Sweet Home

by Tillie Cole

  “I agree. And we’ll always have our little angel in heaven.”

  I dipped forward and gently kissed the large tattooed wings. “So, superstar QB… You’re probably going to be first for the draft in a few months’ time, especially after your game-winning touchdown, eh?”

  He wrapped a piece of my hair around his finger. “Yeah, I suppose.”

  “Spill it.”

  He exhaled a long drawn-out sigh. “You go wherever you’re drafted. No choice.”

  My PhD. He was worried about my PhD.

  “Look, I haven’t even got my applications together yet, so let’s not worry about any of that, okay? We don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Let’s just enjoy being us for a while without any more drama.”

  He nodded and smiled.

  “Plus, I’ve got a new philosophy about everything. I think we should both adopt it.”

  He looked at me expectantly.

  I cleared my throat. “Some things in life are bad. They can really make you mad. Other things just make you swear and curse. When you’re chewing on life’s gristle, don’t grumble, give a whistle, and this’ll help things turn out for the best. And always look on the bright side of life…”

  Romeo backed me up with the accompanying whistle and raised an eyebrow on a laugh. “Monty Python, Shakespeare? That’s your new philosophy?”

  I hunched my shoulders. “It’s Python.”

  He laughed, free and unbarred, and echoed, “It’s Python.”

  I read the time on the clock. “It’s still early. Do you want to go out and meet your teammates? Go for dinner? What do you want to do?”

  He spanked me firmly my on my arse, and I couldn’t help but yelp out a laugh.

  “You. I’m not done with you yet, Shakespeare. We have weeks of missed sex to make up for.” His tone dropped to a deep timbre as he buried all gentleness. “Now stand at the side of the bed, reach for your ankles, and prepare yourself to come at least three more times.”

  Epilogue

  Radio City Music Hall, New York

  The NFL Draft

  The NFL commissioner walked on stage and stood before the microphone.

  Romeo clasped my hand, leaned forward, and brought our hands to his mouth, pressing his soft lips against our joined fingers. I shifted as close as I could possibly get and his eyes closed as he placed his head against mine.

  The silence was stifling.

  “The first draft… for the next NFL season… for Seattle Seahawks… is… quarterback… Romeo Prince… from… the Alabama Crimson Tide!!!”

  We were backstage in the greenroom. Our private table, consisting of all of our friends, rattled as we all jumped to our feet in unison, screaming loudly in celebration.

  Romeo bent and lifted me up, kissing me passionately. As I pulled back, I could see in his eyes that a small part of him never let himself truly believe this moment would ever come.

  Cupping his face, I lowered his head to whisper, “Baby, you did it.”

  Romeo didn’t say anything in response. He couldn’t. He was still in shock.

  A steward immediately came to take him to the stage, and I watched on the TV mounted on the wall above us as a camera followed him down the corridor. Rome looked so gorgeous in his tailored black suit and white shirt. I, to match, wore fitted high-waist skinny black trousers and a black silk vest top.

  As Rome reached the end of the long corridor, he was handed a navy and lime-green Seahawks cap that he immediately placed on his dirty-blond hair and made his way onto the stage to rapturous applause and screams from the live audience.

  Romeo immediately shook hands with the commissioner, a small, crooked grin on his face. It made me laugh how he seemed so aloof and standoffish to anyone but me—he had the perfect bad-boy image—dark and unattainable. If the female screams were any indication, I’d say that he already had a fan club in waiting.

  A storm of camera bulbs flashed as he proudly held his Seahawks jersey, showcasing the number seven and PRINCE on the back. I had to wipe happy tears from my eyes over and over as I watched him, the centre of attention, finally getting everything he deserved.

  After a short interview, he left the stage to speak to the awaiting press and Ally, Lexi, and Cass sat beside me, pinning me on the small sofa.

  “So, Mol? Seattle?” Ally asked, a look of both happiness and apprehension on her face. All focus had been on Romeo and the draft over the last several months. Our friends knew I was going to study for my PhD after this academic year, but no one, not even Romeo, knew where I’d been accepted.

  I needed to tell him first.

  “I’m so happy for him. It’s what he’s always dreamed of,” I said, purposely avoiding their question.

  Cass rolled her eyes. “Cut the shit, Molls! Are you gonna go with him? You’ve said fuck all about next year and we all wanna know!”

  I glanced around the table and had six wide sets of eyes focused on me, Cass’s loud complaint managing to pull the attention of Austin, Reece, and Jimmy-Don sitting opposite.

  I twisted on my seat, trying to wriggle free. “It’s Romeo’s night. It’s not about me.”

  Six dejected friends slumped back in their seats in exasperation.

  I had to speak to Romeo first.

  Romeo walked back into the room after about thirty minutes, and I ran into his awaiting arms, feathering kisses all over his face, murmuring, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

  My new Seattle quarterback squeezed me into a hard embrace, then pushed me back to stare at me. There was happiness in his expression, but I could see tension leaking from his anxious eyes.

  “What? What’s wrong?” I asked in panic.

  Romeo signalled to the guys that we needed a minute and pulled me to a dark corner of the room, completely out of sight. He stroked my hair and I playfully pulled on the peak of his navy Seahawks hat.

  Catching my hand, Romeo pulled off the cap, combing his hand through his messy hair. “I am happy, baby. But I can’t do it without you. Seattle. I’m going to Seattle. You applied to Harvard, Yale, and Stanford, that I know of. You’ve been so fuckin’ secretive, and I’m goin’ insane. We could be on different sides of the country for all I know and I need you with me. I don’t think I can do this without you.”

  “Rome—”

  He silenced me with a finger on my lips. “I feel like just demandin’ it because I know that you would drop everythin’ for me. But I also want your dreams to come true too. I don’t know how to have both you and football.”

  I took hold of his hand and kissed each finger. “Romeo, I’ve run away from my problems all my life, never to return, but you’re the first person I’ve ever run back to. That means so much to me. You pulled me out of the darkness.” I lowered his hand and pressed it to my stomach. “And gave me hope. Hope that one day I will be a good mother… when the time is right, and that I do have a family… in you.”

  Moisture glossed his chocolate eyes and I pressed a soft kiss to the angel wing tattoo that took pride of place over his heart. “You once told me that one day you wanted to get away, that one day you would be your own person, and that one day you would get everything that you wanted.”

  Romeo nodded slowly. “But what I want is you. Everythin’ I want is with you. You’re my ‘one day.’”

  I reached in my back pocket and pulled out a letter, Romeo’s face displaying confusion, and I announced, “Your one day is finally here.”

  Snatching the letter from my hands, he set to ripping it open, and I watched as the words accepted and University of Washington, Seattle, popped off the page.

  His hands almost shredded the paper in two, and he looked up, his questioning gaze burning into mine. “You… Does…? What?”

  I took the letter from his hands, dropped it back into my pocket, and placed my hands on his cheeks. “I also applied to Seattle. When Doctor Adams, all those months ago, mentioned there was a possibility of you going there, I researched into how the draft worked and
took a calculated chance on Seattle. I didn’t want to say, just in case it didn’t work out. But it’s just paid off. I’m coming to Seattle with you, baby. You’re looking at the newest PhD student of philosophy. I sent my email confirmation about twenty-five minutes ago.”

  Romeo smiled widely, a full smile, one that my dad would have been proud of, and he crashed his lips to mine.

  When he finally pulled back, his intense expression was completely serious, and he pushed me against the wall. I knew that look; his feral, possessive side was clawing to the surface.

  Romeo stared at me for several seconds, then suddenly blurted, “Marry me.”

  I stumbled on my stiletto heels in shock. “W-what???”

  Romeo’s hands spread on my face, owning me, begging me, wanting me. “Marry me. Marry me tomorrow, tonight, as quickly as we can. Just… fuckin’ marry me, Shakespeare. Let me make you officially mine.”

  “But… But…”

  His arms moved to jail me against the wall. “I love you. I love you more than anythin’. I can’t and won’t be without you ever again. I want to give you everythin’ possible. I want to give you happiness… I want to one day give you children.” He dropped his head against mine, whispering, “Marry me. Be with me. Have forever… with me.”

  I lost the ability to breathe in reaction to the desperate need in his gaze and there was absolutely no question in my mind.

  Romeo was it for me.

  Romeo was to me what my father had with my mother. Romeo was the soul that bonded to mine… Romeo Prince was my home sweet home.

  “Yes!” I announced, and his lips parted in relief.

  “Say it again,” he demanded.

  “Yes. Of course I’ll marry you!”

  Romeo pounced on me, his soft lips sealing the vow of our union, and I melted under his touch. We were getting married and we would love each other more than anyone in the history of the world ever had.

  Star-crossed lovers. I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped from my lips at that thought.

  “What the hell are you laughin’ at now, Shakespeare?” Romeo asked, pure happiness radiating from his wide smile.

  I laid my hand on his heart, glancing up at the love of my life. “That the two ill-fated lovers—in our story—found a way to be together against all the odds, all of the obstacles, finally getting their happily ever after.”

  Rome tipped his head in adoration, drawing me close with his hands on my cheeks, and murmured, “For never was a truer story of love conquering woe than this of Molly Juliet and her Romeo.”

  The End

  Bonus Chapter

  1

  Romeo

  “Momma,” I greeted flatly, seeing her name flash on my iPhone screen.

  “You need to come to dinner tonight,” she commanded.

  I clenched my jaw at her evil tone.

  “Sorry, busy,” I snapped.

  “Then change your damn plans! The Blairs are coming and you need to be there so we can discuss the engagement, thrash out the details, get the whole arrangement tied up once and for all.”

  “I have practice. Coach has us on two-a-days.” Only silence met me on the receiving end of the cell.

  “You will come tonight, Romeo,” she finally replied, her words dripping with venom.

  I stopped dead on the path right outside the humanities block. I was already running late for this fuckin’ introduction class due to a team meeting, and now the bitch was droning on in my ear about this fuckin’ engagement and callin’ me that bastard name… again. I could feel my tolerance for her attitude about to snap.

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I focused on the relaxing feeling of the burning summer sun pounding my back, calming me.

  Didn’t fuckin’ work. Nothing ever does.

  “Look, I’m goin’ to practice. I’m not comin’.”

  I slammed my finger on the end button, stuffed the phone in my jeans pocket, and headed inside the building, trying to let the blast of air from the air-conditioner cool me the hell down from the usual friggin’ anger boiling me from the inside out. My blood felt like molten magma pumping through my muscles—an unstoppable force. But I embraced it, welcomed it even—it was a constant reminder that I needed to get the fuck away from those bastard people.

  I smashed the second set of doors open, hearing the wood splinter against the wall, and stormed down the empty halls, pressure building in my chest with each step at the thought of getting hitched to Shelly.

  Fuckin’ Shelly Blair.

  Christ, I fucked her twice in high school and, stupidly, once freshman year, and she acts like we’re soul mates, in love. Not even sure I have the capability to love anyone anymore. Had it beat outta me a long time ago.

  My phone vibrated again. I didn’t look; I knew it would be my daddy demanding I attend. Momma would have called in the big guns.

  Fuckin’ asshole.

  I’d answer, and he’d tell me my refusal was, “Unacceptable, boy!” Then he’d threaten me, blackmail me, tell me how much he and momma hated me, regretted me.

  Same ol’ same ol’.

  I turned the corner, fists clenched at the thought of having to sit next to Shel for the next half hour, trapped in a room, no way out of her long-clawed grip. I was too fuckin’ mad. I just couldn’t sit next to that bitch pawing at my arms like a fuckin’ toy dog, rubbing my leg, hoping to make me hard enough to give in and fuck her after class.

  Never. Happenin’. Again. My cock went limp just looking at her. She thinks she looks hot, all that big hair, plastic tits, and fake red lips. But all I see is a fuckin’ praying mantis.

  I set off, head down, toward the classroom, and I heard it. Shelly’s fuckin’ laugh. The laugh that sounded like a thousand cats being strangled… Slowly, painfully, one by one.

  I wasn’t proud of what I did next.

  Bullet Prince, quarterback for the Crimson Tide, dived to the right and hid behind a staircase, blocking himself from Shelly’s attention.

  I flattened my back against the cold white wall as a quick movement caught my eye. Some chick holding a mass of papers came flying around the corner, muttering to herself, checking her watch, all brown curls piled on her head, thick black glasses, and the brightest fuckin’ shoes I’d ever seen.

  Neon orange. Christ.

  I couldn’t help but crack a smile at her whole package. I almost felt along my lips just to check it was actually there.

  When was the last time I fuckin’ smiled? That is, when was the last time I was smiling because of something other than looking at some asshole I’d knocked the fuck out on the floor?

  I was shaking my head in disbelief when I risked a peek around the corner, seeing Shelly clock her beady eyes onto the chick with an evil smile and turn to say something to her friends. I tensed, suddenly protective of the flustered brunette.

  I couldn’t help but stare at her. She looked so fuckin’ tragic as she blew her crazy hair from her thick glasses, scurrying down the long hall, her plastic shoes squeaking against the tiled floor with each hurried step.

  I was too preoccupied, hooked on the scene, and realized too late that Shel was up to something and watched as she shouldered into the girl as she passed, causing all her papers to fall to the floor.

  Fury possessed me.

  Shel’d always been a cruel bitch, but seeing her do that to the innocent gal just made me pissed beyond measure.

  Shelly said something to the girl on the floor—I couldn’t hear what—but the brunette never looked up, kept her head down, ignoring what I imagined to be a catty slight.

  Why I ever dipped my stick in that is beyond me. I’m blaming it on too many fuckin’ head knocks in football.

  I stepped outta my hiding spot and headed to tell Shel to get the fuck on, but I was too late. She’d already gone into class.

  As I approached, the brunette leaned forward to reach for the papers that had landed way out in front, and I almost groaned out loud, my cock springing to life.

>   Fuck me.

  That ass.

  That perfect, curvy ass.

  I quickly tucked my boner into my waistband and tried to think of something to cool down. Jimmy-Don in a two-piece; Jimmy-Don in a thong. Actually… I cracked a derisive smile… Shelly sucking on my dick… Yeah, deflated like a damn defective balloon.

  Running my hands through my hair, I stepped behind the chick, avoiding staring at her ass in those short dungarees and those long, tan legs that were unreal and temped me to reach out and wrap them around my waist.

  Fuck, my cock hardened again.

  I opened my mouth to see if she needed help just before she spat, “Fuckin’ arseholes!” to herself and got to her feet, her glasses crashing to the floor in the process, the shitty frames landing right next to my feet.

  Time stopped.

  What the hell was that accent? English maybe? Whatever it was, it was the hottest thing I’d ever heard in my entire sorry life.

  Before I could stop it, a loud laugh jumped outta my throat at the sweet, proper voice cussing. I watched as she paused, frozen on hearing me behind her.

  Her head bowed, back bunched, and the sigh she let out said it all.

  Pure defeat.

  I reached down and scooped up her glasses, then holding her arm, spun her to face me.

  Fuck me.

  Large brown eyes, full juicy pink lips, lightly tan skin, and a soft blush to her cheeks—she was fuckin’ incredible.

  I needed to say something, anything, not look like some creepy fuckin’ weirdo, scenting that vanilla smell of her skin.

  Who is this chick?

  “Can you see now?” I muttered, my voice, even to me, sounding rough. Good one, Rome. Growl at her.

  Her eyes squinted and she looked up, her lips parted, and her eyes behind the huge frames studied every part of my face.

  And here it comes, the moment she sees it’s me, fuckin’ Rome “Bullet” Prince. It’d piss me off and then I’d come off like an asshole.

  Standard day.

  She drank me in, the usual… and then… nothing.