Sweet Home (Sweet Home 1)

I bent to my knees without looking up, when I heard raucous, mocking laughter, obviously directed at me. I instantly felt as if I were back in high school—the popular kids picking on the nerd.

I never spoke up. I’d always just ignored people’s snippy taunts over my cheap clothes, lack of money, or any other jibe they wanted to throw my way, so I simply growled under my breath and set to organising the mass of papers into a haphazard pile.

The door to the lecture theatre clicked shut, and satisfied that I was in the safety of my own company, I spat out, “Fucking arseholes,” a bit louder than I intended and cringed as it ricocheted all the way down the wide, cavernous corridor.

I didn’t often curse but felt justified at that moment, and it felt rather cathartic too. Even in the vocabulary-rich world of academia, sometimes only the word “fuck” will suffice.

I grabbed the papers in my arms, shaking my head, and stood, my bloody glasses—in the process—falling clean off my face and clattering to the floor.

I sighed in defeat and decided that I really shouldn’t even have bothered getting out of bed this morning.

A short burst of laughter sounded behind me, making me jump, and a warm hand gripped my upper arm, twirling me around, slipping my glasses back onto my face.

I squinted repeatedly, and when my vision righted, I was met with a broad chest covered by a sleeveless dark-red T-shirt, the white writing reading, “Crimson Tide Football.”

“Can you see now?”

I followed the sound of the deep southern drawl, and before me was a sun-kissed true Bama boy—long, dirty-blond hair to his jaw line, eyes of a deep, dark brown framed by long inky lashes, and he towered over me, maybe six-foot-three to my five-foot-five height.

I couldn’t help but suck in a breath.

He was gorgeous.

Really bloody gorgeous.

I shook myself from my daze and snatched the papers from his hands, trying to shuffle around him, needing to get away and regain some semblance of composure, or maybe dignity, seeing as though I’d been pretty much stripped of it over the last couple of hours.

Grabbing my wrist as I passed, Mr. Crimson Tide Football asked, “Hey, y’okay?”

I tried to relax and not be rude—he’d helped me after all—but my nerves were shot, the touch of his rough calloused hand on my skin only making things worse.

I decided to chalk this unusual reaction up to dehydration, or an acute case of Toga-phobia.

Shoulders slumping, I replied, “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

I blew out a long breath, meeting his lovely chocolate eyes, catching the almost bluey-black flecks surrounding the iris. “You ever have one of those days when everything just turns into an absolute bloody nightmare?” I stressed the last three words slowly.

He expelled a loud huff and pulled an amused expression—his full lips pouting into a crooked smirk and his slightly off-centre nose scrunching with the movement. “Havin’ one myself, actually.”

“Then that makes two of us.” I couldn’t help but crack a reluctant grin in return. Tightening my hold on my stack of papers, I said, “Thank you for stopping to help me. It was very nice of you.”

Bronzed, bulky arms folded over his huge chest, and he was notably tickled at my nervousness. “Nice? Not normally what people say when they’re talkin’ ‘bout me.”

With that, he walked away, leaving me alone in the wide hallway.

I turned to head to class, and the guy looked back at me over his shoulder, announcing roughly, “I’m Rome.”

“Molly,” I said quickly. Rome’s teeth dragged over his bottom lip as he nodded slowly, regarding me from head to toe with an unusually deep intensity. Then without another word, he entered the philosophy classroom.

After taking a moment to gather my wits, I proceeded to shoulder through the entrance, where automatically several sets of eyes fixed onto me. I edged in farther, feeling slightly Bridget Jones-esque in my disastrous arrival.

Professor Ross eyed me harshly and I grimaced as I approached her desk, laying down the course syllabi and twiddling with my fingers in utter embarrassment. She waved me over to stand beside her at the lectern. I did as she requested and lifted my head to the class, who were all watching the newbie Brit make an absolute tit out of herself.

The professor pointed in my direction and spoke in her posh Queen’s English accent, looking like an old boarding school marm in her two-piece brown tweed suit, grey hair in a tight French twist, and tiny half-lens glasses. “I would like to introduce you all to Molly. She, like me, is also from England, and she has agreed to study for her master’s degree at this fine college and continue in her duel role of being my research assistant for a journal that I’m currently writing for an academic periodical, and my teaching assistant for this class.

“I have known Molly for a few years now and couldn’t think of anyone better to experience this sabbatical year in the States with me. As you will all soon discover, she is quite the exceptional young lady.”

The professor moved aside, gesturing me to address the class with a wave of her hand. “Molly, why don’t you say a few words to your new classmates?”

I took a deep breath and stepped to the lectern, lifting my eyes guardedly. “Hey, everyone. Like Professor Ross said, I’ve moved to Alabama from England to study for my master’s in philosophy with the aim of starting my PhD next year to achieve my ultimate goal of becoming a professor.” My eyes scanned the rows. There were about thirty people in total in the small lecture hall.

“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 try to make the wonderful world of philosophy just that little bit more interesting! I’ll be happy to answer any questions about—”

“I have one.”

I followed the sound of the voice that cut me off and it led me to the redhead from the hallway… who was sitting right next to Rome.

“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?”

I was used to this question.

“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.”