Jock Romeo (Jock Hard 6)

Eventually the television turns off—he must have had it on a timer—and now we’re lying here the same way we did the other night after returning from his parents’ house. This time, though, it’s more strange and awkward, this tension created by my own actions at the party.

Why am I letting him believe everything about tonight was fake? Why isn’t he saying anything?

Why am I not saying anything? This misunderstanding is my fault.

I roll to my side to face him, despite the fact that it’s completely dark.

“Roman?”

“Yeah?” I notice for someone so eloquent, he says yeah a lot.

“I didn’t kiss you because I wanted you to pretend to be my boyfriend. I kissed you because…” My voice trails off. “I kissed you because I felt like it. And I’m sorry.”

“But is that what you want?”

“Is what what I want?” Wait. Did that question make sense?

“To have me there when you go out so Kyle leaves you alone?”

“It would be helpful, if I’m being honest.”

“Okay,” he says after a few beats.

“What do you mean, okay?”

“I mean okay—if you want me there when you go out then I’ll be there. You’re already doing me a solid with my parents, remember? You can come with me to my parents’ house and act like you’re my girlfriend, and we all win. Maybe it will drive home the point a little more if anyone sees you and me together going to my parents’.”

Is this him proposing a fake relationship? Not just for his mom’s sake?

Swallowing, I gather up the courage and ask, “Do you still want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”

It’s a bit odd, I’ll admit. What on earth does he need me for—all he has to do is tell his mother he’s not dating me anymore. I know she wants Roman to have a girlfriend, and the way she acted at Sunday supper definitely leaned in the direction of her wanting me to be his girlfriend. Since I didn’t do anything to make her think we weren’t dating, we decided we would continue the charade for that alone, but still…does he mean for more than just his parents? I have to admit, it gives me a bit of a thrill, but also…

If he continues to say he’s dating me, won’t that create more interrogations from his family?

“You’ll be provided with a hot meal every Sunday, remember?” he continues, sweetening the deal with promises of food.

“All I have to do is flirt with you at dinner?”

“And maybe appear in a few FaceTime chats with my mother.”

Piece of cake. “And you’ll come to parties with me?”

“Yes.”

“There has to be more to it than that. What about physical intimacy? This isn’t going to be a friends-with-benefits situation, is it?”

“No! No, it wouldn’t be friends with benefits. I mean, you helping me out is definitely a benefit, but I don’t expect you to make out with me.”

It’s telling that his mind doesn’t immediately go to sex or blow jobs or any other intimate activity—it goes straight to kissing, as if that is the most sexual thing he’s ever done.

“You can trust me not to take advantage of you,” he promises, as if I had any concerns. He’s not the type of guy to do such a thing, so it hadn’t even crossed my mind to not trust him.

Well…

…shit.

Maybe I want him to take advantage of me. Maybe Roman is the type of guy I should have been dating all along instead of the athletic, meathead type I’ve been going after most of my adult life. I’ve been a product of my environment and the things my mother thinks are important, like popularity, good looks, and being in the spotlight.

In a way, my entire being has been based on lies. I lie to my mother every single time we speak, pretending everything is fantastic when in truth, nothing is. I hate being a cheerleader and I hate being a part of the team—I love dancing, but not when it comes with conditions.

I want to do it for me.

I want to do it when I want.

I don’t want to date a football player or an athlete.

I’m sick of only seeking them out; it makes me feel like a gold-digging cleat chaser.

I want to date a nice guy who respects me, who thinks I’m funny and intelligent and isn’t concerned with how I look 100% of the time. I want to be able to wear sweatpants and sweatshirts and not do my hair or put on makeup.

I want to be the kind of person Roman would respect.

“Did you ever think of the fact that I might take advantage of you?” I say it in jest, but his reply takes me aback.

“Yeah, actually, I did think you might be taking advantage of me.”

I reach over as far as I can and flick the switch so I can look at his face. He blinks against the light as it blinds him, eyelids rapidly fluttering as his eyes adjust.