Those words caused my back to stiffen, and I snapped, “Why the fuck would I be with her?” The very fact that Molly thought I’d be with Shelly of all people, had me steaming with rage. Shelly! Why did everything always come back to her?
Clearing her throat, Molly answered, “She was with you after the game. The two of you looked cozy. I thought you might have wanted to celebrate with her tonight.” Although she’d fought to hide it, I caught the disappointment in her voice. I got it. She’d heard all the rumors about me, about me fucking any piece of ass that moved, so why should she trust me? Why think she was different to me?
I needed her to be convinced.
Standing directly below her and pinning her with my gaze, I pronounced, “Let’s get this straight right now. She’s not fuckin’ anything to me. Never will be.” Molly’s entire body visibly relaxed and a small smile broke on her lips.
Wait—
“Is that why you bailed on the party? Because you thought I’d be with that conniving bitch?” Even in the dark, I could see the guilty blush smother her cheeks.
Shit. That was why she snubbed my party and why she wasn’t there for me at the end of the game.
“Rome, I just didn’t fancy the party tonight, that’s all. You go and enjoy yourself. You don’t need to check on me.” She was trying to push me away. I knew I was a scary concept to her—hell, to most—but this was one fight I wasn’t going to lose. She was one chick I wouldn’t just throw away.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I assured her, my voice stern and laced with authority. I grimaced internally, unsure if my tone would scare her off. But hell, this was me: stubborn, strict, one hell of a moody fucker, and harboring a desperate need to be in control.
As always, the girl surprised me, and instead of being deterred and telling me to fuck off, she burst into hysterical laughter.
I wasn’t sure whether to be pissed off or join in on the amusement. “What’re you finding so funny, Shakespeare?” I asked, a hoarse roughness to my voice.
Leaning farther forward, she sang, “That Romeo has come to my balcony to strive for my attention.” I barely even noticed she said that damn name; I was too mesmerized by the lift in her spirit.
Clasping her hands, she recited, “The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here… they will murder thee.”
“How the hell do you know that from memory?” I asked, fighting not to return the wide smile that was plastered on her damn cute face.
“I’ve read it about a hundred times. It’s beautifully tragic.” Pointing at me, then herself, she said, “Kind of like us, don’t you think?”
She’d hit the friggin’ nail on the head. We were tragic, both pretty fucked up. But we could be fucked-up together, balance it out.
Running to the side of the balcony, I spotted a trellis and, groaning at the damn irony, began climbing up the wall like a man possessed.
“Romeo, be careful! What the hell are you doing?” Molly hissed, watching me in horror.
“Coming to see my Juliet,” I said in jest, watching her face pale as she stumbled back in surprise, then climbing the rest of the way and jumping onto the terrace. I hit the floor with a thud, but then I looked up… and almost had a stroke.
Brown hair to her waist, thick enough to grip, and the shortest, thinnest scrap of pink material barely covering her impressive curves, the beads of her nipples visible, tempting me to just step forward and take them in my mouth. My cock instantly hardened in my jeans, and moving toward her, noting the quickened rise and fall of her braless tits, I reached out, stroking her soft dark hair—even the thin wrap of sports tape in the center of her frames unable to distract me from how fucking stunning she was right here before me.
In an instinctive move, her hand met mine, and, taking advantage of the lust widening in her eyes, I moved in, running my finger down her neck, my restraint hanging by a thread.
“Romeo? W-what are you doing?” Molly asked, her question more of a strangled moan than anything else.
“I ain’t sure. But I don’t wanna stop,” I whispered against her neck. Vanilla. Her. Fucking perfection.
“Rome, I don’t think—” She stopped mid-sentence as she whipped around to look down at the backyard, fear on her face. Students flooded the yard, the party spilling to this side of the street. I didn’t give a shit, though. In fact, let all of the student body see us like this. So with more aggression, I slammed her body against mine and nipped along the bare skin of her neck, continuing where we left off.