Sweet Rome
Page 15My ears pricked when I caught the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut, and I had a decision to make: let Molly slip away, no harm done, or seize the day and get her out here with me, actually find out her deal.
Insanity won out and before I could stop myself, I quickly shouted, “Mol?”
But there was only silence from the bedroom. My feet slammed to the ground and my head whipped in the direction of the doors. “Mol?” Had she left already?
“Yeah?” a timid voice finally sounded from inside.
Exhaling in relief and putting all my worries aside, I asked, “You wanna hang out here for a while… with me?”
“Yeah… okay.”
We’d been sitting out on the balcony, just talking. I don’t think I’d ever been alone with a chick that long before without getting naked. Girls came to me for one thing: a good f**k. But this was different. I kinda wanted to get to know this girl beyond the bedroom.
After watching her almost down her bottle of Bud, she asked, “So why are you up here hiding out?”
“Don’t feel it tonight.”
She dropped her hand to her chest and gasped, “Mr. All-star Quarterback doesn’t want to mix with his adoring fans?”
I ripped off the label of my beer; it was that or launch the brown glass at the wall. “Well, that didn’t take long. Who told you?”
“Lexi and Cass.”
“Who?” I asked in a far-from-friendly tone.
Her eyes dropped and she fiddled with her hands again. “My roommates, they told me after we… erm, after we… you know…”
“Kissed?”
“Erm… yeah.”
“So what did they say about me?” I pushed.
“That you were the Romeo Prince, quarterback extraordinaire for the Crimson Wave and that you were the Prince William of college football, yada, yada, yada…”
“What?” she asked, taking in my blank face.
“Huh?” she asked again, completely confused, her expression making that more than clear. It was probably the first time in years that her genius ass had felt at a loss.
“It’s the Crimson Tide. Not wave.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed, stomach tightening, uncontrollably bursting out laughing. Wasn’t “the crimson wave” code for a chick being on the rag or something? Christ, she’d be lynched around here talking like that about the beloved national champs.
“Whatever. Tomayto tomarto,” she dismissed with a casual wave of her hand.
“Well, we’d better keep that between us. It’s not tomayto tomarto around here. It’s… everything. It’s life and death.” And wasn’t that just the friggin’ truth? Sometimes the pressure to be perfect was insane.
I could feel her stare, her inquisitive mind working overtime. “So, Romeo, eh?” She finally asked after minutes of silence, and I froze.
“It’s Rome,” I corrected immediately. I was “Rome” to everyone but my f**king parents, and I hated any reminder that I was actually named after a pu**y-whipped, poison-drinking ass**le.
Her face lit with amusement, and she half danced, half shuffled on the spot. “Ah-ah! It’s Romeo. I’ve been reliably informed.”
“No one calls me that, Mol.” I tried to be as polite as possible because f**k, she didn’t know, but that name had me wanting to snap someone’s neck.
“Just like no one calls me Mol,” she immediately snapped back, not taking any of my moody shit.
“Molly Shakespeare.”
Okay, call off the press. I was back to being f**ked off.
“What?” I asked, edging in closer.
“Shakespeare. Molly Shakespeare,” she answered with a shaky voice and a slight tremble to her hands.
Someone had to be setting me up. Maybe Michaels? That f**ker would give anything to screw me over. “Are you trying to be funny?” I asked bitterly.
“Nope. Romeo, I’m a Shakespeare—born and bred.” Hell, she was telling the truth. Shakespeare. Her f**king name was Shakespeare! This couldn’t be happening.