Sweet Home (Page 38)
Lexi and Cass were staring at me with their mouths dropped in shock, darting their eyes from me to Rome to Shelly and back again. Ally had her arms crossed and satisfied amusement shone from her every pore.
Romeo bent his head and whispered in a tight voice, “You okay?”
I nodded but kept my head dropped low in embarrassment. He grasped my hand, pulling me from my chair, the action causing our fellow students to murmur and gossip in question at his strange behaviour towards the quiet Brit.
“Get your purse, Shakespeare. We’re leavin’.”
I reached for my tasselled brown bag and tried to keep up with his pace as he stormed out of the doors, the force causing them to crash against the wall, leaving a shell-shocked Shelly stood alone in rage.
We pounded along the pavement of the quad; I was almost running to keep up. “Romeo, slow down. Where are we going?” I asked, trying to keep my breathing in check.
We stopped at a huge new black Dodge truck and he pulled the passenger side open.
“Get in,” he ordered aggressively.
I jumped on the seat and he slammed the door shut. Romeo climbed into the driver’s side and switched on the engine. Hard metal music came pumping through the speakers and he spun his wheels as we shot out of the car park. I didn’t know what to say—I’d never seen anyone so livid.
After two songs featuring an awful lot of drums and gravelly screaming, Rome began to relax his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. “Sure you’re okay?” he asked in a strained voice.
“Yes. A little embarrassed, but I’m fine.”
“How dare she speak to you like that? She’s such a bitch! Why the hell did I waste so much of my f**kin’ time on her?!” he spat out as he hit his fist on the dashboard.
“You took the words right out of my mouth.”
His lip curled into a reluctantly amused smirk.
We weaved in and out of streets, and I laid my head against the window as the city passed by in a blur and I tried to numb my memory of Shelly’s viciously accurate words.
We pulled to a stop outside University Mall. I lifted my head off the window and when I turned towards Romeo, he was leaning against his hand watching me. “Mol, I’m so sorry for what she said to you about your parents. I can’t imagine how that must’ve felt.” His brown eyes were pained.
I reached across and placed my hand on his knee. “You have nothing to apologise for.”
He covered my hand with his. “Not true. She’s rippin’ on you because she sees my interest. Saw it from our very first kiss. You’re the enemy now, Mol, and I can’t say sorry enough for that. I put you in this position and she’s gonna try and make your life hell.”
I couldn’t help but smile at his concerned words, and I shifted closer along the seat to lay my head on his shoulder. He sighed and hooked his bare arm around my neck. I ran my appreciative gaze along his staple sleeveless shirt, this time in blue, his faded jeans, and brown, worn cowboy boots. He rocked that look like no one else could—true country boy.
After minutes of quiet, comfortable solace in his arms, I lifted my head. “Rome, who was on the phone earlier, outside the cafeteria?”
He stiffened and released a slow, steady breath. “You saw?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t really wanna talk about it.”
I sighed in disappointment. “Okay. Just answer one thing. Was it your parents?”
His arm tensed around my shoulders and the sound of the clock on the dash ticked loudly in the sudden strained silence. It was several muted seconds before he hushed out, “Yes.”
I decided to file my questions on that away for a time when he wasn’t so pissed off. I could see that it had cost him to reveal that tidbit of information.
I straightened, confused at my surroundings. “Why are we here?”
Romeo opened his door, took my hand, and pulled me onto the red-hot tarmac. “We’re gettin’ you some new glasses. C’mon’.”
I halted, pulling his arm back. “Romeo, I can’t afford them yet.”
His hard gaze narrowed and his nostrils flared. “I’m gettin’ them. Now c’mon!” He tried to pull me in step once again.
I stood stoic. “Romeo, I’m not a charity. I’ll get my own bloody glasses when I’ve saved up enough money. You won’t buy them for me. I won’t let you. Being poor doesn’t embarrass me—taking pity money does!”
He jerked me into his chest and wrapped his iron arms around my back. “Molly, don’t f**kin’ push me on this. I indirectly broke the damn glasses with my shit pass. I riled up Shelly by showin’ everyone that I liked you, and I let her ego get too inflated by puttin’ up with her queen of all of Bama shit for the last three years. I’m gettin’ you new glasses and you’re gonna let me—you don’t have a f**kin’ choice. It’s not about embarrassment; it’s about protectin’ what’s mine.” His hard voice brooked no argument.