What was she trying to say? “Like you, Mol…? A girl like you?”
“You don’t even know me.” She was pushing me away, so I said the first thing that came to mind, running my finger down her cheek, loving the effect it had on her breathing. “It only took Romeo one look at Juliet and his fate was sealed. Maybe I’m just like my namesake, and maybe you’re just like yours.”
Smooth, Rome, real smooth. Oh, and I was sure that comment was an instant deduction of a thousand man-points, but it had the desired effect. She wanted me, and shit, at that moment, I wanted her too.
Placing my hand on her bare knee, I continued running it up her thigh, the heat of her skin increasing the closer I got to between her legs. My c**k was as hard as granite as I watched those plump lips part, and I moved in, about to take her, when the f**king door handle began to shake. “Rome? Rome? Open up! I know you’re in there!”
Molly sucked in a breath and, knocking my hand from her thigh, straightened her toga.
Ruined.
“Fuck!” I screamed, turning and launching my beer into the trash, hearing the glass shatter.
“That girl!” Molly hissed and stared at me, looked me dead in the eye, waiting for me to say something. As I stared at her hopeful face, reality came crashing down. What the hell was I doing? Molly was damaged, too damaged to be just a f**k. From everything she’d told me, meaningless sex would just be cruel, and shit, I couldn’t give her anything more. I needed to get the hell out of Bama—had to—and being with a girl that wasn’t Shelly was just going cause a shit storm of problems with my folks.
Nothing was worth that.
“I’m going to go, Rome,” she finally said with a disappointed sigh. “I’ll leave you with her. It’s probably for the best.”
“Mol—” I started, but she was probably right. It was for the best.
But when she walked past, something in me clicked, and I grabbed her hand, smashing her into my chest. Her golden eyes were huge as she stared up at me, waiting… just f**king waiting for something. “I liked talking to you, Shakespeare. It was different…” I eventually confided with a strained voice.
Gripping her toga, I pulled her closer to me, holding the back of her neck in my hand, but her expectant gaze told me she needed more.Her face dropped as I stalled, and she said disappointedly, “You too, Romeo. But our little conversation seems to have come to an end. I imagine it’s probably for the best anyhow.”
Before I could stop her, she pulled away, walking to the bedroom, and I followed. Mol pulled on the handle and the door burst open, Shelly came running straight toward me, jumping into my arms and crushing her fat lips against mine. “I want you, Rome. Fuck me, right here, right now.”
Her legs tightened around my waist and she began grinding her panty-less crotch against my jeans. Clasping the top of her arms, I pushed her back, my attention honing in on the door. It was shut, and Molly was gone.
Fuck!
Turning, I threw Shelly off me and onto the bed. “What the f**k, Shel?” I hissed.
She wobbled to her knees, smiling, her red lipstick smeared all over her teeth. “Daddy called, told me we’re getting hitched next July. I wanted to celebrate with you.”
Something within me broke, and Molly’s advice circled my brain. You can’t live your life for other people, Rome. You have to do things that you want, achieve your dreams, in any way you want to do it.
She was right. Fuck, she was right! What the hell was I doing?
Staring at Shelly on the bed, I asked, “Why do you want to marry me, Shel? You don’t love me. I don’t love you. What’s the pull?”
“I do love you! I always have,” she slurred.
Shaking my head in exasperation, I argued. “No, you love the idea of me. Fuck, Shel, you don’t even know me. How can you love me? How can you want this friggin’ engagement? Don’t you want a man who’ll love you back?”
Her eyes glossed and her shoulders slumped. “My daddy wants it to happen. My momma taught me from a young age what it would be like to marry for money, and like most women in my position, I would have to let you do your own thing, have your little flings. I accept that. But in society’s eyes, I would always be your wife. I would be the one on your arm at social functions and I would be the mother to your kids. We could give each other what our folks—and Tuscaloosa’s society—expect.”
Her gaze had dropped during her speech, but then she looked up at me with her bloodshot eyes and said, “I’m not stupid, Rome, despite what you think. I know you don’t love me, but, let’s face it; it’s not about love, is it? It’s who we are, who we were raised to be.”