Sweet Rome (Sweet Home)

by Tillie Cole

  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.

  Reece moved beside me, throwing his arm around my shoulders. “You got this, Bullet. Focus!” I knew the kid was trying to be supportive, but if one more person told me to focus, I was going to ram my fist through their head.

  Repeatedly.

  Ignoring him, my legs shaking with adrenaline, I tried to visualize the next down—just as Coach had taught me. I imagined it going perfectly, imagined the Tide scoring a touchdown, the crowd roaring in happiness.

  Before I knew it, I was back on the field. You got this, Rome. You got this, I told myself, trying like hell to psyche myself up. If ever sports psychology was to work for me, for my team and for my school, well, its time had come.

  And then it was on. Snap. Catch. Pop.

  The ball sailed toward Carillo, not even coming close to his outstretched hands, and instead spiraled straight into the crowd. Whatever amount of heart I had left in this game immediately sank into my stomach as the fans began to fall to their seats in exasperation at my shit execution of pass plays.

  I could throw better in pee-wee football.

  Turning away from my equally frustrated teammates, I caught a glance of the Jumbotron, expecting to see my fucking horrendous replay, but instead saw a fight break out in the lower student section of the stands, right near where Ally was sitting, and I witnessed some chick get pummeled to the floor by the douchebags. A brunette chick, who, when the crowd cleared, sat up, stunned, holding her nose.

  Recognition hit me like a damn truck.

  Shit. Shakespeare!

  Acting on pure instinct, I unsnapped my chinstrap, tore off my helmet, and charged off, completely ignoring the entire on-field coaching staff screaming at my back and my teammates staring at each other in absolute disbelief.

  Jumping the barrier into the stands, I pushed my way through the student body, shrugging off grabs at my jersey and ignoring the chicks trying to rub up against me.

  A path appeared before me and at its end, Molly peered around, looking so fucking hot in a short white dress and brown cowboy boots that showcased her tanned legs to perfection. But that didn’t distract me from the panic seeping into my veins at the thought of her being hurt… because of my shit pass.

  “Shit, Shakespeare! I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” Dropping my helmet to the floor with a crash, I powered through the crowd to Molly’s flushed-with-embarrassment face and without thinking, grabbed her flaming cheeks in my hands—my sanity, once again, gone without a trace.

  Large golden eyes darted everywhere, clearly expressing her lack of comfort at being put on display, but fuck that; I needed to know she was okay. And more than that, it quickly hit home that she’d shown up. Shit. She’d come here for me… because of that note… She’d actually done as I’d asked…She’d actually come for me.

  “Rome, I’m okay. I was saved by my glasses. They laid their lives on the line to save my nose.” She held the broken frames in her hands, keeping them steady against her eyes, and I couldn’t help but laugh. The stadium fell away as she went on to complain about the drunken guys who hit her square in the face, but all I could think about as she rambled on was that she was here.

  Rubbing my thumb on her grazed cheek, I shook my head and laughed. “It had to be you. Out of everyone in this entire fucking stadium, it had to be you who was involved.” Tilting my head, I continued. “I’m no longer surprised; you’re always there. I think someone’s trying to tell me something.”

  A blush flooded her cheeks, the heat of the action warming my hands. “I was going for a Coke,” she answered and I couldn’t help but laugh at her gripp
ing the two bits of broken plastic to her eyes, just so she could keep looking at my face.

  “During my play?” I teased with mock annoyance.

  Biting her tongue and scrunching that damn nose, she confessed, “Err, well, quite honestly, I didn’t know what the hell was going on, and I was thirsty.”

  The noise in the stadium grew to a deafening volume, but I could still hear Coach screaming my name from the sideline, anger boiling up at the sight of his QB running from the field mid-drive, forcing him to call a precious timeout. I knew I was going to get my ass kicked for running off the field, but all I could think about was Molly.

  Pulling her to me, commanding her instant attention, I said simply, “You came.”

  Her whole body seemed to melt in my arms and she sighed, “I came,” with the most stunning smile, stealing my friggin’ breath.

  Desperation surged through my brain and I blurted, “Why did you change your mind?” I needed to know. She’d been so damn reluctant.

  Shrugging playfully, she said softly, “You got through to me.” And with that, something within me snapped. Any worries blocking my mind cleared, and all thoughts of my parents’ taunts that’d been affecting my game disappeared into vapor.

  A short, fat little shit of a medic tried to pull Molly out of my arms. Throwing him a threatening scowl, I asked Molly one more time if she was okay. After assuring me that she was, she went to walk away, but that wasn’t going to happen. I needed to taste her. Without thinking anything through, I crushed her lips against mine, pulling her so close that she wouldn’t be able to break away. It was short, it was sweet, and it made me feel like I was a fucking king.

  Backing away, I watched Molly’s mouth gape at this blatant show of public affection, and smiling, sprinted back to the field, not giving a shit that Coach was verbally ripping me a new one, or that Austin and Jimmy-Don were shaking their heads at my fucking stupidity. Molly had shown up, and I instantly knew I wasn’t going to fuck up this game. I knew I wasn’t going lose. She would see that I was worthy.

  Summoning the offense into the huddle, I called, “Eighty-three on red.”

  Austin shook his head. “Try another, Bullet.”

  Yeah, I knew he didn’t trust that pass play after four screw-ups, but something within me had changed.

  Snapping my eyes to his, I bit back, “Eighty-three on red! And don’t fucking question me!”

  Glaring back and wanting to argue, but knowing you never questioned the QB, Austin just sighed and put his hand in the center as I screamed, “One, two, three, break!” And we all moved into position, every fiber of my being bursting to life.

  I had found my flow state. I was in the zone.

  Time seemed to slow as Jeremiah Simms, the center, snapped the ball to me, and in a state of complete mental calmness, I spotted Austin, the white number 83 on his crimson jersey. It shone like a beacon.

  I stepped into the throw as he sprinted downfield. Intense gratification swept through as the ball spiraled perfectly into his hands on his post route into the end zone.

  The stadium erupted in thunderous celebration. A forty-yard touchdown pass, and it was the best tight spiral I’d thrown all season, hell, maybe all of college.

  My teammates came barreling over, jumping on my back, and I basked in their celebration. Jimmy-Don lifted me in his arms, only to set me down and shout, “From now on, you better lay one on Molly before every damn game!”

  Eyebrows drawn, I asked, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Slapping my cheek lightly, he answered with an excited laugh, “You kissing Molly, man! Not to put it bluntly, but, hell, Bullet, you’ve been playing like shit for weeks, but one kiss from her and you throw like a damn demon!”

  Staring at the screaming fans around the stadium, a disbelieving huff came out of my throat. “Shit, you’re right.”

  Gripping my collar, Jimmy-Don pulled me close and declared, “Every game, ya hear?”

  A slow smile tugged on my lips. Fuck yeah. Like I even needed an excuse to taste those lips again or press those damn curves up close against me. Bama fans could be beyond superstitious, and I’d gladly give in to their whims.

  Gladly.

  Fifteen minutes later and we’d won. I’d played as though I was possessed. I questioned if I was—hell, I was absolutely obsessed with Molly and couldn’t get enough of how it felt being around her. Like my problems didn’t exist… Like she got me… Me, Rome, not Bullet, not the famed QB… but me.

  At the end of the game, Coach, the cheerleaders, and the band flooded the pitch, as reporters in their masses headed straight to my direction, asking the same damn questions as always, and I gave the same answers, avoiding any mention of Molly or any explanation of that kiss.

  After fighting off Shelly and squashing her mission to get us looking like a couple on camera, I made my way straight to Ally’s seats, needing to see Molly again.

  Ally was standing next to Jimmy-Don and his new woman, who were all over each other. She looked relieved to see me and threw her arms around me in a hug.

  “Well done, darlin’!” she squealed in excitement. I wasn’t exactly being attentive to anything she was saying, too busy searching the surrounding seats for Molly, but there was no sign.

  “Hey, speaking here! Devoted cousin singing your praises, getting totally ignored!” Ally shouted in my face. Turning to face her, I gave her another quick hug and asked, “Where is she?”

  Crossing her arms across her chest, she smiled, lilting, “Who, darlin’?”

  “Cut the shit, Al,” I said tersely. “Where’s she gone?”

  Dropping her smug-assed smile, she shrugged. “Said she had to study.”

  My heart faltered at that. “She couldn’t stick around a bit longer?”

  Jimmy-Don and his new woman came up for air, and the large blonde held out her hand in my direction. “Cassie, darlin’, but my friends all call me Cass.”

  “Rome.”

  Her eyebrows danced. “I know.” She stepped forward, placing her hand on my shoulder. “One thing you need to know about my girl Molly is that studying comes first, everything else second. If she don’t get at least ten hours of study in a day, she don’t see it as productive and freaks the hell out. I don’t know what more to say. All that time spent in her books keeps her sane.” That sounded about right from everything I’d witnessed.

  Looking back at my cousin, I said, “Party at mine tonight. Bring her. Don’t let me down.”

  Ally shook her head. “I’ll try, but I wouldn’t hold your breath, Rome. She isn’t exactly a keg and cock kind of girl.”

  “Do it, Al. I’m counting on you.”

  With that, I headed to the showers, telling the other players to spread the word about the party and to stock up on beer.

  No more waiting, no more overthinking the ramifications of being with the girl I wanted… Tonight I’d make her mine. And I’d kick the shit out of anyone who got in my way.

  11

  “So… you want to show me your room?’

  “Negative.”

  Sharp red fingernails ran up my arm. “Aww, c’mon, Bullet. I can show you things you’ve never seen before… I’ve been wanting you for years.”

  Rubbing my hand over my face, I leaned back and groaned out a frustrated, “Please, just fuck off!”

  The scrape of a chair told me I’d successfully deterred another fucking groupie. I bet their mommas and daddies would be proud knowing they were paying for their daughters to come to college, not to learn, but instead to offer themselves on a gilded platter to the Tide QB.

  A slow clap got my attention. When I opened my eyes, Austin was standing before me, laughing. “Rome Prince! Showing some friggin’ restraint with the opposite sex!” His smile faltered when he glanced at the door, and looking to see what had got his attention, I spotted Ally, Cass, and that Goth chick—Lexi?—entering the party.

  I questioned why the hell he was acting so weird when he slipped out of the back
door without another word, casting one more frustrated look at Lexi. Her face fell as she watched him cut and run, and she spun on her heel and walked over to a group of cheerleaders chilling in the kitchen.

  I wondered what the hell that was about, but more pressing matters were on my mind.

  I got to my feet, walking in their direction. Ally saw me first, followed by Cass, who stumbled toward me, arms spread wide as she fell against my chest, almost tackling me to the floor. Fuck, she was wasted.

  Pushing her back, helping her balance, I titled my chin at my cousin. “Where is she?”

  Ally’s face dropped. “She wouldn’t come.”

  Anger and disappointment merged in my chest, and I growled out loud, “Why the fuck not?”

  “Said she was tired.”

  “For Christ’s sake!” I shouted, causing Cass to jolt upright and hold up her cell.

  Fiddling with the screen, she put it to her ear, winked at me, then slurred, “Molls, get your juicy English ass out! We’re getting trashed and need the fourth musketeer!” Cass smiled up at me, nodding her head smugly as though certain her drunken little call would work. I couldn’t hear what Molly was saying, but by the drop in Cass’s expression, I could tell she wasn’t getting the answer she wanted.

  Ally made a mock strangling gesture behind Cass’s back and snatched the device from her hand. Cass tried to wrestle it back but was distracted by the sight of Jimmy-Don heading down the stairs and, screaming in excitement, ran over into his open arms, pretty much tackling him to the floor.

  Ally was now speaking into Cass’s cell phone. “You sure you won’t come, darlin’? I don’t like that you’re alone in your room and everyone’s here having a good time.”

  I held my breath, never taking my eyes from Ally’s, but when they dulled with disappointment, I chugged the rest of my beer, hearing Ally signing off, abruptly ending the call with a shake of her head.