Sweet Rome (Sweet Home)

by Tillie Cole

  Some unworthy fucker’d had my Mol.

  “When did this happen?” I asked through slightly gritted teeth.

  “When I was at Oxford. Oliver and I—”

  “Oliver?” I interrupted.

  Her eyebrows drew together and she said, “Yeah, Oliver Bartholomew.”

  I couldn’t help it, but I laughed, my anger put aside for a minute. The way she said that fucking pompous-ass English name was comical. Bartholomew? Fuck, and I thought Romeo Prince was bad enough.

  “What?” she questioned, seeming pretty pissed at me.

  Clearing my throat and trying my damndest to hide my smile with my hand, I said, “Oliver Bartholomew? Very… British.”

  Her eyes narrowed behind those thick lenses and she stressed, “He is British! As am I! Quit making fun!”

  With a frustrated groan, Molly turned her back to me, causing me to swallow my friggin’ laughter and pull her back into my chest. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head in admonishment, but when she threw a small smile, I knew we were good.

  “So Oliver, was he your boyfriend?” I asked, suddenly in that weird state of mind where you don’t want to know the answer but desperately need it at the same time.

  “Yeah, I suppose. I tried to have him as a boyfriend anyway.”

  “Tried?” I questioned at the strange response.

  Her lashes fluttered as her eyes quickly met mine, and she said, “Yeah. I… I don’t really get close to people. I tried with him, but in the end, I just couldn’t do it. We’d been sort of dating for a few months—coffee dates, study partners, that type of thing—and I decided to just take the next step, just get it over with. He wanted it badly. I was indifferent. So I thought why not? Olly was sweet to me and I liked him well enough. The sex—not so much.”

  “What? You didn’t like sex?” I almost shouted. How could anyone not like sex?

  Her face went as red as my damn Tide jersey, and she admitted, “It was awkward, fumbled, and not everything it was hyped up to be.”

  “Olly just didn’t do it right.”

  Meeting her eyes, I said, “I imagine with you, Shakespeare, it’d be like nothing else. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my damned life—to taste you, feel you… hear you scream my name.” The pulse in her neck set off thumping like a drum and that pull we both felt began drawing us back in.

  “Romeo—” She edged away, but I pulled on her arm to keep her close.

  “I’ll stop, but I won’t hide the fact that I want it real bad, Shakespeare. Real fuckin’ bad.”

  I watched as her thighs clenched together and my cock slammed against my fly. Things were too tense, but Molly managed to diffuse the moment by thrusting a pillow over her head, warning, “We need to find something to do, Rome. I really need distracting right now!”

  Pulling back the pillow, holding in my laughter, I said, “You’ve stolen my line, Shakespeare. Ain’t I the one that’s meant to say that to you?”

  “Probably, but I’m about ready to jump your bones and would prefer not to tonight if it could be helped. I’d like it if I didn’t go from near-virgin to slut after one night in your friggin’ company!”

  Unable to stop laughing this time, I creased up, falling on my back and pulled her to drape over my chest. “What should we do, then, near-virgin, just so you don’t give in and jump my bones? Although, it’s mighty tempting for me to just let you do your thing.”

  “I have just the thing, if you’re game?”

  She put on friggin’ Monty Python.

  We watched the movie. I actually watched a movie with a girl and made no move to seduce her… much. I still caught a kiss and the occasional feel, but most surprising, I liked just chilling with Mol. It kind of felt like I was twelve again, on some first date that I’d never had, but it was good… It made me feel kinda normal.

  That was until I fucked up by taking offense at her joke.

  I was just tipping the last of the popcorn in my mouth when Molly ripped the bowl from my hands. “You’re meant to be an athlete! Isn’t that an overload of starchy-carby crappiness for you or something? You’ve polished it all off, you greedy bugger!”

  Snorting out a laugh, I flexed my bicep, catching Mol’s small, impressed gasp, and said, “I’m a fucking machine, Shakespeare. Popcorn’s no match for me!”

  “Sorry, I forgot I was talking to the Bullet!” she quipped, but her words felt like a cold bucket of water being dumped on my head.

  “Don’t,” I hissed, losing all humor.

  “Allaaabbbaaammmmaaa!!! Get to your feet for your hometown quarterback, Romeo… ‘Bullet’… Prince! ‘There’s a bullet in the gun. There’s a fire in your heart. You will move all mountains that stand in your path…’” Molly was laughing as she sang that damn song the IT guys always played in Bryant-Denny whenever I was on the big screen, but all I felt was annoyed. She wasn’t getting the hint that I was serious.

  Taking hold of her wrists, I pulled her forward until her eyes met mine and growled, “Quit it, Shakespeare. Fuck!”

  Almost choking on her words, she sat back. “I’m only kidding. You don’t have to be so bloody grumpy with me.”

  Shit. I hadn’t meant to be, but I hated that bastard name. Bullet, it was almost as bad as Romeo. I hated the football hype so damn much; it’d always just made shit at home that much worse.

  Taking another look at Molly’s hurt face, I sighed. “I know, sorry, but I fucking hate all that shit. You don’t know how much. I don’t want to be the Bullet to you. You’re the first person to ever not be affected by all the football fame. To you… I just want to be Rome.”

  Molly got me. She got I didn’t want to go into why the football fame bothered me so much, and moving us away from that uncomfortable topic, she asked, “So… MVP?”

  “Yeah. Crazy considering I couldn’t hit a truck for the first half.”

  How did I tell her that seeing her in the stands changed everything, without revealing too much about my feelings? How could I tell her she was the first person to ever pull through for me without having to explain my past and my folks?

  I just couldn’t find the words. So instead, I just filled her in on the locker room talk. “The fans and team are pumped, saying it’s because of you. That you’re my good luck charm, all from that one sweet kiss.”

  And then she flipped the fuck out, shooting to sitting position, fighting for breath and rubbing at her chest. It looked like she was having a damn heart attack.

  “What? What’s wrong? What did I say?” I asked frantically.

  Her eyes were as big as the fucking moon and she tried to speak but nothing came out. My heart took off beating too fast, so I held her hand, and watched as she calmed the heck down, color coming back to her pale face. I stared down at our joined hands in confusion, wondering what the fuck had just happened?

  “What is it, Mol? Tell me.” I pushed, needing some explanation of why she just nearly collapsed.

  Taking a deep breath, she said, “I’m sorry, it’s just something my Grandma used to say to me. It took me back to those days. I panicked. I-I just… I was just surprised when you said it. Of all the ways to say what you did, you quoted her word for word.”

  “What did she say to you? What did I say?”

  Smiling a broken smile, she said softly, “That I had sweet kisses. Grandma would say one sweet kiss from me would make any problem just that little bit easier.”

  “I believe she might be right. She must have been a wise woman because that’s exactly what you did for me tonight at the game.”

  “She was. She was everything to me.” Tears fell from her eyes as her fingers tightened against mine. “We used to say we were a matching set. When she died, she took half my soul with her. I don’t like to think of my past too much… It kills me to remember all that I’ve lost.”

  I stayed silent. There are no words to comfort someone who’d lost those closest. So I just let her get it all out as I pressed her into
my side, lying back against the bed, using my touch to keep her calm. Fuck. My touch had kept her calm.

  “So you walked out of your own party?” Molly eventually asked as I stared at the ceiling, realizing she actually may be as fucked up as me.

  “You weren’t there.”

  Molly shuffled her legs to face me and nervously asked, “Do I matter that much to you?”

  I wanted to laugh in her face, convinced that if she only knew the severity of my obsession with her, she’d run for the fucking hills.

  “Do you really not know?”

  She shook her head no, so pushing her back into the mattress, I confessed, “I like the way you are with me. I like me when I’m with you. I feel like I could tell you anything, that I could bear my fuckin’ black soul. You make me feel… well… you know… You get me?” I was such a douche and evidently no good at all the romantic shit.

  But a finger stroked down my cheek, and smiling so damn big, Molly said, “I get you, Romeo.”

  We stayed that way for a while, just talking. She apologized for our showdown at the lecture, admitting that she was pissed at me after believing I’d slept with Shelly. I told her the truth, that I was done with everyone but her, and she seemed more than happy with that fact.

  After a time, music began blaring from the backyard and it was clear that the party was only getting bigger. I didn’t complain, though, because Molly asked me to stay—only to sleep! she’d stated—and I couldn’t have felt happier.

  Molly moved into bed, nervously biting her thumb and watching every move I made. When I got in bed beside her and that tight ass of hers began grinding into my cock, it took all my might to edge forward and whisper, “We need to try and sleep or things will get out of control. I only have so much restraint.”

  “O-okay,” she whispered back, and I wrapped my arm around her waist as she tucked herself farther against me.

  It felt so damn right.

  “Night, Shakespeare,” I said quietly.

  “Night, Romeo,” she replied, and I couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief.

  She stiffened at my amusement, so I quickly explained. “I actually like the sound of my name on your lips. Something I never thought would happen. I think it’s the English accent. It sounds all proper, like the way Shakespeare intended. No one calls me Romeo, has ever called me Romeo. I don’t allow it. But weirdly, I like it when you do.”

  I heard her exhale and felt her trying to turn and face me. For some reason I couldn’t let her, too overcome with emotion to have her meet my eyes, to see the demons I fought in my gaze. But when she whispered, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet; so Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d.” I felt like I couldn’t breathe. The memories, the pain that name stirred in me was too much.

  “Don’t… please…” I begged, unable to tell her why that name was such a burden.

  “Why don’t you allow it?”

  “Long story,” I evaded, my panic now rising to the surface.

  “We have time.”

  “Not now,” I said harsher than I meant to, but I just couldn’t go there yet. Maybe not ever. It was just too much.

  Molly sighed in disappointment, but I was thankful when she changed the subject and asked, “What does the tattoo on your ribs say?”

  “The greatest accomplishment is not in never falling, but in rising again when you fall. It’s Vince Lombardi.”

  “It’s beautiful. This Vince Lombardi philosopher must be good. Why have I never heard of him?” And just like that, she pulled me out of a bad place. Only Molly had ever been able to do that for me… It was addicting.

  “What now?” she groaned, clearly over me laughing at every little thing she said wrong.

  “He was a football coach. A very famous football coach.”

  “Oh. I really need to get up to speed on all things football.”

  “I’d like it if you didn’t. You’re not impressed by the hoopla that comes with me playing and I never want you to be either. It’s better if you don’t know in depth what it all means to folks round here.”

  “You mean you really don’t want me to call you Bullet?”

  “Fuck no.”

  “Whatever makes you happy.”

  I swear she was going to kill me. “Sleep, Mol, or we’ll end up doing what makes me incredibly fuckin’ happy.”

  “One more question, then I’ll sleep.”

  Squeezing her tightly, I said, “One more. You’re pushing your luck.”

  “Why One Day?”

  Memories of getting that tattoo on my hip played through my mind, and finally taking a risk, I told her what I’d never told anyone else. “That I’d leave this place, one day. Be my own person, one day. Do what I want… one day.”

  Molly’s hand tightened in mine. “Has it always been so bad for you?”

  I couldn’t, I just couldn’t speak about that topic, some weird force within me stealing my voice, so I replied, “That was two questions, Shakespeare. I agreed to one. Now sleep.”

  “Romeo? I don’t want everyone to know about us yet. I want to keep our relationship to ourselves,” Molly suddenly blurted when I was halfway to sleep.

  Anger zapped through me at an alarming rate, snapping me awake, and I had to move, sitting on the side of the bed. “I get it. You’re embarrassed to be with me. Bullet, the aggressive, whoring QB—not boyfriend material, right? But good for a few fucks in secret…” I hated the way I was speaking—harsh, malicious—but her saying that made me feel ashamed. She didn’t think I was worthy of being with her in public.

  Molly’s warm breath spread on my back and her arms wrapped around my waist. “What? No! I… I’m just nervous!” she said, panicked.

  Feeling like a weight had been lifted, I turned, taking her hands, and asked, “Nervous of what?”

  She took her hand back and smoothed down her thick hair and the hem of her nightgown. “Look, I’m not what you go for. I don’t look like the others—polished, perfect, twenty-twenty vision. Please can we just wait a bit longer before the whole campus finds out? For my sake? It’s going to take some adjustment on my part to be with you. I just need some time.”

  Awesome, I thought. The only girl I want to have on my arm for all the world to see, and she wants to hide away in secret.

  Karma’s a bitch.

  Pressing my head to hers, I said, “I want to show everyone I’m with you now. I’m not fucking hiding us, and I don’t give a shit what people think. As for my past, that’s not what I want with you. I want more. Don’t you get that by now? Christ!”

  “Please. Just for a while. You’re Romeo Prince. Your… reputation scares me a little. Let’s just be us in private for a while, see how it goes without anyone else interfering.”

  “Fuck, Mol!” I shouted a bit too loud. I was pissed. Yeah, my reputation was as a bit of a scary fucker, but I was different with her, and I’d happily knock out anyone who tried to say otherwise. I would protect her.

  “Please,” she begged again, and hell, I couldn’t resist those pleading eyes. No way was I giving her up. If we had to stay secret for now, I’d just have to friggin’ adjust.

  Meeting Molly’s apprehensive gaze, I snapped out, “Fine! We’ll keep it quiet… I don’t fuckin’ like it, but I’ll do it for you, even if the thought of us being a secret makes me want to punch someone square in the face.”

  A fucking secret.

  Perfect.

  Hell, this was not going to be fun…

  13

  My cell vibrated in my pocket, and fishing it out, my mood instantly soured. “Daddy, nice of you to call again,” I said sarcastically as I made my way through the college to the cafeteria for lunch, my muscles still aching from my weight session.

  “It’s a good day, Rome! Martin Blair has approved the prenup. When you marry Shelly, Martin will finally retire and gift you thirty percent of his fifty percent share as a wedding present. He’s been wanting to leave for a
while now, and you taking over the day-to-day running of the business beside me is exactly what we’ve wanted! Full Prince control.”

  I’d never heard my daddy sound so friggin’ happy—me, though, I was just seething.

  “What you’ve wanted,” I immediately stressed.

  “What?” he snapped, his moment of elation soon forgotten.

  Bracing for the aftermath, I said, “What you’ve wanted. I’ve told you once and I won’t keep repeating it: I’m. Not. Marrying. Shel!”

  Silence reigned strong. Then, surprising me, he asked calmly, “What can I do to change your mind? What do you want? Whatever will make this happen, I’ll do for you, get for you.”

  That shocked me to the point that I couldn’t move. Was the great Joseph Prince actually trying to negotiate?

  Nipping the bridge of my nose, I replied, “Nothing. Nothing will change my mind. I’m sorry, Daddy, I know you think I’m failing in my duty as your son. But it’s my life and I won’t marry someone for the sake of your already stupidly rich business… I won’t marry just so you can get more money… I’m not cut out for that life. Football is what I’ll be doing in the future.”

  A deep cough sounded on the other side of the line and he said, “You’re not going to change your mind about this? Am I getting this right?”

  Blowing out a fortifying breath, I answered, “No. I’m not going to change my mind.”

  “Then have it your way.”

  I froze, looking, unseeing, through the cafeteria windows. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “You’ve made your choice. Now you’ll have to live with it. I won’t pander to you.”

  “What does that fuckin’ mean?” I barked out again, trying to keep my voice low, as students around me began to stare in my direction.

  I realized the phone had gone dead and, seeing the trash can before me, yelled out in frustration and sent the damn tin cylinder flying across the sidewalk with a huge kick. Shocked squeals from surrounding girls only infuriated me more, and, ripping into the cafeteria, ignoring the questioning looks from other people, I slumped down on my chair, staring, lost in thought, at the plastic tabletop.