Sweet Home

Leaning into my touch, he said, “I hear you, Mol. No one’s ever there supportin’ me anyhow. Nothin’ new.”

“Romeo—”

He got to his feet, scratching his head. “I have a practice I gotta get to.”

I reached out and brushed my hand through his tense fingers. “I’ll be here a few more hours yet. I’ll catch you later though, yeah?” I felt terrible that I’d let him down. I’d been doing so well since yesterday, making him happier. We’d gone right back to square one.

Rome bent down, searching my eyes, then abruptly turned and left the room, leaving me frozen on my seat.

For the next two hours, I stared at the knots in the oak table and wondered over and over again what the heck was happening between Romeo “Bullet” Prince and me?

As I gathered my things to leave, a note under the door caught my attention.

Please come to the game.

I want you there.

Your Romeo x

My Romeo?

Well… shit.

6

“Ah, c’mon Rome! Get your head in the game!” Ally was on her feet, her hands waving about, along with Cass and every other person in the one hundred thousand-seater stadium—well everyone except me. I literally had no idea what the heck was going on.

I’d decided to go to the game. Ally had a spare ticket and had tried to convince me since the beginning of the season to use it, but I always declined. This time, however, I couldn’t get the hurt look on Romeo’s face out of my mind when I’d told him I wouldn’t come, and so I caved and found myself sat at my very first Tide game.

It was the note.

I’d become the hopeless romantic girl I never thought I would be, and his sweet words had tipped me over the edge.

“Rome! What the hell? Argh!!!” Ally screamed once more.

We were sitting at the lower level student seating area of Bryant-Denny Stadium watching the Tide play Auburn University—the local derby, and biggest rivals—and apparently, Rome wasn’t having a great game, the third of the season where he was off his usual perfect form. I looked to the Jumbotron and saw a close-up shot of him snapping loose his chinstrap and cursing like a sailor, slamming his fist into the ground, and shoving players out of his way, obviously unhappy with whatever just happened.

The whole bad-boy thing he was working on the field was extremely sexy, and coupled with the way his uniform showcased his impressive form—well, it should practically have been illegal.

Ally had her head in her hands, peering through the gaps between her fingers, her face one of desperation. Cass—who had just tucked into her third corn dog—was shaking her head in disappointment.

The cheerleaders began their stunts and I watched as Lexi kicked her legs with glee. She’d made the cheerleading squad with flying colours, flooring the competition with her backhand spring and triple split cartwheel. She was one happy Goth.

I took that moment to take in my surroundings. The stadium that was the home of the Crimson Tide was immense. The atmosphere was electric, and I quickly realised why Rome was so well known around campus and quite frankly, all of Alabama.

The moment he had run out of the tunnel, his face and statistics broadcasted on the giant screen at the end zone. As he and the team took to the field, the hundred thousand-strong crowd chanted, “Roll Tide!” at the top of their lungs to the accompaniment of blaring horns and the thunder of drums. It was beyond anything I’d ever seen before.

Every time Rome threw the ball, the fans held their breath, almost in prayer, and unfortunately up until that point, he hadn’t successfully completed one of his passes. I was told by Cass, in no uncertain terms, that this was a very bad thing.

Back on the pitch, Rome was hauling his angry frame back to the bench where a coach proceeded to shout in his face, smacking his hand against a clipboard to emphasis his point. I had a sudden urge to leap from my seat and push the man away from him.

I faced Ally. “Why is he getting told off? So what? He missed a few throws. Is it really all that bad?”

“Yeah, it’s that bad. Rome can’t afford to miss all these plays, Mol. He’s a senior and regarded as the top quarterback in the country—a sure win for the first draft. All eyes are on him. Plus, if the Tide is gonna make the National Championship again this year, we need him a hundred and ten percent. He’s currently pulling about twenty. I’ve never seen him so off. I just don’t understand it.” She looked baffled.

The crowd began cheering again and when I looked to the field, Rome was running back to the gridiron, fixing his helmet back in place.