by Tillie Cole
“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.
Her fingers skirted up my arm and she said, “Not to be rude, but this conversation is kind of bringing me down, Rome. Death and Budweiser should never go together.”
She was trying to joke, but I had no humor for the shit hand she’d been dealt. I’d sensed that pain within her in class, but fuck, not the level she was at.
“So you and Shelly?” She interrupted my thoughts with the worst topic possible.
“Good subject change,” I answered dryly.
“Well, there had to be a reason she was so pissed at our kiss. Even if it was just for the initiation.”
“We’re… complicated.” I never talked about this, not even with Ally. But she’d shared who she was and for the first time ever, I wanted to do the same.
“That sounds like a copout if ever I’ve heard one.”
“Nah, not a copout. She’s been hounding me since sixth grade. Our families are pushing for an engagement. You know, to protect their investments, keep the company’s money in the family. Our fathers are business partners. I don’t even fucking like her. She’s a big old thorn in my side.” That was putting it mildly.
“But… are you going to go through with it? The engagement, I mean. I’m surprised you’d settle down with someone you don’t want. Or even settle down at all, if the rumors are to be believed.”
And there it was. The shit that came with being me had already reached her ears, in a matter of hours. The gossip mill doing its job to fucking perfection. Time to set her straight, share a few home truths.
“Fuckin’ rumors. Look, girls just throw themselves at me. When it’s offered, I take it. Why the hell not? I don’t have a girlfriend, never have. Sex helps me calm down from being so riled up all the time and shows folks that I’m definitely not with Shelly. I won’t apologize for it. I just like to fuck a lot and never the same girl twice.” I saw her jaw drop, but she’d asked. It was the truth. “My parents have a set plan. I’m expected to graduate, marry Shelly, take over the family business, and live the American fuckin’ dream.”
“So you don’t want to play football professionally? I thought I heard that you were destined for big things?”
That completely changed my mood. “Yeah, I do want to play. I love it. It’s as natural to me as breathing—the rush, the camaraderie, the roar of the crowd on game day, popping the perfect shot for a touchdown. My parents don’t support it. They just… Hell, it don’t matter. I just fucking hate my life being dictated by my folks, that’s all.” Saying something, telling someone about them, was helping, ridding me of my anger.
“Then do what you want. Screw everyone else,” she said, as simple as that.
“Easier said than done.”
Her soft hand squeezed mine. “You can’t live your life for other people, Rome. You have to do things that you want, achieve your dreams, in any way you want to do it. If you’re happy, then your parents surely will be too, and if not, they’ll get over it in time. Don’t be with someone you dislike like Shelly. Be with a girl you can’t resist, who you truly want above anyone else. Someone you connect with.”
What was she trying to say? “Like you, Mol…? A girl like you?”
“You don’t even know me.” She was pushing me away, so I said the first thing that came to mind, running my finger down her cheek, loving the effect it had on her breathing. “It only took Romeo one look at Juliet and his fate was sealed. Maybe I’m just like my namesake, and maybe you’re just like yours.”
Smooth, Rome, real smooth. Oh, and I was sure that comment was an instant deduction of a thousand man-points, but it had the desired effect. She wanted me, and shit, at that moment, I wanted her too.
Placing my hand on her bare knee, I continued running it up her thigh, the heat of her skin increasing the closer I got to between her legs. My cock was as hard as granite as I watched those plump lips part, and I moved in, about to take her, when the fucking door handle began to shake. “Rome? Rome? Open up! I know you’re in there!”
Molly sucked in a breath and, knocking my hand from her thigh, straightened her toga.
Ruined.
“Fuck!” I screamed, turning and launching my beer into the trash, hearing the glass shatter.
“That girl!” Molly hissed and stared at me, looked me dead in the eye, waiting for me to say something. As I stared at her hopeful face, reality came crashing down. What the hell was I doing? Molly was damaged, too damaged to be just a fuck. From everything she’d told me, meaningless sex would just be cruel, and shit, I couldn’t give her anything more. I needed to get the hell out of Bama—had to—and being with a girl that wasn’t Shelly was just going cause a shit storm of problems with my folks.
Nothing was worth that.
“I’m going to go, Rome,” she finally said with a disappointed sigh. “I’ll leave you with her. It’s probably for the best.”
“Mol—” I started, but she was probably right. It was for the
best.
But when she walked past, something in me clicked, and I grabbed her hand, smashing her into my chest. Her golden eyes were huge as she stared up at me, waiting… just fucking waiting for something. “I liked talking to you, Shakespeare. It was different…” I eventually confided with a strained voice.
Gripping her toga, I pulled her closer to me, holding the back of her neck in my hand, but her expectant gaze told me she needed more.
Her face dropped as I stalled, and she said disappointedly, “You too, Romeo. But our little conversation seems to have come to an end. I imagine it’s probably for the best anyhow.”
Before I could stop her, she pulled away, walking to the bedroom, and I followed. Mol pulled on the handle and the door burst open, Shelly came running straight toward me, jumping into my arms and crushing her fat lips against mine. “I want you, Rome. Fuck me, right here, right now.”
Her legs tightened around my waist and she began grinding her panty-less crotch against my jeans. Clasping the top of her arms, I pushed her back, my attention honing in on the door. It was shut, and Molly was gone.
Fuck!
Turning, I threw Shelly off me and onto the bed. “What the fuck, Shel?” I hissed.
She wobbled to her knees, smiling, her red lipstick smeared all over her teeth. “Daddy called, told me we’re getting hitched next July. I wanted to celebrate with you.”
Something within me broke, and Molly’s advice circled my brain. You can’t live your life for other people, Rome. You have to do things that you want, achieve your dreams, in any way you want to do it.
She was right. Fuck, she was right! What the hell was I doing?
Staring at Shelly on the bed, I asked, “Why do you want to marry me, Shel? You don’t love me. I don’t love you. What’s the pull?”
“I do love you! I always have,” she slurred.
Shaking my head in exasperation, I argued. “No, you love the idea of me. Fuck, Shel, you don’t even know me. How can you love me? How can you want this friggin’ engagement? Don’t you want a man who’ll love you back?”