Sweet Rome (Sweet Home 1.5)

She met my eyes and frowned. “Romeo Prince! Are you watching game tapes when you are meant to be helping me sort everything out for this bloody housewarming get together you planned?”

Shit. There was no winning this one.

“I—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Molly held up her hand, silencing me. “I’m running around this house like a blue-arsed fly, sorting the food, sorting the kids, and you hide out up here in our room?” She walked forward and prodded me in the chest. “A week Romeo! We’ve been back a week and you plan a party… Thanks! We’ve barely unpacked!”

Molly stood before me, all in a fluster, dressed in a lilac summer dress—she looked f**king beautiful.

“Oh, no,” she warned with a firm shake of her index finger.

Reaching out, I grabbed the material of her dress and pulled her close. “What?” I asked with a smirk.

Pushing on my chest, she shook her head. “Don’t even think it.”

“But, baby—”

“‘But, baby’, nothing.” Molly removed my hand from her waist and stepped back. “Now get your arse in that backyard and fire up the grill.”

Narrowing my eyes, I leaned in, whispering, “I’m so gonna f**k you tonight for that attitude, Shakespeare.” Then walked out of the bedroom door and headed downstairs, laughing as I heard my wife’s long, sexually frustrated sigh.

The sound of the kids playing in their game room filtered into the hall, and just as I was heading into the kitchen, the front door rang. Checking the clock on the wall, I groaned in exasperation. Our friends were an hour early. Molly was gonna kill me.

Swinging open the door, I immediately froze. A teenage kid—no, correction—a teenage boy; tall, big in build, with the cockiest smirk spread on his face.

“Bullet Prince! Big fan, man.” He moved in for a fist bump, but I didn’t even bother lifting my hand.

“Who the f**k are you?” I asked, and the kid paled a little as I crossed my arms over my chest. Yeah, I may have just retired but I still had a good set of guns.

“Err… I… I’m…”

“Asher!” My head swung around only to see my daughter walking my way, all smiles for the douche on my doorstep.

Oh. Hell. No.

Fully facing Taylor, and blocking the entire doorway, I asked, “Who’s he and what the hell is he doing at my door?”

Taylor stopped in her tracks and her face beamed red. “Daddy! Stop it! You’re embarrassing me!”

“Who is he? I won’t ask again.”

Rolling her eyes, she said, “He’s my date.”

I was pretty f**king sure smoke began blowing from my ears, because those three words just about made me combust.

“Come again?” I asked tersely, you know, just for clarification.

“He’s. My. Date,” she said slowly, each word exaggerated.

Fuck. Not only did she look exactly like me: blond hair and brown eyes, but she had the pissy, no-shit attitude to match. I could now see Molly’s point on how damn annoying this moody shit could be to deal with.

“Bullet, come on. We can work this—”

I swung to face the kid on my doorstep as he spoke and without a single word in response, I slammed the door in his f**king face.

“Daddy!” Taylor screamed. “I was going on a date with him!”

“Like hell you were! Since when do you date, and why the hell haven’t you asked permission? Because I’ll tell you now, girl, that kid only has one thing on his mind, and like hell he’s doing those things to my fourteen-year-old daughter! You get me?”

“Momma!”

“Mol!”

Molly came gunning down the stairs as I faced off against my daughter, her stance now mimicking mine, our gazes locked.

“What’s going on? Why are you both shouting at each other?”

Turning to Mol, I asked, “Did you know she was planning on going on a date today?”

Molly’s wide eyes snapped to our daughter. “Taylor, you know you’re not old enough to date.”

“But, Momma! I—” In true teenage fashion, she slammed her hands on her hips.

“But nothing. You’re grounded for a week for being so sneaky and going against our rules. Now, get in there and watch your brothers. Our guests will be arriving soon and I don’t have time for this.”

Spinning on her heel with an angry shrill, Taylor stomped into the game room, screaming, “Fascists!”

When the door slammed, I exhaled slowly to calm the hell down and looked to Molly who was still on the stairs, blinking in shock. “Dating, Mol? I’m so not ready for this shit.”

Molly cracked a smile and started giggling. “She’s a teen, it was bound to start sooner or later. That’s what you get when you have a girl, babe. Years and years of dating to look forward to.”

“We’ve been back in Bama a week and suddenly she has hormonally-charged f**kers chasing her tail?” I leaned back against the wall and ran my hand down my face. “I was one of those f**kers, Mol. I know exactly what they want to do with her. Christ! I’ll kill them! This shit’s gonna make me go prematurely gray!”

Molly shook her head and passed by me, laughing. “She knows she can’t date until she’s sixteen, so relax, you have two years to prepare for the real thing.” She continued strutting into the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder to add, “And two years to stock up on ‘Just For Men’, of course. You know, for all the premature gray hairs you’ll get.”