Sweet Rome (Sweet Home, #1.5)(32)

Jumping the barrier into the stands, I pushed my way through the student body, shrugging off grabs at my jersey and ignoring the chicks trying to rub up against me.

A path appeared before me and at its end, Molly peered around, looking so f*cking hot in a short white dress and brown cowboy boots that showcased her tanned legs to perfection. But that didn’t distract me from the panic seeping into my veins at the thought of her being hurt… because of my shit pass.

“Shit, Shakespeare! I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” Dropping my helmet to the floor with a crash, I powered through the crowd to Molly’s flushed-with-embarrassment face and without thinking, grabbed her flaming cheeks in my hands—my sanity, once again, gone without a trace.

Large golden eyes darted everywhere, clearly expressing her lack of comfort at being put on display, but f*ck that; I needed to know she was okay. And more than that, it quickly hit home that she’d shown up. Shit. She’d come here for me… because of that note… She’d actually done as I’d asked…She’d actually come for me.

“Rome, I’m okay. I was saved by my glasses. They laid their lives on the line to save my nose.” She held the broken frames in her hands, keeping them steady against her eyes, and I couldn’t help but laugh. The stadium fell away as she went on to complain about the drunken guys who hit her square in the face, but all I could think about as she rambled on was that she was here.

Rubbing my thumb on her grazed cheek, I shook my head and laughed. “It had to be you. Out of everyone in this entire f*cking stadium, it had to be you who was involved.” Tilting my head, I continued. “I’m no longer surprised; you’re always there. I think someone’s trying to tell me something.”

A blush flooded her cheeks, the heat of the action warming my hands. “I was going for a Coke,” she answered and I couldn’t help but laugh at her gripping the two bits of broken plastic to her eyes, just so she could keep looking at my face.

“During my play?” I teased with mock annoyance.

Biting her tongue and scrunching that damn nose, she confessed, “Err, well, quite honestly, I didn’t know what the hell was going on, and I was thirsty.”

The noise in the stadium grew to a deafening volume, but I could still hear Coach screaming my name from the sideline, anger boiling up at the sight of his QB running from the field mid-drive, forcing him to call a precious timeout. I knew I was going to get my ass kicked for running off the field, but all I could think about was Molly.

Pulling her to me, commanding her instant attention, I said simply, “You came.”

Her whole body seemed to melt in my arms and she sighed, “I came,” with the most stunning smile, stealing my friggin’ breath.

Desperation surged through my brain and I blurted, “Why did you change your mind?” I needed to know. She’d been so damn reluctant.

Shrugging playfully, she said softly, “You got through to me.” And with that, something within me snapped. Any worries blocking my mind cleared, and all thoughts of my parents’ taunts that’d been affecting my game disappeared into vapor.

A short, fat little shit of a medic tried to pull Molly out of my arms. Throwing him a threatening scowl, I asked Molly one more time if she was okay. After assuring me that she was, she went to walk away, but that wasn’t going to happen. I needed to taste her. Without thinking anything through, I crushed her lips against mine, pulling her so close that she wouldn’t be able to break away. It was short, it was sweet, and it made me feel like I was a f*cking king.

Backing away, I watched Molly’s mouth gape at this blatant show of public affection, and smiling, sprinted back to the field, not giving a shit that Coach was verbally ripping me a new one, or that Austin and Jimmy-Don were shaking their heads at my f*cking stupidity. Molly had shown up, and I instantly knew I wasn’t going to f*ck up this game. I knew I wasn’t going lose. She would see that I was worthy.

Summoning the offense into the huddle, I called, “Eighty-three on red.”

Austin shook his head. “Try another, Bullet.”

Yeah, I knew he didn’t trust that pass play after four screw-ups, but something within me had changed.

Snapping my eyes to his, I bit back, “Eighty-three on red! And don’t f*cking question me!”

Glaring back and wanting to argue, but knowing you never questioned the QB, Austin just sighed and put his hand in the center as I screamed, “One, two, three, break!” And we all moved into position, every fiber of my being bursting to life.

I had found my flow state. I was in the zone.

Time seemed to slow as Jeremiah Simms, the center, snapped the ball to me, and in a state of complete mental calmness, I spotted Austin, the white number 83 on his crimson jersey. It shone like a beacon.

I stepped into the throw as he sprinted downfield. Intense gratification swept through as the ball spiraled perfectly into his hands on his post route into the end zone.

The stadium erupted in thunderous celebration. A forty-yard touchdown pass, and it was the best tight spiral I’d thrown all season, hell, maybe all of college.

My teammates came barreling over, jumping on my back, and I basked in their celebration. Jimmy-Don lifted me in his arms, only to set me down and shout, “From now on, you better lay one on Molly before every damn game!”

Eyebrows drawn, I asked, “What the f*ck are you talking about?”