Jock Romeo (Jock Hard 6)

Roman is my friend.

I don’t want to fight with him, and there is no logical reason to. You’re supposed to work things out, right?

“Lilly.”

I release the shoe I intended to put on, and it drops to the cold tile floor.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

I nod, bending to unbuckle the other wedge, watching as it slides off next to its match.

“I have to call my coach and check in for curfew tonight anyway—I’m going to do that real quick if you don’t mind. Then we can talk.”

Coach doesn’t answer, so I text her a photo of myself in the empty kitchen with a time stamp before following Roman back up to the second floor and into his bedroom. He holds the door open for me like a gentleman so I can pass through, sitting on the edge of the bed but not climbing into it as I did before. I’m reluctant to get too comfortable. Maybe that’s been the problem this entire time—my comfort level with him. I feel like we’ve been friends forever, but I also feel something else—something he doesn’t seem to understand.

Something I don’t seem to understand myself.

That’s fine.

It isn’t as though I haven’t been rejected before or had a guy not like me—both have happened, just not recently.

Is he stereotyping me because of my cheering career and the color of my hair? I’m too afraid to ask.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot when we got home,” he tells me, sitting in the desk chair across the room, swiveling it so he faces me. I don’t know when the wheels fell off the bus.

“I’m probably hypersensitive,” I confess.

“What do you mean?”

I give my answer a bit of thought before saying, “It’s a new semester and I’ve had a lot of change, and to be honest, I’ve never had a guy who was just a friend before. I suppose Jack counts, but not really? I haven’t known him long, and he’s Eliza’s boyfriend…it would have been weird for me to ask for his help tonight. I guess I just…don’t know how to behave with a guy friend.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I have no idea what I’m doing on a daily basis, let alone with a girl who is also a friend. I should never have gone with the plan that you fake it for me for the sake of my parents. That was foolish and I apologize. I can’t imagine how that made you feel when I agreed to it.”

Aw, the poor guy. “Rome, you don’t have to apologize for thinking out loud—I actually think we would have a lot of fun pretending.” Plus, he will get some practice!

The thought of him dating someone else fills me with a little bit of dread. But this is what friends do for each other; they help one another out. Not that I believe he needs it, but he could probably stand to gain a little more self-confidence when it comes to the female persuasion.

“What do you say? Should we put tonight behind us and just do it?”

“Do it?” He looks pale and gulps.

I roll my eyes. “You know, the fake relationship thing.”

Rome swivels in his desk chair. “It might be fun.”

“It could be—I’ve never done it.” Never had to; haven’t ever considered it until he brought it up tonight. “And I’m sorry tonight was such a shit show. I wasn’t thinking when I texted you—I was only thinking of myself.”

“That’s what friends are for. It’s not like I was doing anything.”

“You were studying.” His grades are important to him, apparently much more so than mine are to me, and perhaps if I went to fewer parties and cracked open more textbooks, I wouldn’t be in a position where I feel trapped.

It crosses my mind to suggest several rules for this new adventure—guidelines—but it’s late and it appears neither of us are thinking clearly.

Roman looks exhausted; I am exhausted.

I’m tired, crabby, and keep overreacting. The best thing for me is a good night’s rest. I have to be up at six in the morning to practice—there is a home game tomorrow at noon, so it’s going to be nonstop from the moment I pry my eyes open.

His bed is so much more welcoming than mine. I got the best night’s sleep last time I was here.

Roman finally removes himself from the desk chair and comes to the bed. He hesitates slightly before climbing beneath the covers.

“I’m glad we worked through this,” I say softly.

“All a misunderstanding. Things happen when people are stressed out, and running into an ex is stressful.”

“It was.”

I’m on my side facing him, lights still on.

Scanning the room, my eyes latch onto the award I repaired for him. Rising, I cross to stand in front of it, fingers carefully tracing along the edge where his name is. Where his name was.