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That’s when something made sense to me. Rome doesn’t play just to be the best, he plays because it lets him out of the cage he traps his emotions in until they break free. The field must be where he opens the door for them willingly. Maybe that’s why he’s been such a jerk to me. He hasn’t gotten to play and needs a punching bag.
Moving quickly, I keep a safe distance between us, and when I see him enter the back doors to the gym, I follow.
Just before the doors close, I slip through the crack quietly, not ready to make my presence known. I need to get a feel for his temperament first.
“Fuck!” I hear him shout, his voice echoing off the four walls in the empty gym.
I stop walking, unsure what the hell I’m even doing. But I have a heart, unlike Rome, and I’m empathetic to the sadness I saw in his eyes.
He definitely needs a minute to cool down, so I hang back, watching as he slams his palm against the door to what I assume is the boys’ locker room. He enters, and I pace back and forth, rubbing my temples.
I really should leave. Rome’s issues are not my business.
Yet, once again, I’m making a stupid decision and walking to the door that just closed behind him.
Pulling it open, slowly, I hold tightly to it, making sure it doesn’t make a noise when it shuts. On the toes of my shoes, I walk quietly, taking care not to make a single sound as I creep around a row of lockers.
The second I see him, I jolt backward, pressing my back to the wall. He didn’t see me, thankfully.
I inch out slightly, just enough to steal a peek. His head is hung low and his palms are pressed against the metal doors of two lockers in front of him. Could this be about his mom? These games can’t be easy on him or his brothers. This is their first year without her. The empath in me aches for him. I can’t stand Rome, but seeing someone hurt who comes off so strong and confident is heartbreaking.
Suddenly, my phone beeps, breaking the silence in the room and, undoubtedly, giving me up. Sure enough, Rome’s eyes lock with mine, and my entire body flushes with heat, my pulse skyrocketing. Without a second thought, I haul ass out of the locker room the same way I came in.
You’d think a killer was coming for me with how fast I’m moving. A hefty growl comes from across the gym, followed by the thud of heavy footsteps.
My heart rate excels, my feet move in longer strides, and when I’m in the center of the gym, I glance over my shoulder to find Rome stalking toward me, the scowl on his face heavy.
When I realize he’s not slowing down, I turn in his direction, so I’m not taken by surprise when he grabs me…again. “I was just leaving,” I tell him, hoping he won’t make a big deal out of this. But his only response is fuming breaths of anger. I take a step backward, but as suspected, he grabs me by the forearm.
“Hey,” I snap as I’m pulled toward a closed door. I’m not sure where it leads since this is my first time stepping into the gym, but I think I’m about to find out. “Is this how you treat someone who just came to make sure you were okay?”
“Make sure I was okay?” He laughs condescendingly. “Once again, I didn’t ask for your help, and I certainly don’t want it.” With my arm still clutched in his iron grip, he turns the handle of the door and shoves me inside. I’m getting really damn tired of being manhandled by this asshole.
A motion light comes on just before he enters and kicks the door closed behind him. I look around, noticing we’re in a storage room. There are jump ropes hanging from hooks, basketballs in bins, footballs in crates, and shelves filled with a variety of things ranging from arm weights to small orange cones.
Before I can even get a word out, Rome’s hands suddenly grab the edge of my sweatshirt. Confused, I look down and watch as he aggressively pulls the fabric up, taking my tee shirt underneath with it. With the hem of both shirts snug around my breasts, I narrow my eyes at Rome, noticing the way he’s looking at the small dandelion tattoo on my waist.
I’ve always loved dandelions. Some see a weed; I see a wish.
The tattoo was spontaneous and reckless, considering I allowed a complete stranger in an abandoned warehouse to do it. My best friend, Maggie, convinced me it was safe, and the artist was skilled. It was the first time I ever took a risk, but I’m happy with how it turned out.
I wince as Rome’s fingers graze over the skin of my stomach, a trail of goosebumps waking in their path.
Rome’s heavy gaze bores into mine, and I swear I’m staring into the eyes of Satan himself. Then, in a swift motion, he jerks the sweatshirt up farther.
“What the hell!” I grumble into the detergent-infused fabric as he moves it past my face. My hands shoot up instinctively as the layers are peeled off my body.
My cheeks flush with heat and I quickly cross my arms over my chest, trying to cover my bra and exposed cleavage with my hands.
“Why the hell are you doing this?” I question, feeling two feet tall and vulnerable. I’m not one to cower, but I’m not a fan of being stripped randomly. I’m not one of the pretty girls Rome is used to seeing without clothes on, and I have no desire for him to cut me down even more than I already do myself.
Rome balls the sweatshirt in his trembling hand, seething. “If I ever see you wear this hoodie again, mark my fucking words, you will pay.”
He’s mad about the sweatshirt? Because it says Cromwell on the back? “Look,” I begin, “I wasn’t too keen on wearing your last name either, but?—”
“This isn’t about my last name!” he shouts as he slams the shirt to the cement floor like it’s a football and he just scored a touchdown. My body jolts backward at his outburst and my back hits a row of shelves behind me. Chills run down my spine when I notice his fists balled tightly, as if he wants to pound them into me. “You have no fucking right!” His voice is loud and laced with malice.
I’m not sure when I lost all modesty, but I no longer care about my tits being seen by Rome. My hands are now stretched behind me, slapping around on the shelves as I search for something to hit him with if he starts getting physical.
