Sweet Rome (Sweet Home, #1.5)(8)
“So, Rome, are you coming tonight—” Shelly tried to speak to me, not listening to the introduction taking place, but I shushed her. I needed to hear Molly. For some reason, I wanted to hear her speak again, wanted to know her deal.
That didn’t stop Shelly, though, and her hand skimmed over my stomach, her lips closing in on my ear. “I said are you coming tonight?! I—”
Whipping toward her, my face pulled into a hard expression, and I spat out quietly, “And I said shut the f*ck up! I won’t tell you again.” Her beady blue eyes narrowed. She glared at Molly, then back to me, repeating the friggin’ routine a few more times, and I saw the moment she realized the newbie Brit had caught my attention.
Molly was still speaking. I shifted my focus back to her and ignored Shelly’s fury building beside me.
“I have loved religious philosophy for as long as I can remember, and I’m happy to be here to help Professor Ross in the lectures and seminars and to try and make the wonderful world of philosophy just that little bit more interesting!”
Shelly’s long nails began to dig into the arm of her chair as Molly spoke easily to the class. Her top lip curled and I just knew she was about to go into full-on bitch mode.
“I’ll be happy to answer any questions about—”
“I have one,” Shelly snapped, interrupting Molly’s speech. The whole class glanced toward her as she smiled an ugly, smug smile. I watched as Molly’s eyes searched the crowd and widened slightly when they landed on Shelly… and the placement of her hand near my crotch.
Jesus.
“Don’t,” I warned for Shelly’s ears only, removing her hand, but she ignored me.
“Why the hell would you want to be a professor in philosophy? Don’t you think it’s a bit of a waste of your life?”
Molly was unfazed and simply replied, “Why not philosophy? Everything in life, on Earth, can be questioned—why, how, how can that be? To me, the mystery of life and the universe is inspiring, the vastness of unanswered questions floors me, and I love immersing myself in the academic journey of scholars both ancient and new.”
Tanya snorted. Shelly laughed mockingly. “How old are you, honey?”
“Erm… twenty,” Molly said, a red flush quickly covering her face.
“Twenty! And you’re already on your master’s?”
“Well, yes. I went to university a year young. I tested out of high school early.”
“Damn, girl, you need to stop being so damn serious and learn to live a little. Life’s not all about studying. It’s about having fun. Lighten the hell up!”
The blood in my veins cooled to ice. I was about to say something to shut Shelly the hell up, when she added, “I swear, I’ll never understand girls like you.”
I snapped my attention to Molly, who had moved from her lectern and placed her hands on her hips. A smile tugged at my mouth again as she stood there, fiercely getting ready to take on the megabitch of Bama.
“Girls like me?” she asked coldly.
She was one pissed-off Mary Poppins. I found myself liking her even more. She had spunk, was ready to fight for what she believed in.
“Bookworms, nerds… wannabe professors!” Shelly drawled. I was sure she still thought she was back in high school, only able to make herself feel better by picking on a new girl. Pathetic.
“Studying and knowledge, I believe, gives a person power, not money or status or what designer you wear,” Molly answered coolly, but I could see the fire in her golden eyes even through those f*ck-off thick lenses.
“Really? You actually believe that?” Shelly asked, sounding less confident now.
“Of course I do. Opening your mind to unknown possibilities and learning how other cultures function, what they believe, gives people a richer, more holistic understanding of the human condition. Philosophy offers answers to an array of questions.
“For example, why do some people coast through life with ease, devoid of all compassion for others, whilst others—good, caring, and honest humans—are dealt blow after blow but somehow find the inner strength to carry on? Don’t you think if more people took the time to be conscientious to mankind’s troubles, then maybe the world would be a better place?”
I’d never heard anything like it. It was like she was profiling me. Everyone thinks if you’re from the richest family in Alabama and you can throw a ball to rival Peyton Manning, then you’re golden, no f*cking worries in life. But then no one knows about them, about what I grew up with, about what I still go through every day, and no one knows because they wouldn’t understand. But for a brief second, I entertained the notion that maybe she would. She sounded like she spoke from a place of knowledge, from personal pain. I’d come to find that only others in similar situations could pick that out in someone else, like there was some kind of hidden signal that they were in a whole load of hurt too.
“That is why I study over getting drunk every night. The world deserves to have people who think of others before themselves, that strive to be less selfish and superficially concerned.” I took in her whole package from head to toe—perfect tight-but-curvy body, smooth, lightly tanned skin, face brightened by the argument—and I quickly decided she was kind of f*cking hot under all that… wrong.
“I hope that offers you some insight to why I want to be a professor. It’s who I am and I’m very proud of that fact.”