Jock Romeo

by Sara Ney

  For the last week I’ve been consumed with Kyle and the betrayal I felt after finding out he was cheating on me, the feelings so overwhelming I assumed there would be no getting over them.

  It’s not like I was in love with him, but something about seeing his faithlessness with my own eyes is going to leave a mark on my soul forever. I certainly learned not to put my happiness in someone else’s hands—and I learned it the hard way.

  It was so cute the way Roman fed me in the kitchen at Eliza’s house the other night, fussing over me to make sure I ate. To make sure I had enough to eat before I left the house. It was really nice of him to invite me along to his parents’ house in the first place, a stranger he’s only just met.

  What a kind person.

  I can’t believe we met all those years ago and lost touch.

  What did you expect, Lilly? It’s not as if you move in the same crowds. The last place Roman wants to be is at a crowded party with a bunch of superficial snobs.

  “Hey.”

  A hand touches my shoulder and I jump a mile high, gasping like a freak. “Oh jeezuz!”

  “Sorry, I said your name twice.” It’s Rome, and he’s lumbering on the balls of his feet, shifting his weight between the two, appearing mighty uncomfortable. Regretful.

  Probably wishing he hadn’t approached me. Ugh.

  “I am so sorry, I was thinking and didn’t hear you.” Thinking about you. “Want to sit?”

  Stuffing the cereal treat in my mouth and using my teeth to hold it, I immediately begin clearing room for him at my table, removing both my backpack and banana peel.

  Awkwardly, I hold the peel between my index finger and thumb, not sure what to do with the slimy thing.

  “Here.” Roman takes it from me and tosses it into a nearby trash bin before pulling out the seat next to me and joining me.

  “Thanks.”

  I brush a strand of hair behind my ears; I can feel them getting hot and hope they’re not beet red.

  “Thanks for letting me join you—I don’t hang out here often, so it’s nice to find a familiar face.”

  I fiddle with the marshmallow cereal treat in front of me, picking at the clear plastic wrapper half of it is still wrapped in. “I don’t hang out here that often, either. I was too lazy to go to the other cafeteria.”

  “There’s another cafeteria?”

  “Well, yeah, but it’s in the stadium for the athletic department.” My tone is apologetic, though it’s hardly my fault he’s not allowed to eat there. “It’s a hike, one I wasn’t in the mood to make even though I have practice there later.”

  “Ahh.” He nods in understanding. “That’s cool.”

  “Are you hungry at all?” I hold out my tasty treat as an offering. “Want some?”

  Roman studies the cereal bar, shaking his head. Raises his eyes and scans the perimeter. “I should probably eat something substantial. I have a physics class in a half hour that has a lab directly afterward.”

  Physics and a lab?

  Blech.

  “A burger sounds good, eh?”

  It does. I didn’t want to wait in the line before, but I see it’s not as long now. Two people stand at the grill, patiently waiting.

  Roman catches me watching. I’m positive there’s no drool coming from the side of my mouth, but to be sure, I swipe a finger there.

  “Want anything?” He’s rising, pulling his student ID card from the pocket of his jeans. “My treat.”

  “You can’t keep feeding me—I’m like a stray cat.” But… “Um, a burger if you don’t mind? With, um—pickles? And mayo?”

  “Anything else?”

  “Tomato.”

  Roman laughs. “One burger with pickles, tomato, and mayo. Anything else?”

  “Nope, that’s good.” My stomach growls even though I just fed it. “I’ll hold down the fort.”

  I trail my gaze after him when he walks off, studying his backside. The jeans fit perfectly, not too baggy, not too long, not too tight. Bright blue hoodie. Red sneakers. Hair twisted up in a knot, pulled back off his face.

  He doesn’t look like a science geek today; he looks like he could be on a team. He’s fit, that much is obvious, and not just from my observations today—I couldn’t help noticing the other night when I was in his kitchen, eating his leftovers, doing my best not to notice how fit he is.

  A girl can look, can’t she?

  I watch him order, gesturing and smiling.

  His smile is…

  Wide and friendly, and the girl at the counter dips her head, embarrassed as she punches his order into the computer, biting down on her bottom lip, sneaking a glance or two.

  Yeah, he’s pretty darn cute.

  I mean—if a person was looking and interested. Which I’m not.

  Because I’m on a break.

  I feel a certain kind of way watching Roman interact with the girl at the counter. I know he’s just ordering us something to snack on, but seeing the other girl get flustered in his presence makes me…proud or something? He’s totally oblivious to her, but I know he’s shy around girls—I know this because when I winked at him the night he dropped the box, he dropped it because I was flirting and it flustered him. A guy who does that is not overly confident when it comes to the opposite sex.

  His phone rings on the table, and I see that it’s his mother.

  MOM it says across the screen, a selfie of Rome and an older woman lighting up the screen. She’s a little shorter than he is, and he’s standing with his arm around her in a side hug, looking like the Roman I met three years ago with the nerdy glasses, short hair, and an awkward pose.

  His mother is beautiful, with a bright vibrant smile and blonde hair.

  The call disconnects and his screen goes black.

  It only takes a few minutes for him to return, and when he does, he sets our burgers down along with a few napkins, a few packets of ketchup, and two knives.

  “Thank you, Roman.” It was gracious of him to pay; he needn’t have.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Is he blushing? Looks like it.

  Unwrapping his burger, he cuts it in half and politely picks up one side, gingerly taking a bite. I watch him chew before doing the same.

  His phone rings again.

  Rome glances down at it and raises his brows; he doesn’t answer the call from his mother.

  This is the second time she’s called—I wonder if I should say something. What if there’s an emergency? Surely he sees the call from before.

  It’s killing me not to point it out. Just in case. “That’s the second time your mom has called. I’m not trying to be nosey, but it rang while you were getting us lunch—I just don’t want you to miss it in case there’s an emergency.”

  I’m a worrier, sue me.

  Roman finishes chewing and swallowing before responding. “Yeah. She calls a lot.” He takes a napkin and wipes his mouth. “I love her to death, but she hovers. She’s having a hard time with me being gone.”

  Well not answering her phone calls probably makes her anxiety worse…not that it’s any of my business.

  We eat in companionable silence, my burger moist and delicious and exactly what I needed, especially with all this tart mayonnaise and ketchup smothered on it. I haven’t had anything this greasy in a long time, and I close my eyes during the next bite.

  Mmm.

  My bliss is interrupted by ringing, and I crack an eyelid to spy Roman shaking his head down at his phone.

  I can’t stand it anymore. “You really should answer that. Now I’m worried something might be wrong. This is the third time she’s tried calling.”

  “She’s not calling me—she’s FaceTiming me.” Roman chews and swallows.

  FaceTiming him? That’s next level. “I think you should answer it.”

  He hesitates for a few seconds, and I give him a nod.

  “Go on, answer it.”

  He grumbles, mumbling under his breath about “helicopter parents and n
othing is wrong she’s just clingy” before picking up the phone, gripping it in his large hand, thumb pressing down on the accept button. He holds it up at face level and pastes on a labored smile. “Hey, Mom. Is everything okay?”

  “Hey sweetie, I was just thinking about you!” A woman’s cheerful voice carries across our small table, her happy greeting at odds with her son’s stiff posture. “How’s my baby?”

  Roman’s eyes dart in my direction, and I hide my grin in the collar of my hooded sweatshirt, pretending not to be eavesdropping. I mean—it’s impossible not to. He has his phone out in the union held up for everyone around him to see.

  “Mom, I have class today,” he mutters miserably. “You called three times, so I was worried there was an emergency. Is everything okay?”

  “Of course everything is okay. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Oh Lord.

  “For starters, we have a geriatric aunt living with us. Also, I have a pre-adolescent brother who is a handful, and you just called me three times in the middle of the day. Why wouldn’t I think something might be wrong?”

  “Can’t a mother just call because she misses her son?” I can hear the pout in her voice.

  “You could’ve just texted instead and I would’ve called you back when I had a chance.”

  “But look, we’re talking now,” she says cheerily. “What are you up to, honey? Are you in the cafeteria?”

  “No, I’m in the student union having lunch.”

  “When is your next class?”

  “In a half hour, but I don’t have much time to finish eating.”

  “What are you eating, dear?”

  “Burger.”

  I continue eating mine, shoulders bent, head down, fixating on my own snack and not what’s happening across from me…

  …but man is it difficult.

  “Are you with anyone?” I hear his mother ask.

  “Anyone where?”

  “Are you eating lunch with anyone?” his mom clarifies.

  “The room is pretty packed.” Roman’s eyes dart across the table and meet mine.

  I smirk and shove hamburger in my mouth.

  “Roman Henry,” his mother chastises, displeased that he’s being cheeky.

  “No ma’am, I’m not sitting here alone.”

  Ma’am. So formal and polite.

  “Oh, did I interrupt something? Who’s your friend?”

  Roman didn’t tell her he was with a friend. All he said was that he wasn’t alone—and when he looks up at me, I can tell he’s embarrassed to be talking about it in front of me. His mom is kind of talking to him like he’s a baby or someone who has no friends, which I know not to be true.

  “My friend,” he says slowly, meeting my eyes above the table.

  “Yes honey, but who are you with? One of your friends from school?”

  “Just a friend, Mom, not one from high school.”

  “I want to meet him,” she continues stubbornly.

  Roman’s face gets red as he clears his throat. “It’s not a he, it’s a she.” He takes his phone and twists his wrist so he’s pointing the camera in my direction. “There, are you satisfied?”

  “Wait, turn the phone back!” She’s shouting. “Who was that? Was that a girl?”

  “Mom, she can hear you—lower your voice.”

  “But who is that, sweetie? Turn the phone around so I can see her again. She looked pretty—is she your girlfriend?”

  “I’m not dating every girl I’m friends with.”

  “But you’re so handsome—who wouldn’t want to date my baby boy?”

  Oh man, this poor guy. I feel really bad for him right now; she will not let the subject go.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him. “I’ll say hi.”

  He doesn’t look convinced or reassured that his mother is going to let this rest once I say hello.

  Standing, I cross to his side of the table, resting my hands gently on his shoulders as I lean forward, getting ample screen time.

  Give his mother a little wave and a pleasant, friendly smile.

  Her eyes widen and her intake of breath is audible. It has my own face turning hot, wondering if this was a mistake. He knows his mother better than I do—what if she makes more of this than it is? (Which is nothing.)

  “Hi Mrs…”

  I glance down at Roman, waiting for him to supply his last name, our faces mere inches apart.

  “Whitaker,” his mom answers for him.

  “Hi, Mrs. Whitaker. My name is Lilly. Roman gave me some of your spaghetti the other night, and it was wonderful—some of the best spaghetti I’ve ever had. And I consider myself a connoisseur.” I laugh good-naturedly.

  I’m a people person; I may be shit when it comes to picking out men worthy of my time and affection, but I’m hella great with parents.

  And old people.

  Also: small children and pets.

  Mrs. Whitaker’s eyes flit back and forth from me to Roman and Roman to me, and it’s clear she is stunned and not sure what to say. It takes her a few seconds to gather her wits, and she sits up a little bit straighter in her chair. It looks as though she must be in the kitchen or in a dining room, seated at a table the same way we are seated at a table, though one is certainly more formal.

  “You’ve tried my spaghetti?” She looks at Roman again. “You should have come to dinner on Sunday night. Roman, why didn’t you invite her to dinner on Sunday night?”

  His body sags beneath my palms. “I did, Mom.”

  “I would’ve loved to come for dinner, Mrs. Whitaker, but I was in a bit of a slump and wanted some alone time.” I’m still smiling over his shoulder, the clean, freshly showered smell of him filling my nostrils, and mmm…it’s a bit distracting, honestly. “It was really nice of your son to bring me leftovers though. His new roommates are some of my best friends—that’s how we met.”

  I’m assuming that’s something she was about to ask, how the two of us met, so I fill in the blanks for him.

  Guys are so different from girls; while Roman just sits there staring at his mother, I already know she wants actual details about our relationship.

  She’s a woman and I’m a woman—details are my jam.

  “Where are you from, Lilly?”

  “Plainfield, just four hours from here. Give or take, depending on who’s driving.”

  His mother nods, grinning from ear to ear. “And you met Rome through friends?”

  “Yes, his new roommate Eliza used to be my roommate.”

  “And now you and Rome are having lunch together?”

  Oh boy. “Yes, ma’am. We happened to bump into each other while I was sitting here. He bought me a burger.” I lift the burger from its paper wrapper and hold it up for the camera. Beside me, Roman groans.

  Mrs. Whitaker looks thrilled. “He bought you a burger? That was so sweet.”

  It really was.

  “He’s very thoughtful.”

  Roman’s mother slowly bobs her head up and down at my words, and I know she’s trying to decipher them. Very thoughtful—friend zone thoughtful or romantic interest thoughtful?

  Put that out of your mind, ma’am. We are not going to be dating simply because your son bought me lunch in the student union.

  Mrs. Whitaker seems exactly like the type of mother who is dying to have grandkids even though her son is still in college and barely of legal drinking age. She’s also probably the type of mother who brings up wanting grandchildren all the time, and I don’t doubt for a second that seeing me on her son’s phone screen is filling her with all kinds of hope.

  She’s probably already planning our wedding even though she’s just heard my name for the first time and Roman and I aren’t dating, let alone boyfriend and girlfriend.

  “What are you doing on Sunday? We have family dinner at our house and I would love to invite you.”

  “Mom,” Roman chastises with embarrassment in his tone.

  “What? I can invite your friends for dinner!”
>
  “No, you can’t just invite my friends to dinner.”

  “Why not?”

  “You don’t even know if she’s got anything going on,” he says stiffly. “I don’t want her to feel pressured.”

  They’re discussing the matter as if I’m not standing right here listening to the entire conversation. But to ease Roman’s obviously troubled mind about it, I paste a smile on my face and gently say, “Thank you for the invitation, Mrs. Whitaker. I’ll definitely think about it. I have a lot going on—I’m a cheerleader, so I’ll have to check the schedule and see if I’m in town.”

  Her eyes get wide. “A cheerleader? Oh, how exciting! Don’t you just love it?”

  It’s the same question most people ask, more of a conversation filler than a question they expect an elaborate, detailed answer to.

  “Yes,” I tell her simply—because it would be too complicated for me to explain I feel forced into it by years of financial investment and time commitment on my family’s behalf, because my mother wanted me to be a star.

  Basically, she wanted me to be the next JoJo Siwa, and we all know that’s not happening. So a simple yes will have to do in this case.

  “Well, Lilly, it was wonderful meeting you. You’re so pretty!”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Whitaker,” I say with a blush spreading to my cheeks, briefly wondering if her son feels the same way she does.

  “I’ll let you kids get back to your lunch. I know you have to get to class soon.” She looks to her son, and I back away and take my seat on the other side of the table, still listening. “Call me later, would you?”

  No doubt when he does, she’s going to grill him with a hundred questions about me.

  Once Rome has ended the call, we sit in silence as he gathers himself. I can see he is unsure of what to say simply based on his body language, the hunched shoulders and the self-conscious way he sets his phone on the table then slides it into the center.

  It certainly looks as if he’s searching for words to fill the silence.

  He has absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about; his mom was acting like a typical mom. As far as I’m concerned, everything about their conversation was perfectly normal.

  “She’s cute,” I say at last. “Much friendlier than my mother would have been.”

  I pick up my burger and nibble from the end of the now cold, lifeless patty.