Sweet Rome (Sweet Home, #1.5)(4)
“No, sir.”
“Then from now on, do as you’re told! How many times do we have to go through this? I have plans for Prince Oil, plans that you will need to see out. Football is unacceptable, boy!”
We drove the rest of the way home in silence. When the Bentley pulled to a stop in the driveway, I rushed into the house and up to my room, curling into a small ball on top of my bed, waiting for what I knew would happen next.
And it did. It was the one constant in my life.
After a few minutes, I heard the creaking of the old stairs, and a moment later, the bedroom door opened and my daddy entered my room, jacket and tie off, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows. He was always calm, collected. I’d never really seen him flip. The quieter he was, the more scared I became.
He was deathly quiet today.
I held in a cry as he glared at me and snapped a thin black leather belt in his hands. “Get up, Romeo. This will be over quicker if you don’t put up a fight. You need to be punished for disobeying my orders.”
Taking a deep breath, I got to my feet and stood in the center of the room, eyes squeezed shut, wrists held out, waiting for the lashing I knew was about to come. I would take the pain. Football was what I wanted and I wouldn’t give up on that dream, not for anything…
I snapped my eyes open, body stiffening at the old memory that haunted my dreams, my heart pounding in my chest and my breathing erratic.
It was only a dream… It was only a dream, I told myself over and over again as I pushed my long, sweaty hair from my eyes, breathing in deeply through my nose, trying like hell to calm the f*ck down.
My alarm cut through my panic, the bastard thing blaring out its annoying tone at a stupidly high volume.
“Uhh! Bullet, turn it off,” a female voice moaned.
Dreading who I would find next to me this morning, I looked down, following the sound of the voice. Sprawled on my bare chest, was… was… f*ck if I knew. Some random chick.
That familiar sick feeling burst in my stomach and I squeezed my eyes shut.
Hell, I needed to stop with the drinking and the f*cking. This was my year—time to get serious, no more distractions, no more feeling like shit.
Lifting my head cautiously, I tested the severity of my hangover and winced at the bright morning sun shining through the window. Jesus, what the hell did I drink last night?
The chick groaned again at the movement, and I pushed her off me, her hung-over ass flopping to the mattress as I slid off the edge of my bed, sighing in disgust as I spotted the used rubber still on my dick. Nice.
Looking back, I tried to remember something… anything, a small bit of info about who the hell she was. There was nothing, just fragmented flashes of a party and being led to my room… then sweet. Fuck. All.
Same shit, different day.
I stood, stretching out my arms. Seeing a crumpled red dress on the wooden floor, I picked it up and threw it at Jane Doe’s naked ass. “I’m going to shower. Feel free to let yourself out.”
She muttered something unintelligible and gradually awoke at those words. Doing what I said, she put on her slip of a dress, scooped up her shoes, and smiled in satisfaction as she left the room. “Catch you later, Bullet. It was worth the wait. All the rumors about you were true.”
Hell, treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen. Or be the starting QB for the Tide and do whatever the f*ck you like. They still come running back for more. It was a novelty to f*ck the great Bullet Prince.
After my shower, I threw on my training shorts and shirt and, grabbing my cleats, headed down the stairs of the frat house. Austin and Reece were already waiting for my lazy ass in the kitchen, so I grabbed my shades off the island and slid them on, flipping a huge f*ckin’ bird to Austin, who was laughing at my sorry state as he passed me a protein shake, and we headed out the door.
“Is that chick who left just now yours, Rome?” Reece asked, almost jogging to keep up with Austin and me as we made our way to the gym.
Shrugging, I answered, “She ain’t mine, but all evidence suggests I f*cked her.”
“You better’d wrapped that shit up,” Austin scolded.
Damn straight. Last thing I wanted was some wannabe NFL wife trapping me with a kid. “Done deal. Never ride bareback. Evidence was still on my cock this morning. I’m classy like that.”
Austin slapped me on the back, laughing and Reece nudged me in the ribs. “She was hot, man. Remember anything ’bout what she was like? Was she any good?”
Reece. I loved the damn kid, but he needed to get laid more and stop trying for my castoffs. Reece looked about twelve—blond hair, blue eyes—and it felt a whole load of wrong when he talked about screwing chicks. The preppy f*cker was one polo shirt short of being on a damn Ralph Lauren ad.
“No f*cking idea.” I turned back to Austin, who was smirking at me. “What the hell did we drink last night?”
“More like what didn’t we drink.”
Yeah, that felt more like it. I remember now why I slipped. My folks had called… again, about the bastard engagement, and I’d immediately turned to the Mexican worm. Austin, being my best friend, joined me in getting completely wasted.
“Shit. Coach will have our asses. I f*ckin’ stink of tequila,” I groaned.
I knocked back the protein shake in one, ignoring Reece as he grinned and said, “Damn, Bullet. I’m always wishing I was you: never without a girl, the whole damn school following your every move. But when Coach sees you looking like this, he’s gonna make you wish you’d never been born.”