Sweet Rome (Sweet Home) (40 page)

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 fucking 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 fuck 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 fuck 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 fucking 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 fucking 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 fuckers chasing her tail?” I leaned back against the wall and ran my hand down my face. “
I
was one of those fuckers, 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.”

Flashing me a teasing smile, Molly quickly headed to the backyard—Oh, she’d done it now.

Running after my wife, I scooped her up in my arms, making her yelp out in surprise. I sat down on the secluded bench, way out of sight, laying her across my lap. Diving onto her soft lips, I fisted bunches of her long brown hair, and took what I wanted.

As always, she submitted to my demands.

We broke from the embrace several minutes later, both panting, and Molly squirmed against the hardness in my jeans.

“Mol…” I warned.

“Mm-hmm?” she answered innocently, a fucking horny-as-hell twinkle in her golden-browns.

My jaw clenched as I fought my need, and I hissed through gritted teeth, “Don’t play with fire, Shakespeare. It’s too much for pretty little English girls to cope with.”

“What can I say…? I’m a risk taker.” She shrugged and smiled widely.

Mol watched as my lip twitched, and within seconds, the two of us burst into laughter and I gripped her tight around her neck, tucking my head into her hair.

When we had both calmed down, I lifted my head and said, “I can’t believe I said that to you back then. I was so fucked up and full of my own shit.”

“Are you kidding me? You had me so pent up for you that I almost combusted on the spot! I could’ve stayed at that creek forever.”

I leaned in close and whispered seductively, “If I’m not mistaken, you did combust around three of my fingers shortly after.”

Slapping my chest playfully, Mol replied, “Yeah, and I tossed you off onto the grass!”

I froze at her comeback and practically dropped her to the floor, unable to contain my hysterical laughter. “Tossed me off?”

Molly pushed out her tongue and I slapped her tight ass. “How is it that even after living in the States for over twenty years, that accent of yours is still as thick as ever?”

“Says you! There’s no shaking that southern drawl out of you, is there?”

Oh, she was just asking for trouble.

Gripping her thighs, I pulled her to straddle my waist, making her moan as I instantly ground my cock against her core, my hands locked on her cheeks, and I hushed out, “I should take you to the old cabin and fuck the living shit outta you for old time’s sake. There’s something in the Bama water that makes me want to own every fuckin’ part of you, to fill every hole.”

“Well, I think the new owners might have something to say about that,” she muttered, trying to restrain herself from moaning out loud.

“I couldn’t give a shit about the new owners!” I said curtly, and my eyes closed when she began rocking back and forth against my dick.

“I’ll take you right here, Mol. Don’t think I won’t,” I threatened, this time without humor, as I dragged my teeth along my bottom lip, my hands dropping from Mol’s face to squeeze and nip at her breasts.

“It’s good that you still want me after all these years. Four kids aren’t exactly flattering on a woman’s body.”

I laid kisses along the side of her neck, licking and biting as I went. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me? You’re so damn hot it’s unreal.
Christ
, I want you more now than ever.”

“Yeah, again, four kids kind of shows that! You’re insatiable, always have been.”

My eyebrows danced. “Wanna try for number five?”

I was deadly serious.

“Not a bloody chance!”

My break of laughter relaxed her. I knew she loved having kids, adored being a momma, but she kept telling me that three boys under the age of seven and a pubescent teenage girl was quite enough to deal with alongside being a full-time professor.

“Just so you know, though, I’m ready when you are. I want as many children as we can produce,” I said meaningfully. I loved having a huge family and would pop one out a year if I had my way. I loved being a daddy. It was the best damn thing in the world.

Those caramel eyes narrowed in jest. “You’re trying for your own football team, aren’t you?”

“Yep, and that’s a hell of a lotta kids. We need a strong offense, defense, oh, and the special teams of course…” Mol giggled and shut me up by smashing her lips against mine.

“Eww! That’s
gross!
” A high-pitched shriek stilled us both and we rolled our heads to the side, taking in the face of our disgusted, shocked daughter glaring at our compromising position.

If that Asher kid was back, I was gonna castrate the fucker.

Immediately straightening her hair, Molly went to move off my lap, but I held on tightly to her waist, whispering in her ear, “Do not move unless you want to scar our girl for life.” I knew the moment she felt it, my hardness, and she couldn’t help but blush as she kept still, hiding my… umm… awkward situation.

“What do you need, honey?” Molly asked, feigning normalcy.

Taylor shook her head in horror, her attitude still in place from before. “I’ve been calling for you both, but you never heard me. Now I can see why!” Molly glanced down at me and we had to force ourselves not to laugh at our daughters reprimand.

“
Whatever
. Look, you’re the main feature on the nightly news, I thought you’d wanna know. It’s about Daddy taking the QB coaching job at the Tide. And you too, Momma, ’bout you becoming a professor at UA, and that you’ve both taken positions at the same school. Said they’re gonna tell the story of your life or something.”

Molly turned to me and raised her eyebrows. “You know about this?”

I didn’t have a clue and shook my head in bewilderment.

“We’ll be there soon, princess. You go on back inside.” Taylor turned and ran back inside without looking back.

Molly immediately jumped off my lap and ran her hand across her forehead. “I wonder what they’ll be saying?”

Even after all this time, she hated being the center of attention.

I stood, fixing my jeans, and held out my hand for her to take. “Let’s go see, eh?” Clasping her hand in mine, we followed the path to the house and straight into the family room. Our four kids were lined up on the huge black leather sectional, their eyes glued to the screen. And Mol froze on the spot, a loving smile ghosting her lips.

When I turned to the TV, a montage of us was playing to the music “Hall of Fame” by The Script. It was all there, a reel of our lives: the kisses before the Tide games when we were at college… the two of us holding hands as we walked around campus… the kisses at the SEC Championship… Mol’s dramatic return at the National Championship… the Tide’s homecoming parade where I’d refused to let go of her hand… the NFL draft where I’d been first pick and proposed to my girl… our graduation day, hugging and laughing in our gowns… the paparazzi picture from the airport as we left for Seattle, all of our friends in the background, waving us off… my first game for the Seahawks and Molly sitting in the stands, cheering me on… shots of Mol over the years, pregnant with each of our four children… the many Superbowl wins and finally, me, a few months ago at the Centurylink Stadium, as they retired my jersey, surrounded by my wife and our four children. The montage ended with a simple script, the text reading:

“Welcome home, Romeo and Molly Prince.

Forever Roll Tide!”

The presenters went on to discuss the game plan for the Tide’s upcoming season and when I looked to our children—who were silently staring up at us—I realized Mol was crying. I was pretty choked up too.

“Momma, Daddy, you looked so young in those pictures,” Isaac, our eldest boy, said quietly. With his curly brown hair and glasses, he was the only one of the four who was just like Mol, with an IQ to match… a cute little geek through and through.

“We were young, little man,” I murmured, still staring at the commentators on the screen, but not listening to a word they had to say, my hand gripping almost painfully onto Mol’s. “It seems like so long ago yet weirdly, just like yesterday.”

“They called you Bama’s own Romeo and Juliet,” Taylor said softly, her mood forgotten. “At the beginning, they said your story was famous around here.”

Laughing, Molly nodded her head. “That’s what the press began to call us. Because of all the trouble we had in being together—publicly, unfortunately.”

“With Daddy’s parents?” she asked tentatively, and that old stab to the chest ripped through me in an instant.

“Yeah, honey,” Mol replied as she slid her arm around my back, rubbing it up and down in soothing motions. I hated any reminder of my parents and the years of shit I suffered at their hands… especially the miscarriage. I never saw them again after the meeting in my daddy’s study that day. And they were both long gone now. My Momma drank herself into an early grave only two years after she left Bama and my daddy suffered a heart attack ten years ago while incarcerated. We’d decided long ago to always be honest with our children—well, as honest as their ages would allow. Our troubles had been well documented and we didn’t want them to hear any of our past from anyone but us.