Sweet Rome (Sweet Home) (12 page)

“Addicted?” she asked dubiously.

Inching closer, ghosting my hand along her hip, I confided, “That’s right. To you and how you make me feel.”

“Right, well… err… let’s get you to work, then,” she said, stumbling both in footing and words.

She was so fucking cute.

Hours passed and we hadn’t taken a break—I was starving. I stood, glancing down at Molly furiously scribbling away on her notepad, her hair coming loose from her bun, mumbling to herself about Paley and his watch. She wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

Slipping out of the office, I headed to the student coffee shop, stocking up on cream cheese bagels and cappuccinos. After paying for the snacks, I caught that basketball fucker Michaels glaring at me from his table across the room. He was clearly back together with the chick who banged me behind his back. Classy gal. What a fucking pussy he was for taking her skanky ass back.

I walked past, trying to ignore him, but he had other plans. “You lost?”

I stopped and turned to face him. “What?” I asked tiredly.

“I said are you lost?” he said slowly, like I was dumb, laughing to his girlfriend, who kept her head firmly down. Slapping the table, he bit out, “Shit, no wonder you’re spending time in the library. You’re still trying to figure out the end of the alphabet, aren’t you?”

Yeah, I fucked his girl. I get it, but I didn’t even know who she was until he started on me after practice two days later. I may not be big on morals, but I wouldn’t have knowingly touched someone else’s girl. Give me some fucking credit. It was a party, I was drunk off my ass, and
she’d
led me to bed. It’d been that brief, but Michaels still couldn’t let it go.

People in the cafe stopped their chatting, listening in.

“Michaels, I’ll warn you once. Shut the fuck up. I’m in no mood for your shit today,” I warned. I just wanted to get back to Molly. Fighting with this asswipe was the last thing on my mind.

I watched as a slow smile spread across his face. Apparently he wasn’t feeling the same. “You’re right. I’ll let you get back to the retard section on the first floor.”

If the food in my hands hadn’t been for Molly upstairs, working herself toward the first stages of malnutrition, I’d have thrown the whole lot at his fucking head and kicked out his front teeth. But I simply smiled and retorted, “Will do, Michaels, and I’ll let you get back to your copy of
The Kama Sutra
.” I crossed the fingers on my right hand and held them up, smiling sarcastically. “Not long now before you can make your girl come without a dildo and she has to stop shopping around campus for substitutes.” With that, I left Michaels raging on his seat and ordering his girl to follow him home, the listening students snickering at our show.

Five minutes later and back upstairs, I sighed as I saw Molly was still writing furiously and looking beyond exhausted, a huge stack of notes piled up on her right. My entrance finally broke her from her philosophy zone and she looked up at me in shock.

“We need a break,” I told her sternly.

“How long have we been in here?” she asked with a yawn, stretching her cramped muscles and rubbing at her eyes under her black frames.

“About six hours,” I answered in a reprimanding tone as I handed her a bagel.

“Oh. Crap.”

“Yep,
crap,
” I answered with a laugh, her exaggerated accent amusing me to no end. I’d never known a Brit before Molly, and sometimes the things she came out with and the way she pronounced shit was fucking hilarious.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she sat on her seat, and more importantly, I couldn’t take my eyes off Molly’s tongue as it ran along both lips as she stared at her food. I tightened my hand on my coffee death grip, imagining that mouth licking around the tip of my cock. And when she took a sip of her cappuccino, moaning out loud in satisfaction, the bastard lid popped off, the hot liquid scalding on my chest.

“Shit!” I shouted, launching to my feet, pulling the boiling, wet material off my gray shirt.

“You okay?” Molly asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Just… don’t make those kind of noises around me, Mol,” I instructed tightly, moving to adjust my now rock-hard cock in my jeans. Molly’s breathing grew labored at my words and her breasts pushed against her dress. I wanted her so damn much, but she wasn’t like the other girls. She wasn’t just a fuck, didn’t give her pussy to anyone wearing a Tide jersey. And more shockingly, I was quickly realizing that
I
wanted her for more than just one night.

Yeah. Imagine that. My feelings for her were spiraling out of control, confusing the absolute crap out of me.

Taking a seat, we both stared at each other in silence, the tension pulsing once more, until I cracked my knuckles and stretched out my arms, saying, “You must be nearly done now. I’ve never seen anyone work so hard at anything. I have no doubts you’ll make one hell of a professor.”

Losing the flush to her heated cheeks, she shrugged. “I love studying. It keeps me occupied.”

“From what?”

“From thinking about other things.”

“Like?” The desolation that appeared on her face at that question cut me to the core.

“Bad things… upsetting things… things from my past.”

I felt that pain,
knew
that pain, so I reached out and took her hand that was resting on the table in support, throwing all caution to the wind and confessing, “So studying does for you what you do for me?”

Her hand shook slightly in mine, and she looked anywhere but at me. I pulled on her hand, jerking her closer. “It’s true. You’re doing something to me, Mol.”

“I… What? You…?” she mumbled, moodily pulling back her hand when I laughed and then launched a piece of her bagel, I assumed, at my head, but instead it hit my chest. She may be a genius, but she had shit aim.

My heart nearly exploded with happiness as I shoved it in my mouth and she couldn’t contain her laughter. It seemed we were good at doing that for each other, lightening our moods after getting lost in the memory of our dark times.

“So how are you feeling today?” she asked, genuine concern in her tone. Someone was
genuinely
concerned for me. It felt… nice.

“Better,” I replied, smiling. “This pretty gal helped me get through some personal shit.”

Her head bowed and she looked up playfully through her long black lashes, pretending to search under the table and around the room. “What gal? What does she look like?”

Scrunching up my face in mock concentration, I answered, “Brunette, hot accent, fucking sexy as hell librarian-with-glasses thing going on.”

Molly shook her head in dismissal. “
Right
. But seriously, are you
okay
?”

Time to cut the shit. She deserved to know, and more importantly, I finally wanted to open up to someone, even if it was just a small glimpse at who I was. “Getting there. One day at a time,” I confided quietly.

Nodding proudly, Molly went back to her notes, understanding I couldn’t be pushed too far. I loved that about her. I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she sipped on her coffee. She was pretty—there was no question about that—but she didn’t try hard to make herself more beautiful, didn’t coat herself in a ton of makeup or tight clothing. But sitting before me right now, she looked like a supermodel, the most stunning girl I ever saw. Her easy acceptance of my damn moody ways made her the most beautiful girl in the world to me.

At that moment, my decision was made. I wanted her, was consumed by need for her, and decided to screw the consequences.

I was making my move.

She placed the cup back on the desk; a small drop of foam rested on her lip. Rising from my seat, I stalked around the table, seeing her eyes widen with nerves as I approached. I leaned down, trapping her on the chair, my attention firmly fixed on my target.

“Romeo, what—” she whispered, but I dived in, flicking out my tongue and licking the foam off her soft lip.

“You had foam on your lip,” I said as casually as I could manage, pulling back from her.

“Oh, I—” Raw disappointment shadowed her golden eyes. It was all the convincing I needed. Gripping her cheeks in both of my hands, I moved in, crashing our lips together and grasping her thick hair in my fists, on the verge of losing control as she groaned with pure need against my busy mouth.

I had to stop before things went too far. As much as I wanted to sink deep into Molly, I wasn’t going to do it in the library for fuck’s sake. I wanted more when it came to her, so I reluctantly pulled back.

“And then?” she asked breathlessly as she nuzzled against my hand.

Touching my forehead against hers, I confessed, “Well, then, I just wanted to kiss you.” Her lips twitched and a shy smile lit up her face.

Spurred on by her affections, I dropped to my knees, running my hands up her bare thighs, and asked, “Come to my game this weekend.”

“I have to study.”

My heart plummeted to my stomach. “It’s just for a few hours, Mol.”

She began playing with her hands and shaking her head. “I know, but I get paid to assist the professor and I pride myself on getting everything done on time. I need my paycheck to survive, Rome. Living in the sorority house is expensive. I’ll be here on Saturday when the game is on.”

Her dismissive response took me aback, and I panicked that I’d got it all wrong. Why wouldn’t she come to my game? She could study before or after. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe she wasn’t feeling what I was feeling, and that thought just about broke me.

Sighing deep, I said, “Okay, I don’t fucking like it, but I understand.”

Gentle hands held my face, golden eyes imploring me to understand. “Please don’t be disappointed. Sports are just not my thing. I have absolutely no clue about American football, or quarterbacks, remember?” She finished with placating smile.

Briefly closing my eyes, I replied, “I hear you, Mol. No one’s ever there supporting me anyhow. Nothing new.” It wasn’t. Ally and on occasion her folks were the only ones who’d ever bothered their asses to show support.

“Romeo—” she whispered, her voice sounding conflicted.

I needed out, disappointment leaving me no other choice but to bail, so I stood, staring at the door, blurting, “I have a practice I gotta get to.”

I didn’t; I had absolutely nowhere I had to be, but I kind of felt humiliated at her shoot down.

Molly reached out and laced her fingers through mine, making me pause. I stared down at our hands, then to the panic on her face.

Jesus.
I couldn’t get a damn read on what she the hell wanted!

“I’ll be here a few more hours yet. I’ll catch you later though, yeah?” she offered politely, only serving to confuse me more.

Trying to find some kind of answer, I bent down, meeting her eyes, catching the blatant interest in their depths.

There it was, that look, the one that told me she wanted me all right; she just needed a gentle push in my general direction.

I left the room, and once out in the corridor, I dug in my bag for pen and paper and scribbled a quick note:

Please come to the game.

I want you there.

Your Romeo X

I read the note back to myself and almost crumpled it up. Damn, that was cheesy.
Your Romeo?
What the hell was I thinking?

Mol’d seemed quite pleased about our Shakespearean connection the other night, but was this a step too far? Would it persuade her to come to the game, or just make her think I was a fucking tool?

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I laughed at the ridiculous state of myself.
Christ
, I’d hit an all-time low—Rome Prince pining after a chick who didn’t immediately fall at my feet. But hell, for reasons I couldn’t fully explain, I wanted her in the packed stands, watching me play. I wanted to show her my worth, that I was
good
at something. I wanted—no,
needed
—her to
believe
in me.

Checking no one was around, I slipped the note under the door, quickly walking away and just hoping more than ever that she would be the one person in my life to not let me down.

10

My breathing echoed in my ears, whooshing loudly, the roar of the hundred-thousand-strong cheering crowd drowned out by the hard slam of my heart as I waited for the whistle to blow.

The referee moved into position for the third down, the whistle’s sound only increasing my anticipation and breathing. “Red eighty-three, red eighty-
three,”
in hard count. The defense didn’t buy it; no one encroached. I called the play again, this time adding,
“Down, set, hut hut
.” In near silence, the snap fired out of the shotgun.

Catching the ball, I stepped back, one, two, searching for Carillo among the sea of defenders. There he was, with separation from single-man coverage. I raised my arm, drew back my hand, then released, watching the pigskin’s lazy spiral in the air… miss Austin by two yards… again.

FUCK!!!

I didn’t miss the growing groundswell of disappointment as it washed around the stadium. I loped off the gridiron, unable to take my clenched fist off my helmet as I screamed a string of expletives into the air, slamming my free hand on the cursed field.

Catching my QB coach glaring at me from the sidelines, I braced for his tirade. “Bullet, get your head in the game! Focus on Carillo, check down to Porter, but complete the damn pass!” He finished off his inspirational speech by throwing the game photos into my hand. “Study them! Now!”

Gripping the images, I reviewed my check down receiver options, rolling my shoulders, trying to get my head into the game, but all I could feel was crushing pressure.

With each flip of a photo, my father’s words echoed in my head.
Football will never happen, boy! Do your duty!
My mother’s taunts followed.
You’ll mess up football anyway, just like you mess up everything else! You were born to be a failure!

I was. I was fucking everything up and my team didn’t deserve to have me screw the season up for them anymore.