Sweet Rome (Sweet Home 1.5)

“Hey, you.”

“You going to give up that lucky sweet kiss?”

“If that’s what you want.”

She had no idea how much.

“It most definitely is.” With that I leaned in and kissed her, my tongue searching for hers—duelling, lapping, owning—and then I broke away before I got too hard in my tight football trousers—family game and all.

The Tide won.

Molly was praised for the power of her lucky kiss, and then my bastard cousin chased me from my girl and ordered me to come back tonight at nine; she’d planned something for Mol. But only Christ knew what she was up to.

It hit eight forty-five and I couldn’t wait any longer, so me and the guys headed out to Mol’s sorority house. It was like withdrawal whenever we were apart, and I knew it probably wasn’t healthy, but quite frankly, I didn’t give a shit about that either.

Knocking on the sorority house door, Reece, Austin, Jimmy-Don, and I were greeted by the jock from the other night—Cait, was it? Perfect, we’d hit it off the first time so well.

After rolling her eyes and groaning in disappointment right in my face, Cait left the door open and made her way up the stairs, looking back only to snap, “Stay there. Don’t come upstairs! I’ll tell the girls y’all are here.”

Jimmy-Don looked at me and took off his Stetson, shaking his head. “Cait, Turner, soccer jock and all-state champion. Heard she kicked the crap out of Cody Brown for grabbing her ass a few weeks back.” Raising his eyebrow, he asked, “What you done for her to gun for your blood?”

Shrugging, I replied, “Barged in to speak to Mol the other day and kind of wrestled her off the stairs when she tried to outmuscle me.”

Austin just shook his head, laughing. “I swear Rome, you sure know how to treat women. If they’re not spreading wide for your moody ass, they’re trying to kick it!”

“Carillo, f**k off.”

As we waited for the girls, Jimmy-Don launched into a story about one of his brothers back in Texas who was into racing monster trucks. He was talking animatedly about a flip when Reece began tapping me on my arm. Shrugging him off, I turned my attention back to Jimmy-Don, trying to figure how the hell he moved the story on to cow tipping back in high school, but Reece didn’t quit, and after a few seconds, I was ready to knock the little f**ker out.

Swinging around, I asked, “What? Fuck, man, back off!” But Reece just pointed up the staircase, ignoring my attitude, mouth gaping open.

Looking up, I quickly registered what had him, and Austin—and now Jimmy-Don—gawking. Molly. My Mol looking like a friggin’ supermodel walking down the stairs.

Pushing away from the wall, I shouldered Reece out of my way, ignoring the way his tongue was practically hanging out of his mouth at the sight of my girl.

Ally winked at me as she passed, but I only had eyes for Shakespeare: tight black dress showing her unreal curves, her long brown hair falling in soft curls over her shoulders, and her nervously flushed face looking so damn beautiful that it nearly made me drop to my knees.

Reaching out, I wrapped my arms around her waist, fighting the worst case of blue balls I’d ever had. Pressing a kiss to her full lips, I whispered, for her ears only, “Fuck, Mol, you’re trying my restraint looking this beautiful. How the hell am I meant to get through the night? I’ll be fighting off the guys with a stick. They’re going to get in trouble if they even look at you for a second.”

It was true; up until now I hadn’t really had to worry about other guys watching Mol. She’d always slipped under their radar. But hell, she was beyond a friggin’ ten as she stood before me now—she always had been to me, but now the world would see it. I wasn’t sure I could stand other guys looking at her and imagining they were between her legs. It was going to drive me insane, no matter how much she assured me that she was mine and mine alone.

Tonight would be a test, that’s for sure.

We sat down in one of Club Flux’s private booths and ordered drinks from a blond waitress who looked vaguely familiar. I’d been right about tonight being a test—I’d already gained Molly’s disapproval for nearly punching out an overeager Tide fan who’d grabbed her to congratulate her on her kiss. She’d forgiven me, but who knew how long that would last.

The blonde came back with our drinks, smiling suggestively at me, and the memory started to resurface.

It was last season, maybe after the Iron Bowl against Auburn? I’d been drunk out of my mind when she’d made her move, sitting on my lap as I almost lost consciousness on my chair, then leading me to the back of the club. I’d f**ked her from behind, her face pressed against the wall, so I didn’t have to see who I was screwing. It’d never mattered; a hole was a hole. But with Mol, she’d be looking straight in my eyes and I’d savor every damn second.

As I shook the memory from my mind, I focused back on the waitress. Ah, hell. By the look on the blonde’s face, this wasn’t going to go down well.

Molly had stiffened in my arms, and I tried to ignore the chick as she did everything but strip before me. Then she gave up trying to get my attention and finally said, “Hey, Bullet, how’ve you been?”

How’ve I been? I didn’t even know the damn girl.

“We’re done here,” I said.

The rush of a challenge lit in the waitress’ eyes, and Molly began to fidget. Ally subtly booted me under the table, and Austin rubbed at his eyes in frustration at where this was clearly heading. The two of them were just pissing me off more; I didn’t need to be reminded that this was going to be real a clusterfuck of a situation.