Sweet Rome (Sweet Home, #1.5)(7)

Negative.

Still no eye contact.

Still no recognition.

“You sure?” I asked again—absolutely no idea why.

I saw it in her shoulders: she was done with the day. Her long, black lashes fluttered on her cheeks before her caramel eyes fixed on mine. The wind knocked right out of my chest, and I couldn’t seem to move.

“You ever have one of those days where everything turns into a bloody nightmare?” she asked tiredly.

English. Not English like the queen, though. Her accent had a lilt to it that I couldn’t place. Christ, but it was hot.

“Having one myself, actually.”

Her tight eyes softened and she sighed. “Then that makes two of us.” Full lips crooked into a smile.

My heart did something it never had before.

It felt.

It felt something… indescribable. Each subsequent beat seemed louder and heavier than ever before and I started freaking the hell out.

“Thank you for stopping to help me. It was very nice of you,” she said politely, the sentiment snapping me right back to reality.

Nice? Don’t think so.

Her eyes measured me, waiting patiently for a response.

“Nice. Not normally what people say when they’re talking about me,” I said, finally seeing sense. What the f*ck was going on?

I watched as her lips parted slightly, sucking in a sharp, shocked breath. I had to get the hell out of here, away from her, and stop acting like some damn dumbstruck *. Hell, I was acting like Reece.

I walked off without looking back, realizing that was the longest damn conversation I’d had with anyone in a long time, and it didn’t involve anything about being the shitting oil prince of Bama or the next big football star. There was something different about her, something… intriguing. Like she didn’t give a shit what anyone thought of her, wasn’t caught up in the football hype. Her outfit and her reaction to me were proof of that. It was… refreshing, if not a little strange.

Almost as if I watched from a detached body, my boots abruptly ground to a halt and I looked over my shoulder. Brit girl was still standing on the same spot, still looking in my direction. “I’m Rome,” I offered, almost involuntarily, the words spilling out of my mouth as her eyes met mine.

Her long lashes fluttered down, touching the lenses of her glasses, and when they lifted, a shy smile transformed her face. “Molly.”

I nodded and licked my lips, roved my gaze down her body, then made my way to class.



“Rome Prince, I take it?” the stuffy new philosophy professor said with a raised gray eyebrow as I sauntered into the classroom, nodding a silent greeting and making my way to my seat on the back row. She’d no doubt been briefed; teachers knew the score when football was in season. Of course, those from outside the States never quite got their heads around the fact that we, the players, got special permission to miss classes when on away games, or could rock up late after practice with no repercussions.

Climbing the steps slowly, I avoided Shelly’s laser-beam attention until it was no longer an option. I slipped into my usual seat beside her, her snake arm sliding over my thigh as soon as my ass hit the wooden seat. Ally, my cousin, who I normally sat next to in class, couldn’t make it today, leaving me all alone with Shelly.

Perfect.

“Hey, Rome,” she said, all breathy, trying her best to be seductive. Shelly, to most of the male student body, was hot, but I knew the girl underneath, the one with all the personality of a gnat.

“Shel,” I answered flatly, not reacting to any of her strokes and caresses. My jaw ached from clenching it in annoyance.

A huge bang sounded, drawing my attention, and the door to the classroom suddenly burst open. Molly fell through, still doing a shit job of balancing all her papers. The whole class zeroed in on her awkwardness.

Straightening up and blowing her crazy hair from her eyes, she pushed her thick glasses back on her nose, flushed bright red, and began sidestepping toward the professor, her back almost pressed flat against the wall as she grimaced in embarrassment. She looked so goddamn cute all flustered, shuffling across the length of the whiteboard.

I snickered involuntarily, feeling my heart speed up again as she put down her papers and stood beside the professor, fidgeting on the spot.

“What’s with this girl?” Shelly snarled under her breath, nudging her best friend Tanya beside her. I stiffened, feeling my blood rush through my ears. Shelly turned to me. “And did you just laugh?” Her mouth gaped open. I shrugged without answering.

“Didn’t think anyone dressed like that once outta kindergarten,” Tanya bitched.

Shelly leaned in closer to me, the smell of her strong perfume almost making me gag. She had me in her trap, but there was no point in throwing her off. She had my folks on her side, and if I wanted to get through this year without too much of their shit, I needed to stay way under their radar and not do anything to rock the boat… then crush the selfish f*ckers when I got my draft ticket out of here and squashed all their fascist, money-grabbing plans.

The professor asked Molly to introduce herself. I watched, fascinated, as the clumsy, geeky girl transformed as she spoke: back straighter, chin higher, eyes brighter and brimming with confidence.

I sat back and listened intently to every word she said.

She was smart, really f*cking smart, and this class’ new teaching assistant. Young, English, and already on her master’s, with a goal of becoming a professor in philosophy. And to top it all off, she was in Bama to help the professor write an academic paper. Shit. She put all the undecided f*ckers I knew to shame.