Sweet Home

Refocusing on the conversation, I was dismayed to hear the girls switch topics from cheerleading to their family backgrounds. I decided that this was the perfect moment to take a quick breather.

“Hey, Ally, where is the bathroom in this place?” I asked abruptly.

“You can use mine, darlin’. It’s on the top floor, third on your right.” She fished a key from her purse and placed it in my hand. “I keep it locked so folks can’t use it to bang at parties like this.”

“Good thinking. Thanks. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

I walked through the patio doors and headed to the main set of stairs, climbing quickly up the three flights, trying to ignore the moans and groans emanating from behind closed doors. Ally was right to keep her door locked. It sounded like there was a pack of rutting wolves on every level.

I made it to the correct door and turned the key in the lock, shutting it behind me and locking it again for safe measure. I did not want to come out to a live sex show of some eager college freshmen on her bed.

The room was beautiful. The walls were crisp white, red linens covered a huge king-sized bed, and there was a large antique desk in one corner. The real winner, however, was her personal balcony. Red gauze curtains flowed in the gentle summer breeze over the open doors and starlight glittered against the strands of silver thread subtly woven into the fabric.

I shook my head at the fact that she had all this and she was still in college. Some people never experienced this level of luxury in an entire lifetime—my father and grandma lived in four small rooms their whole lives. I imagined it cost a lot to live here too. That thought snapped me out of my daze, and I began searching for the bathroom as intended.

I reached the far side of the room when a dismembered voice from the balcony called out, “Al, that you?”

I jumped and held my chest, my heart thundering at the fright. I leaned against the bedpost when the owner of the voice entered the dark room.

Rome.

I glanced up to see him staring at me, obviously taken aback by my presence.

“This room is off limits, Mol,” he said rather curtly as he took a gulp of beer from his brown bottle.

Mol. I loved how his tongue rolled around my name. No one had ever called me Mol, but one utterance from his lips had me petitioning to change my name.

I straightened nervously, his gruff voice stunting my breath, and dangled the key in the glow of the moonlight. “Yeah, I know. Ally gave me her key to use her bathroom.”

With a lick of his lips and without another word, he stalked back onto the secluded balcony terrace on his bare feet. I watched him go and scurried to the bathroom. I quickly took care of my needs and stared into the mirror, willing myself to pull it together.

I borrowed Ally’s brush from the vanity and ran it through my frizzy hair and resecured the knot at the top of my head to contain the mass of brown curls. I spotted her toothpaste and put some on my finger, running it over my teeth, and finally, I straightened my rumpled toga, tightening it over my C-cup br**sts and around my curvy behind. The tattoo on my hip wasn’t visible, much to my satisfaction, and with a final smoothing of my eyebrows and a plumping of my cheeks with my fingers, I left the safety of the bathroom.

I gently clicked the door open and tiptoed towards the exit. I was almost at the door when Rome shouted flatly, “Mol?”

I froze on the spot. “Yeah?”

“You wanna hang here for a while… with me?” His voice sounded strained, as though he fought his better judgment by asking me. That made two of us. I wasn’t sure I trusted myself with him… at all.

“Mol?”

“Yeah… okay.”

When I stepped out onto the open terrace, I located Rome sitting on a white chair around a patio table, staring through the rails, looking down onto the back lawn of the sorority house with a bored expression on his face.

I pulled out a chair opposite and slinked down, trying to see what had him so enthralled. Rome didn’t acknowledge my presence until he slid a bottle of Bud in my direction and sipped on his own, slouched low in the chair, his thoughts occupied.

I surveyed the balcony behind me, taking in its beautiful decoration of potted bright plants, and when I turned back towards Rome, I was met with the undivided attention of his intense dark-brown gaze, and he hooked a small smile on his full lips for the first time since I agreed to keep him company.

I took a sip of my drink just to do something with my hands. He remained quiet and leaned his head on his hand that was perched on the arm of the chair.

“How long have you worn glasses?” he asked, clearly just to start a conversation.