Jock Romeo

by Sara Ney

  At first, we lie there cuddling, his arm around my shoulders as we lie on our backs, staring up at the ceiling in the dark, the only thing illuminating the room reflection from the bright snow outside.

  Then he moves.

  With a quick kiss to my mouth, Roman crawls down my body the same way I maneuvered down his, parting the bottom of the silky sleep shirt to kiss my belly button. His fingers pluck at the tie on the bottoms, undoing the bow and loosening the waist.

  My heartbeat quickens, elated he’s going down on me.

  I want him to so bad. I want him to give me an orgasm; I’ve been craving it since we had sex.

  Biting down on my lower lip, I gasp out an excited breath as soon as his mouth makes contact with my nether region, legs parting of their own accord. I’m a bit desperate, if I must admit—desperate for him and the contact and the connection. If I can’t have his dick inside me tonight, I will sure as hell settle for his lips, teeth, and tongue.

  He nips at the sensitive skin of my thigh, large hands caressing me, fingers seeking the warm heat of my pussy.

  I cover my eyes by slinging an arm over my forehead, blocking out the light from the windows though it isn’t much. I want every one of my senses for this moment; I’ve been waiting for it for a while, not really sure it would come.

  I think I love Roman.

  Actually, truly love him.

  Which makes this all the better.

  I mean, ideally we wouldn’t be fooling around in his parents’ house, but we’re alone, everyone is in bed (allegedly), and it’s not likely anyone will barge in (fingers crossed). Do younger brothers have a habit of busting in uninvited?

  My ears strain for the sounds of footsteps down the hallway, and when I hear none, I refocus my energy on Roman down under.

  For a guy who comes too soon during sex, he is truly gifted at oral. The right amount of pressure. The right amount of mouth and tongue. A bit of finger.

  It. Is. So. GOOD.

  “That right there,” I encourage him. “Don’t stop.”

  It seems he’s not the only one who doesn’t take long to climax, my lower half already doing that thing where it wants to have an orgasm…it only needs a little…more of…that…thing…he’s…doing…

  “Yeah, yeah, oh my god…”

  I lift my ass up off the mattress, spreading my legs wider, which doesn’t help me come any quicker.

  I lower my ass.

  Clench my pelvis.

  Thank goodness the lights are off—I’m probably bright red, desperation blazing across my brow. There’s definitely sweat on my upper lip; I want this so bad.

  Anything worth having is worth sweating for, my coach always says—and she’s right. This is worth it.

  I tip my head back when the sensation hits and my knees start to quake and I’m unable to keep them apart, my body spasming in that wonderful way.

  I make very little noise, only whimper, much quieter than Roman was when he orgasmed.

  His mouth kisses my pelvis after I’m finally lying still.

  “You sucked the life right out of me,” I joke, running my fingers through his hair—my new favorite thing to do. He’s so handsome, more so now that I can see his face.

  “I could say the same about you.”

  “See,” I tell him. “It’s not just you who comes fast. How long did that take me, three minutes?”

  “No one is timing it.”

  “Then you shouldn’t worry about it either.” Real talk, though—I don’t want to always have to wonder if he’s going to finish so soon before I do. Sometimes a girl just wants to ride a dick and come the old-fashioned way.

  He rolls over and kisses me, arms around my waist, pulling me in. “Practice makes perfect.”

  But no one is perfect. We won’t ever be, though we can try to be better.

  15

  ROMAN

  Lilly and I are going on a date.

  Our first.

  Odd that it’s taken us this long to get to it, but I guess being in the friend zone derailed the concept of us dating. Plus I was too chickenshit to ask.

  Tonight I have a few surprises up my sleeve, and I look out the window, grateful for the snowy surroundings. Couldn’t be a more perfect backdrop for what’s planned, and goddamn am I nervous.

  I feel like this is the first time I’ve been out romantically with a young woman, and for all intents and purposes, it is. Odd how things work out, isn’t it? Here I thought moving out of my parents’ house wasn’t going to change much about my life; I would still study hard, I would still be a homebody, I would still rather hang out with my family than party.

  What I didn’t think would happen is a relationship.

  When I walked into that kitchen and saw Lilly sitting at the counter, I never in a million years would have guessed I’d be dressing to take her on a date weeks later.

  Did not see this coming.

  Standing in front of the mirror, I adjust the tie around my neck, wondering if the knot is too small. Or too big? Haven’t tied one myself in years. Mom usually does it, which…makes me sound like a mama’s boy, which I most certainly am not.

  As I’m re-tying it for the third time, frustrated that I can’t seem to perfect it, Eliza and Jack are bounding up the stairs, laughing and flirting, and I’m sure he just goosed her in the ass.

  My timing seems to be impeccable, as I’m certain they’re coming upstairs to have sex.

  “Where you off to, mate?” Jack sticks his head in the open door, looking me up and down. Notices me struggling and enters the room, automatically coming over and smacking my hands away from the silk fabric between my fingers. “You do it like this. We’ll do a Windsor knot, it’s easiest.”

  Eliza plops down on the bed and crosses her legs.

  Meanwhile, Jack is rambling on as he overlaps and tugs and tosses the tie around. “Here, perfecting the dimple takes practice, but I have faith in you, chap. All you’ve got to do is pinch the tie with your thumb and middle finger—like this. Then use your index finger to keep the dimple in place as you tighten.”

  Uh-huh. Yeah, I’ll probably never do that, but okay.

  “You are so sexy when you talk like that, babe,” Eliza croons. “You’re so fancy.”

  My roommate puffs out his chest as he takes a step back to survey his handiwork.

  “We’ve all got our talents, babe. I’m shite at rugby, but I’m a masterful tie tier, which serves no actual purpose ’cept helping my flatmate.” He slaps me on the bicep. “So where are you off to?”

  I take another look at myself in the mirror and raise my brows. Jack just did in twenty seconds what I couldn’t do in twenty minutes.

  “Actually, I have a date.”

  Eliza sits up straight, interested. “With who?”

  “Lilly.” Is that pride in my voice?

  “Lilly! Our Lilly? Why didn’t you say anything?! Where are you going? Oh my god, why didn’t she tell me the two of you are going out? That little sneak.” Eliza glances up at me expectantly. “Are the two of you dating? Like, dating dating?”

  “Gonna give it the old college try.”

  Eliza rises, clapping her hands. “Oh I love this.” She wraps me in a hug and squeezes. “You’ll be so good for her—and she’ll be good for you. I think opposites in a couple is a good thing.”

  “What are you doing on your date?” Jack asks, taking Eliza by the hand, the two of them walking back into the hallway, destination obviously their bedroom.

  “I’ll let her tell you after the date.”

  “You little brat! I want to know what the plan is!” Eliza pouts. “That’s mean.”

  “Come on, love, let’s leave him be. He looks like he’s going to piss his trousers.”

  We all glance down at my navy dress pants. “Should I change into jeans?”

  Eliza studies me. “Erm. If I knew where you were going it would be easier for me to answer that question. Fancy dinner?”

  I shrug. “Nice but maybe no
t super fancy?”

  She nods. “Then I would put jeans on. Love jeans and a button-down shirt with a tie—super on trend.”

  “I’ve never in my life been on trend.”

  Jack gives her a gentle nudge. “Have a fun night—give us the details when you get back.”

  “Unless you’re not coming back alone.” Eliza wiggles her eyebrows. “Hang a sock on your doorknob if you want privacy.”

  Jack looks down at her. “When have we ever put a sock on our knob when we’ve shagged? Is that an American thing?”

  She laughs. “I think it’s something they do in movies, but might be fun for us to start.”

  He shakes his head vehemently. “Yeah—we’re not putting a sock on our doorknob. I’d feel like a wanker.”

  “I should be going, so if I’m going to change my pants…” I give them both a pointed look, and they make their goodbyes before disappearing into their room and shutting the door behind them.

  Off come my pressed pants.

  On go a pair of jeans.

  Thanks, Mom, for turning me into a nerd.

  Lilly is waiting at the door when I fetch her from her house, smiling radiantly when she steps outside into the frigid cold. Kisses me on the cheek before threading her hand through my arm.

  “Where are we going?” I haven’t told her either.

  “You’ll see.”

  Her grin gets wider. “No one has ever surprised me with a date before—I’m so excited.”

  Same, Lilly. Same.

  The butterflies in my stomach churn as we head out of town to the next one over, laughing and listening to the radio, my date in charge of finding a station.

  When we arrive, Lilly gazes curiously out the window. “The ski hill? Why are we at a ski hill?”

  She’s wearing a dress and heels—and a dressy winter coat—but it’s perfect for what we’ll be doing.

  “You’ll see.”

  “Stop being so cryptic! You’re giving me high blood pressure.”

  We unbuckle, but before she can open her door, I tell her to, “Wait here.”

  Quickly get to the passenger side and play the perfect gentleman by opening it for her.

  “Aww, thank you.”

  Our shoes crunch on the ground covered in a thin layer of snow. In the near distance, the gondola moves in tandem with the chair lifts to the top of the small “mountain,” the entire hill lit up by bright lights and moonlight.

  “This is so cool, but…I still don’t understand what’s going on. Are we going to go skiing? I don’t have any of my stuff.”

  “Nope.”

  Removing my phone from my jacket pocket, I tap it open. Hold it out as we step to the base of the gondola where a woman in a red snowsuit zaps the QR code.

  She glances down at her handheld machine. “Two of you for seven o’clock?”

  “Yup.”

  “Step this way please.”

  The gondola comes to a slow crawl, just slow enough for us to safely step inside, the door sliding closed behind us.

  We sit just as it zooms to life and whisks us up the mountain.

  “Roman, what is this?” Lilly looks around, marveling. “This is so amazing! I’ve never been on one of these before.”

  She’s like a child on Christmas morning, and all I can think is I did that—I put that smile on her face.

  It’s intoxicating, this feeling, making her happy.

  The city below comes into view the higher we climb, its streetlights twinkling, cars getting smaller and smaller and smaller.

  “Wow,” she says breathily. “Roman, I love this.”

  There is a restaurant at the top—it used to be a bar and grill, but it’s been renovated into a chic steak and seafood date night destination. “The most romantic restaurant in the Midwest” according to the local newspaper. I trolled their social media for an entire day, watching video after video of the remodel online before choosing this as our first date.

  Lilly is in awe.

  The gondola comes to a gentle stop; when we step off, we’re greeted by a winter wonderland of trees covered in Christmas lights and snow, a picturesque scene straight from a movie screen.

  We both inhale an excited breath.

  I take her hand, leading her in.

  It’s just crowded enough to give off good energy, and the table we’re given overlooks the hill and beyond.

  “This is so romantic,” Lilly squeals. “I’m dying right now.” She removes her phone to take a picture, flash going off when she pans toward the dining area. “These pictures don’t do the view justice.”

  They never do.

  Lilly fiddles around some more, as giddy as a little kid. Eventually she puts the phone down, quits taking pictures, and realizes I’m staring at her.

  “Why are you being so quiet?”

  Because I want to shit my pants.

  “Because I’m too nervous to talk.” I laugh anxiously, the small box in my jacket pocket burning a hole through the material. It doesn’t have an engagement ring or anything, but it’s the first gift I’ve given a woman, and it’s so cheesy I’m not sure how she’ll react to it.

  I clumsily remove the box and set it on the tabletop after yanking it out of my pocket, grateful the server has come and gone with our drink order.

  The last thing I need is an audience.

  Lilly’s keen brown eyes flit to the cheerful red wrapping paper then up at my face; she doesn’t ask what’s in the box or who it’s for.

  I slide it across the table ever so awkwardly. “This is for you.”

  She bites down on her lower lip, excited. Gingerly plucks it off the table, pulling the ribbon that was painstakingly tied.

  This tie around my neck feels like it’s choking me, anticipation hammering away the only nerves I have left, palms sweaty.

  I run them over the leg of my jeans as Lilly unwraps the present.

  “I didn’t get you anything.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you to. Don’t get your hopes up—it’s not that exciting.” I downplay it, a defense against rejection.

  Watch as she carefully removes the square box top. Takes the object inside and lifts it by the silky ribbon so it dangles above the table between us.

  “Our first Christmas?” she reads, glancing up. “Aww, this is so sweet, Roman. Thank you.”

  “I’m, uh—giving it to you for a reason.”

  She tilts her head to the side, waiting for further explanation.

  “Obviously it would be to commemorate our first Christmas since that’s coming up, but also I wanted…” I take a sip of water, needing to wet my suddenly dry throat. “I wanted to ask you…” Shit. It sounds like I’m trying to push out a proposal of marriage to her when what I really want to say is, “Will you be my girlfriend? I know this is our first date, but we’ve already done a few things out of order, and I already know I have feelings for you.”

  This is not at all the speech I prepared yesterday, rehearsing it in my bathroom mirror at least a dozen times.

  “I know you weren’t originally interested in dating due to your guy detox and you haven’t been single long, but sometimes…” I clear my throat. “When you know, you know.” At least, that’s what my grandmother always used to tell me. Trust your gut; it never steers you wrong.

  “You’re right,” she says at last, setting the ornament down on the linen tablecloth. “I wasn’t interested in dating when I broke up with you know who, but that’s because I thought all guys were going to treat me the way he and the guys before him treated me. Why? Because I always date the same kind of person. Not on purpose, but because that’s who I’m surrounded by.” She takes a piece of bread from the basket the server just brought over, cutting herself a small pat of butter to spread on it. “I see now how wrong I was.”

  “Wrong? About what?”

  “My very short-lived hiatus from men. It was stupid—I don’t need to give them up. I just needed to find the right one.” The words are accompanied by a smile.
“I wouldn’t be here with you if I thought I wanted to be alone—I wouldn’t do that to you. Lead you on, I mean.” Lilly takes a dainty bite of bread and chews slowly. “This is so good.”

  She still hasn’t answered my question.

  To keep myself from asking again, I stuff some bread into my mouth, too. It goes down like cardboard, almost getting lodged in my throat.

  “I think that…yes. I would like to try to be your girlfriend. We can label it, can’t we? While we’re just starting to date?” More chewing and swallowing. “Then we don’t have the confusion later. Don’t have to worry about having ‘the talk.’” She uses air quotes around the last phrase. “Yes. I want to be your girlfriend—I would be proud to date you.”

  Proud to date me.

  I sit up straighter in my seat as the server comes back to the table. “Are we celebrating anything special tonight?”

  Lilly and I exchange a look.

  “Um, yeah.” My words are less articulate than what I’m used to spouting, but I should probably get used to the fact that she strikes me dumb. “We’re celebrating our new relationship.”

  EPILOGUE

  ROMAN

  “Honey, I have something I have to give you—take these and put them in your pocket.”

  Before I can ask what she’s doing, my mother is pulling open the pocket of my jacket, and I catch a flash of bright red as she shoves something at me.

  “I would give them to Lilly herself but don’t want to embarrass her. Just put these in her bag before you leave and she’ll be none the wiser.”

  “Uh—what are these?”

  I go to pull them out but stop short when my mom says, “Lilly’s panties—she must have left them after Thanksgiving, and I’m not going to ask what they were doing on the floor.”

  “Oh my g-god.” I shove them back inside my pocket as far as I can shove them. “It’s n-not…we didn’t…”

  I mean—yeah, we fooled around, but there was no penetration if you don’t count tongues and fingers.

  “I should hope not—not under my roof,” Mom proclaims stiffly, nostrils flaring. “But I will say this: it’s good to see you behaving like a normal twenty-two-year-old, and it’s good to see you having fun. Dad and I were worried you took school too seriously to ever let yourself fall in love this young.”