, the draw. “It’s sounding more tempting by the second,” I said quietly, my hard cock becoming painful in my jeans.

Her eyes darted back toward the backyard. I’d gone too far, needed to change the direction of the conversation. “So you’ve joined a sorority?”

Her shoulders relaxed. “Yeah, and Ally wants me to move into the main house, with Lexi and Cass, of course. It’s not exactly my thing, but I’m trying my best to embrace college life.”

Ally?
What the hell was she up to?

“You and Ally been speaking?”

“Yeah. After you left… the room… earlier… after the… erm…”

“Kiss.” It was all I could think about, taking that mouth again, tasting her again… tasting her all over.

“Err, yeah. Well, Shelly screamed at me to leave and Ally fought in my corner and basically told Shelly to bugger off.”

Okay. Now I was thankful my cousin stepped in. I could imagine Ally verbally knocking Shelly down. “She’s not exactly Shel’s biggest fan. Al’s cool. She’ll be a good friend for you to have around here. She’s my cousin and best friend. Hence, I got the spare key for this room when it gets too crazy out there.”

“She seems nice.”

“She’s the best.” Molly smiled and nodded.

“So, Shakespeare, where you from in England? Don’t you dare say Stratford-upon-Avon or I’m checking myself into an insane asylum.”

“Nope, nowhere near. I’m from Durham.”

I wasn’t exactly great with Geography and had no idea about Durham, England. “Nope, never heard of it.”

She paused and thought real hard, her face suddenly lighting up. “Have you seen Billy Elliot?”

Ashamedly, yeah. One of Ally’s cheer-up sessions after my daddy had ripped me a new one over football. She was trying to show me that even though you’re background’s shit, you can still achieve your dreams… Subtle.

“The film about the dancing kid?”

“Yep. Well, I’m from the exact estate that he’s from in the movie.”

“Really?” I racked my brain, trying to remember something about the setting. The kid in it was poor, real poor. That meant… Shit. Here I was moping, but one thing I never worried about was money. I had that in abundance. My grandparents leaving me most of their fortune pretty much set me up for life, despite my parents’ objections.

Her hand landed on mine and I jumped, startled. “It’s okay. I know I’m poor. You don’t need to feel bad for thinking it.”

“I wasn’t—” I was. There was no judgement there, though, and the strength behind her eyes floored me. She went to move back her hand, but I gripped it, turning to connect them palm to palm.

“Yes, you were thinking that. It’s okay. I know where I’m from isn’t exactly glamorous, but I’m proud anyway. It’s where I grew up and I love it regardless of its reputation, although I haven’t been back there in years.”

“Is your family still there?” I asked curiously.

Molly instantly changed. She began to visibly shake and rubbed at her chest. Her eyes were huge and her breathing choppy. “You okay? You’ve gone all white,” I asked, panicked, rubbing at her back to calm her down.

“Yeah, thanks,” she whispered, seeming a little better.

I never removed my hand from her back. I liked touching her, in any way.

“No, I don’t have any family,” she announced, her voice barely audible.

I jerked back, grimacing at my stupidity, and asked, “Shit, you’re an orphan?”

“No, but I have no family left. I’m not sure an adult can still be classed as an orphan.”

“Your momma?”

“Died giving birth to me.”

Christ.
“Daddy?”

“Died when I was six.”

Jesus.
“No grandparents, aunts, or uncles?”

“One, a grandma.”

Thank fuck. At least she had one person.
“And?”

“Died when I was fourteen.”

Shit.
“But then, where…?”

“Foster care.”

“And that’s it? You’ve been on your own for… You’re twenty, right?”

“Yes.”

“On your own for six years?” My chest actually ached. She’d lost everyone.
Everyone.

“Well, I went to university so I had some friends there, and Professor Ross took me on as a research assistant in my first year and watched out for me when she realized I had no other family. But yeah, I’ve been on my own for a long time. It’s been… difficult.”

I leaned in, trying to give comfort, but fuck if I knew what the hell to say. What was there to say? She was completely on her own.