Sweet Home (Page 28)

I went to follow the medic, when Rome suddenly dipped down, laying a lingering kiss on my lips. It was tender and soft, different from our usual frantic, spur of the moment fumbles.

We locked eyes for a second longer before Rome ran back to the field, determination on his face. The crowd openly gawked, wondering why the star quarterback had been so interested in the injured girl.

In the safety of the medical room, I began to regain my composure when an abrupt, rapturous roar seemed to shake the very foundations of the stadium, causing me to jump up from my seat.

“What’s wrong?” I asked in a panic.

The medic looked to the small TV screen in the corner. “Hot damn!”

“What?”

“Bullet just hit a wide receiver for a forty-yard touchdown.”

“That’s a good thing, right, a touchdown?”

He swung his attention back ‘round to me, no doubt wondering if I did have a head injury after all. “Yes, that’s a very good thing, especially with only one quarter to go. We’re tied. We have fifteen minutes to take the W.”

“The W?”

“The win,” he replied on an exasperated sigh.

“Right. Gotcha,” I mumbled, deciding it was best to shut up.

The medic turned off the TV to remove the distraction, finished his examination, and helped me use white sports tape to put my glasses back together, the crude repair job fully visible on the bridge of my nose. Not the best of fashion statements, but it would have to do. Like my Grandma would say, “Ca sera sera.”

I returned to my seat, only to hear the final whistle blow and the crowd erupt into screams of ecstasy. Cass and Ally were jumping up and down and on seeing me, both rushed in my direction, practically tackling me to the floor. I held on tight. I would not hit the deck twice.

“Yeah, Molls, I can’t believe you took an elbow to the face—Molly Shakespeare, the newest member of fight club. It was friggin’ hilarious.” Cass laughed, holding her stomach as if it were hurting. She suddenly lost her smile. “Where’s my chips and root beer?”

“I didn’t quite get around to it, Cass!” She pouted and crossed her arms in disappointment.

“Did we win?”

Ally wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Win? We completely smashed ‘em, darlin’. After Rome kissed you, he went back on the field a different person and hit every pass, every play. He was friggin’ MVP.”

My eyes bugged. “Well, that’s good, right? Most valuable player?”

“Good? Honey, people were saying it was your kiss that gave him some much needed good luck.”

I stepped back and viewed her sceptically. “Why would that be lucky?”

“It turned his game right ‘round, a full one-eighty.” She smiled and clapped excitedly.

Cass put her hands on my waist and turned me to face the Jumbotron. “You see?”

Bloody hell.

The guys that control the screen had worked hard in my absence. The collage playing on repeat began with Rome missing a series of plays. It then cut to me being piled upon by two drunken idiots, being smacked in the face with an elbow, and falling to the floor—it looked worse than it’d felt. Next, Rome was running off the field, ignoring the coach, leaving his teammates gaping after his retreating form, then capturing my face in his hands and leaning in for a kiss. The final segment showed his three winning touchdown shots that I’d missed while in the medical room.

It was too much. My heartbeat took off at a feverish rate and my chest tightened. I hated being the centre of attention, and being broadcast to thousands of people was more than I could handle. Add Romeo’s kiss into the mix and I was an anxious-ridden mess. I was a firm believer that not everyone should be in the spotlight; I put myself first in that queue.

I turned slowly to face the field where Rome was doing interviews and, surprise, surprise, Shelly jumped in the shot next to him, kissing him on the cheek, acting the proud girlfriend.

I felt my heart plummet as I stared at Shelly and Rome together, and one thing became glaringly obvious—I was way out of my league.

I’d been so friggin’ stupid in coming here, in thinking anything could happen with someone like Rome. He was the most popular guy on campus, lusted after by a stampede of aggressively determined girls, and I was a bookworm, a painfully private introvert.