Sweet Home
Page 11
He ran his fingers through his dirty-blond hair, laughing quietly. “She’s not exactly Shel’s biggest fan. Al’s cool. She’ll be a good friend for you to have ‘round here. She’s my cousin and best friend. Hence, I got the spare key for this room when it gets too crazy out there.” He used his thumb to point over his shoulder to the horde of students.
“She seems nice.”
“She’s the best.” Leaning back, he put his hands behind his head. “So, Shakespeare, where you from in England? Don’t you dare say Stratford-upon-Avon or I’m checkin’ myself into an insane asylum.”
“Nope, nowhere near. I’m from Durham,” I answered with a giggle.
He stuck out his bottom lip in concentration. “Nope, never heard of it.”
“Have you seen Billy Elliot?” I asked, trying to frame a reference.
“The film about the dancin’ kid?”
I grinned. “Yep. Well, I’m from the exact estate that he’s from in the movie.”
“Really?” I could see him picturing the estate in his head. The rows and rows of small terraced street houses, the grey, and the relative poverty compared to this crazy lifestyle.
Rome’s dark eyes dropped to the table. I put my hand on top of his and he flinched at the unexpected contact. “It’s okay. I know I’m poor. You don’t need to feel bad for thinking it.”
“I wasn’t—” he stuttered and timidly flipped his hand so our palms met, staring at the action curiously.
I fought to quell my nerves. “Yes, you were thinking that. It’s okay. I know where I’m from is not exactly glamorous, but I’m proud anyway. It’s where I grew up and I love it regardless of its reputation, although I haven’t been back there in years.”
“Is your family still there?”
Family. I felt the recurring sharp pain sear through my heart at the word and coughed to hide my panic. I silently begged a higher power to just let me bury it deep again before I lost control in front of Rome. His hand touched my back and the anxiety began to retreat, the threat recoiling at the strength of the supportive touch.
“You okay? You’ve gone all white,” Rome asked, leaning forwards and rubbing my back with added pressure.
I clasped my hands together to stop the last of my shaking and lifted my gaze to stare at his handsome face. “Yeah, thanks,” I answered, somewhat at a loss as to why the panic had ebbed at his gesture.
Eying me in concern and tilting his chin, he urged me to answer his question.
I took a fortifying breath. “No, I don’t have any family.”
The look on his face was priceless. If it weren’t so damn tragic, it would’ve been funny.
“Shit, you’re an orphan?”
“No, but I have no family left. I’m not sure an adult can still be classed as an orphan.”
“Your momma?”
“Died giving birth to me.”
“Daddy?”
“Died when I was six.”
“No grandparents, aunts, or uncles?”
“One, a grandma.”
“And?”
“Died when I was fourteen.”
“But then, where…?”
“Foster care.”
“And that’s it? You’ve been on your own for… You’re twenty, right?”
“Yes.”
“On your own for six years?”
“Well, I went to university so had some friends there, and Professor Ross took me on as a research assistant in my first year and watched out for me when she realised I had no other family. But yeah, I’ve been on my own for a long time. It’s been… difficult.”
He’d unintentionally moved towards me, like I was gravity drawing him to ground. It was kind of sweet. It felt nice that he cared and strangely soothing to let someone in after years of silence. Not just anyone, it felt good to let… him in. The college bad boy. I congratulated myself. Only I would let in the guy who breaks hearts for fun.
I ran my hand up to his forearm. “Not to be rude, but this conversation is kind of bringing me down, Rome. Death and Budweiser should never go together.”
He nodded, and the strained silence filled the air once more. He’d left his hand on my back, though, and I subtly moved against it to increase the pressure.
“So, you and Shelly?”
“Good subject change.”
“Well, there had to be a reason she was so pissed at our kiss. Even if it was just for the initiation.”
“We’re… complicated,” he answered hesitantly.
“That sounds like a copout if ever I’ve heard one.”
“Nah, not a copout. She’s been houndin’ me since sixth grade. Our families are pushin’ for an engagement. You know, to protect their investments, keep the company’s money in the family. Our fathers are business partners. I don’t even f**kin’ like her; she’s a big old thorn in my side.”
“But? Are you going to go through with it? The engagement, I mean. I’m surprised you’d settle down with someone you don’t want. Or even settle down at all, if the rumours are to be believed.”
Rome blew out a long, steady sigh. “Fuckin’ rumours. Look, girls just throw themselves at me. When it’s offered, I take it. Why the hell not? I don’t have a girlfriend, never have. Sex helps me calm down from being so riled up all the time and shows folks that I’m definitely not with Shelly. I won’t apologise for it. I just like to f**k a lot and never the same girl twice.”
I’m sure my mouth gaped wide open at his crassness. But apparently, he was ignorant to my appalled reaction.
“My parents have a set plan. I’m expected to graduate, marry Shelly, take over the family business, and live the American f**kin’ dream.”
“So you don’t want to play football professionally? I thought I heard that you were destined for big things?”
His face brightened. “Yeah, I do wanna play. I love it. It’s as natural to me as breathing—the rush, the camaraderie, the roar of the crowd on game day, popping the perfect shot for a touchdown. My parents don’t support it. They just… Hell, it don’t matter. I just f**kin’ hate my life being dictated by my folks, that’s all.”
“Then do what you want. Screw everyone else.”
“She seems nice.”
“She’s the best.” Leaning back, he put his hands behind his head. “So, Shakespeare, where you from in England? Don’t you dare say Stratford-upon-Avon or I’m checkin’ myself into an insane asylum.”
“Nope, nowhere near. I’m from Durham,” I answered with a giggle.
He stuck out his bottom lip in concentration. “Nope, never heard of it.”
“Have you seen Billy Elliot?” I asked, trying to frame a reference.
“The film about the dancin’ kid?”
I grinned. “Yep. Well, I’m from the exact estate that he’s from in the movie.”
“Really?” I could see him picturing the estate in his head. The rows and rows of small terraced street houses, the grey, and the relative poverty compared to this crazy lifestyle.
Rome’s dark eyes dropped to the table. I put my hand on top of his and he flinched at the unexpected contact. “It’s okay. I know I’m poor. You don’t need to feel bad for thinking it.”
“I wasn’t—” he stuttered and timidly flipped his hand so our palms met, staring at the action curiously.
I fought to quell my nerves. “Yes, you were thinking that. It’s okay. I know where I’m from is not exactly glamorous, but I’m proud anyway. It’s where I grew up and I love it regardless of its reputation, although I haven’t been back there in years.”
“Is your family still there?”
Family. I felt the recurring sharp pain sear through my heart at the word and coughed to hide my panic. I silently begged a higher power to just let me bury it deep again before I lost control in front of Rome. His hand touched my back and the anxiety began to retreat, the threat recoiling at the strength of the supportive touch.
“You okay? You’ve gone all white,” Rome asked, leaning forwards and rubbing my back with added pressure.
I clasped my hands together to stop the last of my shaking and lifted my gaze to stare at his handsome face. “Yeah, thanks,” I answered, somewhat at a loss as to why the panic had ebbed at his gesture.
Eying me in concern and tilting his chin, he urged me to answer his question.
I took a fortifying breath. “No, I don’t have any family.”
The look on his face was priceless. If it weren’t so damn tragic, it would’ve been funny.
“Shit, you’re an orphan?”
“No, but I have no family left. I’m not sure an adult can still be classed as an orphan.”
“Your momma?”
“Died giving birth to me.”
“Daddy?”
“Died when I was six.”
“No grandparents, aunts, or uncles?”
“One, a grandma.”
“And?”
“Died when I was fourteen.”
“But then, where…?”
“Foster care.”
“And that’s it? You’ve been on your own for… You’re twenty, right?”
“Yes.”
“On your own for six years?”
“Well, I went to university so had some friends there, and Professor Ross took me on as a research assistant in my first year and watched out for me when she realised I had no other family. But yeah, I’ve been on my own for a long time. It’s been… difficult.”
He’d unintentionally moved towards me, like I was gravity drawing him to ground. It was kind of sweet. It felt nice that he cared and strangely soothing to let someone in after years of silence. Not just anyone, it felt good to let… him in. The college bad boy. I congratulated myself. Only I would let in the guy who breaks hearts for fun.
I ran my hand up to his forearm. “Not to be rude, but this conversation is kind of bringing me down, Rome. Death and Budweiser should never go together.”
He nodded, and the strained silence filled the air once more. He’d left his hand on my back, though, and I subtly moved against it to increase the pressure.
“So, you and Shelly?”
“Good subject change.”
“Well, there had to be a reason she was so pissed at our kiss. Even if it was just for the initiation.”
“We’re… complicated,” he answered hesitantly.
“That sounds like a copout if ever I’ve heard one.”
“Nah, not a copout. She’s been houndin’ me since sixth grade. Our families are pushin’ for an engagement. You know, to protect their investments, keep the company’s money in the family. Our fathers are business partners. I don’t even f**kin’ like her; she’s a big old thorn in my side.”
“But? Are you going to go through with it? The engagement, I mean. I’m surprised you’d settle down with someone you don’t want. Or even settle down at all, if the rumours are to be believed.”
Rome blew out a long, steady sigh. “Fuckin’ rumours. Look, girls just throw themselves at me. When it’s offered, I take it. Why the hell not? I don’t have a girlfriend, never have. Sex helps me calm down from being so riled up all the time and shows folks that I’m definitely not with Shelly. I won’t apologise for it. I just like to f**k a lot and never the same girl twice.”
I’m sure my mouth gaped wide open at his crassness. But apparently, he was ignorant to my appalled reaction.
“My parents have a set plan. I’m expected to graduate, marry Shelly, take over the family business, and live the American f**kin’ dream.”
“So you don’t want to play football professionally? I thought I heard that you were destined for big things?”
His face brightened. “Yeah, I do wanna play. I love it. It’s as natural to me as breathing—the rush, the camaraderie, the roar of the crowd on game day, popping the perfect shot for a touchdown. My parents don’t support it. They just… Hell, it don’t matter. I just f**kin’ hate my life being dictated by my folks, that’s all.”
“Then do what you want. Screw everyone else.”
