Chasing Romeo

by A. J. Byrd

  I freeze at the sound of Raven’s accented voice.

  “Calm down?” Phoenix yells. “How can I calm down when Romeo has made it perfectly clear he doesn’t want to get back together?”

  My eyes bug out as I slap a hand across my face.

  “He hasn’t come right out and said that, has he?” Bianca’s high, almost babylike voice asks.

  “Pretty much.” Phoenix sniffs. “He barely speaks to me at school. He never answers my phone calls or text messages, and in the middle of cheerleading auditions Monday he returned the necklace I gave him last year.”

  “Whoa,” Raven says. “That does sound serious.”

  “Ya think?” Phoenix snaps.

  “Yo, back up, bitch,” Raven says defensively. “I warned you of playing too many head games.”

  Phoenix sniffs. Is she crying?

  “I know. I know. I know,” she whines. “What the hell am I gonna do? I want him back.”

  “Aww.” Her girls say in what sounds to me like fake sympathy.

  “I’m sure we can think of something,” Raven says.

  Phoenix gasps. “What if he’s seeing someone else?”

  “Who?” Bianca and Raven echo.

  “I don’t know. But it’s gotta be someone, right? That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  “Or he found out about that boy you snuck into your dorm room last year.”

  “How could he have found out about that?” Phoenix asks with skepticism creeping into her voice.

  “Not from us,” Bianca says.

  There’s an awkward silence before Bianca adds, “You know, I think you just need to relax. Romeo is probably trying to teach you a lesson for trying to trick him into being jealous with all that booty shaking you did with his boy Chris at my party.”

  “Yeah. Not exactly the best idea you’ve had,” Raven adds.

  “You guys are supposed to be trying to cheer me up not make things worse!”

  I hear the door open and high-heeled shoes marching out.

  “Phoenix, come back!” Her shadows shout and race after her.

  I stand perfectly still trying to digest everything I heard but I can only focus on one thing: Romeo is available and waiting for me in the gym.

  Once the coast is clear, I ease out of the girls’ bathroom and check down the hallways: empty. I sprint toward the gym with my heart in my throat.

  “There you are!” Romeo bounces the basketball once, takes aim and shoots.

  The ball glides through the air and then dives beautifully into the basket. “Two points,” I say lamely.

  He smiles and causes even more knots to tangle in my stomach. God, he looks good.

  “I was beginning to think you stood me up.”

  “Who me?” Never.

  “Are you going to practice in that?”

  I glance down at my standard school uniform of jeans and a cotton shirt. He’s wearing a navy-blue sleeveless top and matching athletic shorts.

  “I guess I could change into my gym clothes.”

  He winks. “Good idea.”

  I start walking backward toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  He makes another practice jump shot just as I back into the door leading toward the lockers. Thankfully, he didn’t see the blunder, and I turn and run to get dressed. “God, if this is a dream, please don’t ever let me wake up.”

  Rushing and trembling, it’s a wonder I’m able to change, but I manage to do the job in less than five minutes. When I return to the gym I’m still stuffing my braids into an elastic band.

  “All ready?” he asks, bouncing the ball.

  I take a deep breath, still not believing that I’m actually here with him. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Romeo tosses me the ball.

  “Let me see you dribble,” he says.

  Dribble. Okay. I think I know what that means. “That’s just bouncing the ball, right?”

  He laughs. “Yeah. That’s bouncing the ball.”

  “All right.” I start bouncing the ball, patting it with both hands. Turns out dribbling takes a bit of concentration.

  “Okay.” Romeo walks up to me laughing. “You dribble with one hand. Here, let me show you.” He takes the ball and starts bouncing it, passing it from one hand to the next, between his legs and around his back.

  “I have to learn how do all of that?”

  “Not today. I’m just showing off to impress you.” His beautiful lips part into a wide smile.

  He passes the ball back to me, and I mimick what I’d seen him do. “Great. You’re a quick learner.”

  “Don’t get too excited,” I warn. “I still don’t think I can do this and run at the same time.” I’m not the most coordinated person in the world.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll work at it for as long as you need.”

  I smile and bounce the ball against my toe and then watch it shoot across the gym. “Oops.”

  Romeo’s laugh rumbles throughout the gym as I give chase. When I return, Romeo decides to give me the simple exercise of dribbling for three counts and then shooting the ball from the foul line continuously.

  “We’ll attempt running and dribbling on our next session,” he promises with a wink.

  Is he flirting with me?

  I shake the thought off as wishful thinking and continue my dribbling and shooting exercise while Romeo goes over the rules of the game. “You mean people are going to be bumping and shoving up against me?”

  “And trying to steal the ball.”

  “But what if I trip and fall?”

  “Try not to.” He laughs.

  I frown. “This is starting to sound dangerous.”

  “Trust me. You’ll be fine. Here, let me show you how to block.” He takes the ball and starts dribbling. “Now you either try to steal the ball or stop me from taking a shot.”

  “How?”

  “Any way you can, but you can’t touch me.”

  Now I’m confused. “How am I supposed to be able to get the ball if I can’t touch you?”

  “That’s the fun part of the game.” He smiles and sends my heart fluttering again. “Ready?” he asks.

  “I guess.”

  Romeo dribbles the ball and I launch after it, but he blocks my every attempt. Soon I keep bumping up against his back or his butt at every turn.

  That’s fun on a whole different level.

  He makes his baskets easily. My ability to block his shots feels more like a joke, and my poor feet and hand coordination make me look like a bad string puppet tangled in its own strings. However, I’m having one hell of a workout. Sweat is pouring from everywhere, blinding me on a few occasions.

  Then I jigged when I should’ve jagged and I end up flat on my back, with air racing out of my lungs and pain ricocheting throughout my body.

  “Are you all right?” Romeo asks, leaning over my head. “That looked like it hurt.”

  “No. No. I’m fine. I just suddenly feel like lying here and taking in the magnificent ceiling detail.”

  He laughs and extends his hand to help me up.

  Problem is: I lack the strength to take it. This makes Romeo laugh harder. I love his laugh. It makes me feel like I have a vat of butterflies fluttering in my belly.

  “C’mon, lazy bones. You can do it,” he coaches.

  “Can’t we just take a break?”

  “Sure. You can get up and go get some water.”

  “Maybe you should go get it and pour it on me,” I say, panting.

  Still laughing, Romeo shakes his head. “No dice.” He grabs both of my hands and pulls me back onto my feet, but he pulls too hard and I keep going until I crash into his chest and our foreheads bump.

  “Oww.” I laugh.

  “Whoa,” he says. “Maybe I should put some brakes on you.”

  I should laugh at his joke. I want to, but standing this close I’m suddenly having a hard time breathing.

  Had someone sucked t
he air out of the gym?

  My heart pumps double time to keep blood flowing to my brain. I notice his smile fade, and there’s this invisible energy wrapping around us. Or is it just my imagination?

  “So, do you like the game so far?”

  I nod because I can’t speak.

  “I think it’s kind of cool when girls dig sports,” he says.

  I look up and have a hard time resisting the pull of his gaze, and it’s all too easy to override my body’s warning system, telling me as I lean closer that I’m in danger of making a fool of myself.

  Don’t kiss him. Don’t kiss him.

  I close my eyes.

  Don’t kiss him. Don’t kiss him.

  I feel his breath on my face.

  Don’t.

  Kiss.

  Him.

  I stop. “I better go get that water,” I say just in the nick of time.

  He steps back and nods. “That’s probably a good idea.”

  I turn around and my equilibrium is a joke. I take one step when I feel Romeo’s hand on my wrist, and he spins me around.

  “Get it later,” he says before pulling me back into his arms and kissing me fully on the lips.

  I’m in heaven.

  chapter 20

  Romeo—I Got A New Girl

  I’m lost in what has to be the sweetest lips I’ve ever tasted. I deepen the kiss, slip my tongue inside her warm mouth and then glide it against her own. She moans, and there’s something about the way she quakes in my arms that has my body responding.

  I don’t know what possessed me to kiss her, but I’m damn happy I did. Damn happy.

  Pulling Anjenai against me, I can almost hear the snapping of two puzzle pieces. She feels as good as she tastes.

  Strange, because up until this afternoon I thought I was feeling her friend Tyler. But there’s something about Anjenai that has me caught up. Maybe it’s her laugh or just the wholesomeness of her. There’s nothing fake about her. What you see is what you get: cute, smart and fun to hang out with.

  I like that.

  The idea of dealing with a girl without any head games is a major turn-on and just what I need at this point.

  Regrettably we have to come up for air. I only pull away slightly so I can still nibble on her full lips. She tastes that damn good. Unfortunately, reality hits her before it hits me.

  “Why did you do that?” she asks breathlessly, her eyes still closed.

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.” I pull back and watch as her long eyelashes flutter open. I smile into her clear brown eyes. “I’m not sorry that I did.”

  “Hey, you guys are supposed to be in here practicing.” Coach Whittaker’s voice causes me and Anjenai to jump apart and stare guiltily at the coach.

  “We were.” I clear the frog out of my throat. “We were just wrapping things up.”

  There’s a flicker of disappointment in the coach’s eyes, and I know without a doubt she’ll be talking to the principal about this. The coach was the one who’d reminded me about my promise to privately coach Anjenai when it appeared she was losing interest in trying out for the team. Now it probably looked like we are just interested in each other.

  Which isn’t too far off the mark.

  “You two better shower and change. I’m locking up in a few.”

  We obediently nod.

  “Sure. No problem,” I tell her, rubbing my sweaty hands against my gym shorts.

  When Coach Whittaker folds her arms and makes it clear that she’s not about to move, Anjenai shoots toward the girls’ locker room without glancing back my way.

  Is she angry? Had I crossed a line?

  Hell, maybe she lied and did have a boyfriend. I think on that as I head toward the boys’ locker room. Nah. She doesn’t strike me as the lying type.

  A take a quick shower and change back into my school clothes in record time. The whole while, I’m praying that Anjenai won’t just take off to avoid me. I cling to the fact that she said she didn’t have a ride home without me, but given the circumstances, she could just ask the coach to take her home.

  I hope she doesn’t.

  Ten minutes later, I run back into the empty gym to wait for her. When another ten minutes passes, I get antsy and fear that she really has given me the slip. For a brief insane moment, I debate whether to peek inside the girls’ locker room to make sure she’s still here.

  Five more minutes pass and I find myself inching my way toward the forbidden door, but then finally it opens and she steps out like a breath of fresh air.

  “Hey,” I say with relief. “You’re still here.”

  She nods but doesn’t meet my gaze. “Still need that ride?”

  We stand there in silence for a few minutes. I’m actually nervous.

  “You know, I was thinking that I could just ask Coach Whittake—”

  “No!”

  She jumps.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.” I clear my throat again. “I’d like to take you home.”

  “Or I can take the city bus.”

  I cock one brow up at her. “Is this your way of saying that I’m a lousy kisser?”

  “No. No. You were great.” She blinks and then clamps a hand over her mouth.

  I smile. “Thanks. You were pretty great, too.” I’ve never seen a face grow so red. When she flashes those two adorable dimples at me, I relax. “C’mon. Let me take you home.” I decide to push my luck. “We can even stop for something to eat along the way.”

  She’s quiet so long I fear she’s searching for a way to politely turn me down. But then she apparently comes to a decision, and our gazes meet again.

  “I am a little hungry,” she says. “But I have to call home first. I forgot to do it earlier and my granny is probably having a conniption fit about now.”

  I scoop my cell phone out of my pocket and hand it over. “Here. You can use mine.”

  She takes it. “Thanks.”

  As I lead her toward the student parking lot, I walk a few paces ahead to give her privacy for her call. From the sounds of it, she was right. Her grandmother has been worried, but Anjenai smoothes everything over because she ends the call with, “I love you, too. I’ll be home soon.”

  I smile.

  “Thanks,” she says, catching up with me and handing the phone back.

  “Not a problem.” We arrive at my car, and I dig through my pockets for my keys.

  “This is your car?”

  I glance at my Shelby GT500KR and then back at her. “Actually, it’s one of my dad’s. He just lets me drive it to school.”

  “One of? What are you—rich?” she asks.

  I blink.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. That was incredibly rude. Please forget I asked.”

  “No. It’s all right.” I shrug. “My father likes to remind me he’s rich. I’m not.”

  She laughs, and I find myself getting addicted to the sound. I open the door for her and watch her climb inside. Once she’s settled, I rush over to the driver’s side with my heart racing.

  “This is a nice car,” she says, glancing around the interior.

  “Thanks. I’m supposed to get my own car when I turn sixteen,” I boast, thinking about a sweet Range Rover, sitting on twenty-twos.

  She looks impressed, and I feel ten feet tall. “So. Are you hungry?”

  “Starved,” she says. As if to confirm this, Anjenai’s stomach rumbles so loud it sounds like there’s a lion or something in there. Anjenai’s face darkens, and her eyes bulge. I can’t help but laugh.

  “Great. I’m going to take you to my favorite spot—Mellow Mushroom. They have the best pizza.”

  Twenty minutes later we pull up into the spot, but I feel awkward about escorting her inside. Do I take her hand? We’re in a strange situation. We’ve kissed, but we’re not exactly dating.

  I remain on my best behavior as I open her door and then again the restaurant door. The rest of the time, I just have my hands in t
he pockets of my jeans and try to look as casual as I can. I hope it’s working.

  I haven’t been this giddy in a long time, and there’s a certain level of excitement to this whole thing. I’ve been with one girl my whole life, but now I suddenly feel like a fish out of water. I know from class that Anjenai is smart, and I know from the rumors swirling about Billie Grant that she’s as equally tough as her friend Tyler.

  Wholesome.

  Smart.

  Tough.

  The combination intrigues me.

  “So tell me about yourself,” I ask once we settle into a back booth.

  Anjenai shrugs and looks uncomfortable. “There’s not that much to tell. What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. What’s your full name? How old are you? Where do you live? How many brothers and sisters do you have? You know, the usual stuff.”

  She smiles and straightens in her seat. “Anjenai Legend—no middle name. I’m fourteen. I live in Oak Hill apartments, better known as the hood.” Her nose wrinkles as she laughs. “I have four younger brothers—all pains-in-the-asses.”

  I laugh. She sounds funny when she cusses—like it doesn’t quite fit.

  “Well, I do love ’em, but don’t tell them I said that.” Her smile fades a bit for a sec and then she continues. “My parents were killed in a car accident three years ago. My brothers and I live with our grandmother now. It’s a tight fit, but we’re getting by.”

  Her sadness literally reaches across the table to me and I take her hand. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t be. It is what it is.”

  There’s that toughness again. It’s so different—refreshing. If Phoenix lost something as minor as her favorite tube of lipstick I’d have to spend the whole evening consoling her. The waiter comes and takes our orders. A half hour later, our pepperoni and cheese pizza (why mess with a classic) arrives, and we dig in.

  “Now your turn,” she says. “What’s your story?”

  I chase down my first bite of pizza with a gulp of Coke and then try to remain loose and cool as possible. “Well, my full name is Romeo Blackwell—also no middle name. I’m fifteen. No brothers and one older sister. My parents are alive but incredibly absent, but I see my aunt five days a week.”

  “What, she checks in on you or something?”

  “Something like that. She’s our principal.”