Jock Romeo

by Sara Ney

His laugh has me frowning. “What’s so funny?”

  “I can’t even take you seriously when you’re making that face.”

  “What face!?”

  “This face.” Roman pulls a face, sucking in his cheeks and pursing his lips—he looks like a fish.

  “That is not the face I make!” I’m adorable, dammit!

  Roman shrugs. “Potato pa-tah-toe.”

  I slump down in my seat, pouting with a smile. “You’re the worst.”

  With a grin, Roman concentrates on the road; we’ve arrived back in town and he is trying to find my house without having to ask me for directions. He is doing a great job of it, heading toward the administration building I live across the street from. It’s not hard to find—it’s a landmark. Still, I’m impressed he already knows and doesn’t need reminding.

  As we approach, my body goes still at the sight of a big, white pickup truck parked in my driveway. The taillights are glowing, which means the person driving it is still inside the cab of the truck and not inside my house.

  Crud.

  Roman begins the slow crawl toward it.

  “Whose truck is that?”

  Oh my god—I don’t even want to say whose truck it is.

  Freaking Kyle.

  I swallow nervously. “Um, my ex-boyfriend’s. I have no idea what he’s doing here—I told him to leave me alone.”

  Roman drives slower still, hands at ten and two on his steering wheel. “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “This past week.” My throat contracts when I take a gulp. “He was outside the locker room when I came out of practice, kind of freaked me out.”

  “Did it scare you?”

  “No—just surprised me. You’d think that, considering he was cheating on me and sleeping with other people, he wouldn’t care that I broke up with him. You’d assume he didn’t actually give a shit, right?”

  “But he does?”

  I shrug. “Guess so. He’s only approached me once since we broke up—which are pretty good odds, considering—and he didn’t follow me to my car from the locker room. I have no idea why he’s trying to win me back.”

  “You’re incredible, that’s why.” Roman says it with such conviction I can do nothing but stare at him. “Maybe he realizes he had a good thing and now he regrets being an asshole.”

  A snort leaves my nose. “That’s called taking someone for granted, and I value myself enough to not let a smooth talker turn my head back the other way after I’ve made my decision. I don’t love him.”

  I don’t think I ever actually did.

  I love the idea of him, but you can’t fall in love with someone’s potential; you fall in love with a person, and we never got to that place in our relationship before he ruined it.

  No.

  He didn’t ruin it.

  He showed his true colors before I wasted too much time, and for that, I should thank him. Thank God I listened to my gut when I saw the signs. Thank God I didn’t fall for his begging.

  Gross.

  “What do you want to do? Should I keep driving?”

  “And then what? We can’t go around the block all night—you said you wanted to get home and study. Plus, I’m tired.”

  But I don’t actually want a confrontation—not tonight.

  I see him biting on his bottom lip. “Do you want me to talk to him for you?”

  I size my new friend up. Even though he’s sitting, Roman isn’t exactly the puny nerd you might envision; he is tall, strapping, and in great shape.

  “I won’t ask you to do that.”

  “If you don’t want to speak with him now, I am not taking you home.” His long fingers tap on the middle console. “Welp, guess that settles it—you’re coming home with me.” He glances over, the glow from the streetlamps above lighting his eyes. “That is, if you’re comfortable with that.”

  I nod. “I would much rather go back to your place than deal with his bullshit for the next thirty minutes, or however long. I’m tired and just want to crawl into bed—you don’t mind if I crawl into bed when I get to your house, do you? I have to be up really early in the morning to work out and condition.”

  My eyes find the time on his dashboard. It’s early enough that technically we could stay up talking until we’re ready to try taking me home—but late enough that I could go to bed and easily fall asleep.

  “Do you guys have a guest bedroom?”

  Roman shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah, but there’s no bed in it.”

  Hmm. “That’s fine. Your bed is comfortable, I can crash there—if you don’t mind.”

  I yawn as I wait for his reply.

  It comes in the form of a “Yeah, that works.”

  I smile, content. And not just because of the warm leftover lasagna and garlic bread at my feet. It’s knowing I’m going back to Roman’s place instead of home to deal with Kyle.

  * * *

  “Roman, are you awake?”

  I can tell by his breathing that he is, but just in case, I whisper it low into the pitch-black room.

  “Psst.”

  Wow. I am really obnoxious.

  Like a child sharing a bedroom with a friend for the first time. Or a young girl at her first sleepover.

  After we arrived home tonight—his home, not mine—I made quick work of removing my makeup, borrowing clean leggings and a sweatshirt from Eliza (who still isn’t home), and climbing into Roman’s comfortably big bed.

  Clean sheets. Down comforter. Fuzzy blanket.

  Plenty of room for the two of us. We don’t even have to touch.

  It’s like sleeping on a cloud in heaven.

  The bed I sleep in at my place is a twin and came with the house, so there isn’t a lot of room to roll around, especially if I have company. No one wants to sleep in a twin bed when they’re part of a couple, so I got used to not spending much time in it while I was dating Kyle.

  Roman’s big bed envelops me, and I hunker down, loving how cozy it feels.

  “I’m awake,” he finally admits into the dark. “I haven’t been able to fall asleep.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry—was I snoring?”

  His chuckle is low. “I would never admit it.”

  I roll to my side, propping my chin up in my hands. “You wouldn’t tell me if I was snoring?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’d be embarrassed.”

  True. “But I want to know if I was snoring.”

  “Do you actually?” His quiet question drifts out of the dark.

  “Yes.” Hmm. “No.”

  He laughs, low and gravelly. It’s a different laugh and a different sound than the one he makes when he’s wide awake. He must be more tired than he realizes because the timbre is deeper.

  “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

  “No,” he says. “I was actually lying here staring up at the ceiling I can’t see in the dark. Sometimes it’s hard for me to fall asleep because I can’t shut my brain off. Is that weird?”

  “No, that’s not weird—sounds totally normal. I think sometimes the only reason I’m able to sleep is because I dance and cheer so hard and we work out in practice so much I’m just so crazy exhausted my body can’t stay awake at night. Otherwise I probably wouldn’t be able to shut my brain off either.”

  Especially now, not lately.

  “I bet you’re exhausted a lot, eh? I haven’t worked out since I got back from being abroad—I’ve totally let that fall to the wayside. I need to get back into the gym.”

  “I would probably let it slide too if it weren’t, like, my job.”

  “Do you consider it a job?”

  I would shrug, but I’m lying on the bed. “Yes, I actually do. I have to perform and cheer in order to earn my scholarship. No performing, no money for school.”

  “That’s exactly what it’s like with an academic scholarship. I’m lucky enough that my parents can pay for most of my school because an academic scholarship doesn’t cover ver
y much. Not everyone is that lucky.”

  I roll over on the bed, fluffing the pillow to get more comfortable, turning in his direction. Toward his voice. “I think part of it has a lot to do with the fact that my mother controls me through cheer. She thinks I’m helpless and wouldn’t have any other options if it weren’t for my scholarships. It’s almost as if she doesn’t think I’m capable of working a job and going to school at the same time.”

  I’m babbling and thinking out loud; I can’t believe I admitted that last part to him—I’ve never told anybody that is how my mom views me. As a little bit helpless and totally dependent.

  Yawning, I tuck my hands under my chin.

  This is my comfy spot; I found the place on the pillow that might actually get me to sleep, temperature is perfect, Roman’s presence is a calming, soothing change.

  He’s giving me my space, hasn’t made a single overture—not that I was expecting him to, but with guys you never know. Ordinarily I wouldn’t volunteer to spend the night at the house of a guy I’ve only just met, but Eliza and Jack live here too. There is safety in knowing that.

  Besides, Roman is my friend.

  He has no designs on me, and I doubt sincerely that he’s even attracted to me romantically.

  He doesn’t even flirt.

  To be fair, I don’t flirt with him either.

  To be honest, I’m a terrible flirt regardless of who I’m trying to flirt with—really the only thing I have going for me is the color of my hair and the size of my boobs; otherwise I’m hopeless. Guys have to come right out and tell me they’re interested before I get the hint.

  I have a feeling Roman would be the same way.

  We lie there listening to the sound of the other breathing, and I’m tempted to check the time but afraid it’s going to be so late I’ll start doing how many more hours of sleep can I still get math, which will only depress me if it’s not a lot.

  The fact that I haven’t even thought about Kyle once this entire time is not lost on me; he just popped into my brain after I’ve been lying here for well over an hour. That’s good news considering he showed up at my house unannounced, which normally would have had my mind reeling with questions.

  I think I’m starting to move on. Yes, it’s only been two weeks, but I’m in a really good place already. Thrilling because it normally takes me more time to get over someone and move on.

  Just goes to show you how insignificant someone actually is in your life even after spending four months in it. What did Kyle bring to the table other than good looks and a hot body? I never actually had fun with him, and the relationship was so stressful.

  “It sounds like you’re thinking really hard over there.”

  I turn my head in Roman’s direction as his voice comes out of the dark. “You can’t hear me thinking, silly.”

  “Sure I can.” He goes quiet again for a few seconds before asking, “So? Am I right?”

  “Yes, you’re right. I am thinking really hard over here but didn’t realize you could hear it.” I laugh quietly, snuggling down deeper. This bed is just so comfortable I could sleep here every night.

  “We deep thinkers recognize other deep thinkers.”

  Roman thinks I’m a deep thinker? For some reason that thought warms my stomach and my cheeks. Does that also mean he thinks I’m smart?

  “I’m sorry if I’m keeping you up,” I tell him somewhat guiltily.

  “You’re not keeping me up—if I was actually tired, I would pass out and be dead to the world. Nothing you could do would be able to wake me up.”

  Nothing? I think to myself with a smile in the dark.

  Not even a blow job?

  Or me fondling his balls?

  I keep these thoughts to myself, knowing they would horrify him—he’s not at all like me in that way. I like sex; it doesn’t seem like that is a priority for him at all.

  Then again, what would I know? I don’t actually really know Roman.

  Still, for him to say nothing could keep him awake or wake him from a slumber makes me want to challenge him. He has no idea what he’s even saying.

  “We should probably try to sleep now, huh?” I don’t want to, but it’s probably for the best. If I keep babbling on, neither of us is going to get any rest. Soon the sun will be up and we will have to wake and get to class or practice or whatever he has to do this morning. I still have to be driven home so I can change and grab my workout gear.

  Bookbag.

  Laptop.

  “Shoot,” I say out loud, breaking my own oath to keep my mouth shut and try to sleep. “Are you okay driving me home in the morning? I’m sorry. I guess I could call an Uber or something.” That would make the most sense, wouldn’t it? So I don’t have to trouble him?

  “I can drive you home. I’m going that way anyway. What time do you have to be on campus?”

  “Not too early, around eight o’clock would be good.”

  “I’m an early riser, so eight is a piece of cake. We should get some sleep though so we’re not exhausted in the morning. I can run us to Starbucks, too, if you like.”

  He is too, too sweet.

  “Roman?” I say his name in the dark, liking the sound of it on my tongue.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for bringing me home with you tonight and for feeding me. That was really nice of you to do. You didn’t have to invite me.”

  “I know I didn’t have to invite you—I wanted to.” He’s silent for a few seconds. “Thanks for tolerating my bizarre family.”

  “Bizarre? They are awesome. I wish my family was half as unique.”

  “Is that your polite way of saying weird?”

  “No, I genuinely think they’re amazing. Especially your dad—he really rolls with the punches, doesn’t he? I can tell nothing fazes him.”

  “Not anymore,” Roman tells me. “Used to be a little higher strung because of his job, but he’s really lightened up in the last few years. My great aunt kind of has a way about her that brings out the best in people. I think my dad is just appreciative of the fact that we’re all healthy and alive.”

  “Did all that change after your grandma died?”

  “Yeah, the big change happened after my grandma died. No one actually wants to move their elderly relatives in with them, but my parents have been great because Aunt Myrtle used to live with my grandma, so you can imagine how lonely and sad she was after she passed. She lost her best friend and kind of went off the deep end, dating and sleeping with all these old dudes to fill that void. So it’s really good for her, too, being in our house.”

  “It must have been difficult for you to move out, huh?”

  I can feel him nod beside me. “Yes. I felt a huge sense of obligation, but I knew it had to happen eventually, and there’s never a good time to make a big change—so I just had to jump in with both feet and do it.”

  He’s brave. I know he had to stand up to his parents in order to move out; you can’t make a bold move like that without support—Roman is living in a house now, which requires money for rent and his share of utilities, plus food and furniture.

  “Obviously my mother didn’t want me moving out—she’s become a little too dependent on me the past few years, counting on me to pick up slack as far as caring for my brother and now caring for Aunt Myrtle, who can be such a pain in the ass.”

  He says this all with a humorous chuckle.

  “I imagine you are really helpful. I wouldn’t want you to move out either.”

  “I guess…but they can’t keep me young forever. I had to grow up eventually.”

  So true. “Growing up sucks.”

  “Adulting sucks.” Roman laughs.

  I roll to my back and speak toward the ceiling. “Hey, who are you calling an adult?”

  “Not us.”

  As I sigh and yawn, my eyes slide closed. “Good night, Roman.” I move my hand across the comforter and feel around for his, fingers touching the flesh on his arm.

  Wordlessly, he e
ntwines his fingers in mine. “Good night, Lilly.”

  9

  ROMAN

  There’s something that occasionally blows about being academically inclined, especially on a Friday night when the world is partying. And by the world I mean the small community of college students, the night young but abuzz with excitement that I am not participating in.

  For the first time since I moved in with them, Jack and Eliza are actually going to a baseball party on Jock Row.

  For the past few hours, they have been getting ready; first eating dinner, then showering, the blow dryer going on several times. Eliza has been in and out of the primary bedroom with different outfits, shouting down over the banister railing to her boyfriend about which blouse she should wear with what jeans.

  I listen from my desk, pencil poised above graph paper. I’m working on a design for an engineering class—a concept car that will be used for a final paper. It will take me weeks to design, and I can’t afford any more time away from the project—I’ve already taken off a few days moving my things into this house. So tonight I’m staying in.

  They both invited me several times, which was nice, but I just…can’t. I mean, I could; it’s been so long since I’ve been to a party, but to be honest, my social anxiety may be kicking in, too.

  Eliza is laughing from the bedroom, and I hear Jack in the kitchen cracking open what’s most likely a soda—he loves Sprite—before he bounds back up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  Sticks his head in my open door. “Sure you don’t want to come, Rome?”

  I nod, putting a smile on. “Thanks for the invitation, but…” I glance down at my work, at the papers spread over the small desk. “I shouldn’t. I’m behind on this work.”

  He shakes his head. “You’re too serious, mate. Have a little fun.”

  I do have fun—just not the same kind of fun. “I’ll think about it. Maybe I’ll change my mind.”

  “You’re full of shite.” He laughs. “But that’s alright, we’ll let you off the hook this time.”

  All of a sudden Jack gets jostled, a new figure appearing in the doorway that is not his girlfriend. It’s Lilly. Without an invitation, she enters my room and puts her hands on her hips.