Sweet Rome (Sweet Home 1.5)

I couldn’t help but stare at her. She looked so f**king tragic as she blew her crazy hair from her thick glasses, scurrying down the long hall, her plastic shoes squeaking against the tiled floor with each hurried step.

I was too preoccupied, hooked on the scene, and realized too late that Shelly was up to something. I could only watch as Shel shouldered into the girl as she passed, causing all her papers to fall to the floor.

Fury possessed me.

She’d always been a bitch, but seeing her do that to that innocent girl just made me pissed beyond measure. Hell, it wouldn’t have taken much, the mood I was in.

Shelly said something to the girl on the floor—I couldn’t hear what—but the brunette never looked up, kept her head down, ignoring what I imagined to be a shitty slight.

Why I ever dipped my stick in that was beyond me. I blamed it on too many head knocks in football. That and being too horny to function. I didn’t understand why Shelly had to treat people so bad. She had everything in the world and still, on occasion, showed moments of being a good person deep down. But those moments weren’t nearly enough to salvage any friendship we’d ever had. I just couldn’t work the girl out.

Stepping out of my hiding spot, I headed to tell Shelly to get the f**k on, but I was too late. She’d already sauntered into class, looking like the cat that got the cream.

As I approached the brunette, she leaned forward to reach for the papers that had landed way out in front, and I almost groaned out loud, my c**k springing to life.

Fuck me.

That ass.

That perfect, curvy ass.

I quickly tucked my boner into my waistband and tried to think of something to cool down. Jimmy-Don in a two-piece. Jimmy-Don in a thong. Actually… I smiled derisively. Shelly sucking on my dick… Yeah, deflated like a defective balloon.

Running my hands through my hair, I stopped behind the new chick, avoiding staring at her ass in those short dungarees and those long, tanned legs that were just tempting me to reach out and wrap them around my waist.

Shit. My c**k hardened again.

I opened my mouth to ask if she needed help just as she spat, “Fucking arseholes!” to herself and got to her feet. Her glasses crashed to the floor in the process, the shitty frames landing right next to my feet.

Time stopped.

What the hell was that accent? English, maybe? Whatever it was, it was the hottest thing I’d ever heard in my entire sorry life.

Before I could stop it, a loud laugh jumped out of my throat at the sweet, proper voice cussing. She paused, frozen, as she heard me behind her.

Her head bowed, her shoulders bunched, and the sigh she let out said it all—pure defeat. Hell, I knew how she felt.

I reached down and scooped up her glasses, then, holding her arm, spun her to face me.

Jesus. H. Christ.

Large brown eyes, full, juicy pink lips, smooth, clear skin, and a soft blush to her cheeks. She was so close I could smell her skin—sweet, like vanilla.

Damn, I needed to say something, anything, not just stand here like some creepy f**king weirdo.

“Can you see now?” I muttered, my voice sounding rough even to me.

Her eyes squinted and she looked up. Her lips parted, her eyes studying every part of my face from behind the huge frames. Brown eyes, long blond hair, tanned skin—I had the perfect outer shell, but one f**king bitter center.

I tensed, waiting for it to come, the moment she saw it was me—Rome “Bullet” Prince. The attention would piss me off and then I’d come off like an ass**le.

Golden brown eyes drank me in—the usual—and then… nothing.

Snatching the papers from my hands, the chick tried to take off. No stuttered recognition, no flirting, just… rushing to get the hell away from me.

What the—

I wondered for a moment if she didn’t know who I was. But… nah, we were in Bama. She was at UA. Every f**ker knew my face, whether I liked it or not.

Without realizing it, I took hold of her wrist. “Y’okay?”

She didn’t look up but politely muttered, “I’m fine.”

Negative.

Still no eye contact.

Still no recognition.

“You sure?” I asked again—absolutely no idea why.

I saw it in her shoulders: she was done with the day. Her long, black lashes fluttered on her cheeks before her caramel eyes fixed on mine. The wind knocked right out of my chest, and I couldn’t seem to move.

“You ever have one of those days where everything turns into a bloody nightmare?” she asked tiredly.

English. Not English like the queen, though. Her accent had a lilt to it that I couldn’t place. Christ, but it was hot.

“Having one myself, actually.”

Her tight eyes softened and she sighed. “Then that makes two of us.” Full lips crooked into a smile.

My heart did something it never had before.

It felt.

It felt something… indescribable. Each subsequent beat seemed louder and heavier than ever before and I started freaking the hell out.

“Thank you for stopping to help me. It was very nice of you,” she said politely, the sentiment snapping me right back to reality.

Nice? Don’t think so.

Her eyes measured me, waiting patiently for a response.

“Nice. Not normally what people say when they’re talking about me,” I said, finally seeing sense. What the f**k was going on?

I watched as her lips parted slightly, sucking in a sharp, shocked breath. I had to get the hell out of here, away from her, and stop acting like some damn dumbstruck pu**y. Hell, I was acting like Reece.