“Since I was about three, I think. Around then, anyway. My eyesight has always been shite,” I answered, and he turned, staring blankly once more at the crowd below.
A bottle smashed on the lower floor and he peeked through railings to check it out. “It’s getting loud down there,” he mumbled mundanely.
“Yeah. Well, you should try walking down the corridors. It sounds like a brothel. I didn’t realise college life could be quite so… active.”
He chuckled quietly and held his bottle up in a mock toast. “Welcome to Greek life.”
I smiled and held up my bottle too, then downed half of it in one drawn-out swig to enable me to survive the guerrilla attack of nerves that were accosting my body.
I placed the bottle on the table as Romeo raised an eyebrow.
“I like beer,” I explained weakly.
“I can tell,” he answered with that same amused smirk.
I blushed and laid my chin on my cupped hand. “So why are you up here hiding out?”
Rome hunched his broad shoulders. “Don’t feel it tonight.”
I mock-gasped. “Mr. All-star Quarterback doesn’t want to mix with his adoring fans?”
His demeanour changed from amused to pissed off in an instant, and he proceeded to rip the label from his Bud bottle in frustration. “Well, that didn’t take long. Who told you who I am?”
“Lexi and Cass.”
“Who?”
“My roommates, they told me after we… erm, after we… you know…”
“Kissed?” he said bluntly, without embarrassment.
I fixed my eyes to the red-tiled floor. “Erm… yeah.”
“So what did they say ‘bout me?”
“That you were the Romeo Prince, quarterback extraordinaire for the Crimson Wave and that you were the Prince William of college football, yada, yada, yada…”
He stopped in his label destruction and put the back of his hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter.
I pursed my lips in annoyance. “What?”
“The Tide.”
“Huh?”
“It’s the Crimson Tide. Not Wave.”I shrugged and waved his correction away dismissively. “Whatever. Tomayto tomarto.”
“Well, we’d better keep that between us. It’s not tomayto tomarto ‘round here. It’s… everythin’. It’s life and death.” He sighed and went back to picking the label.
I took a few more sips and announced, “So, Romeo, eh?”
Cocoa eyes frosted ice cold. “It’s Rome.”
I shook my head, my eyebrows dancing. “Ah-ah! It’s Romeo. I’ve been reliably informed.”
He scowled at me, his face rigid. “No one calls me that, Mol.”
“Just like no one calls me ‘Mol,’” I retorted, and my eyes widened at my uncharacteristic boldness.
It earned me a surprised glare. “Touché, Molly…?” He trailed off, waiting for me to say my last name with an expectant smirk.
“Molly Shakespeare.”
Rome drifted closer, mouth tight. “What?”
“Shakespeare. Molly Shakespeare.”
The annoyance was evident in his intimidating expression. “Are you tryin’ to be funny?”
“Nope. Romeo, I’m a Shakespeare—born and bred.”
He stilled for a moment before he rolled his head back and held his stomach while he boomed out a laugh. His red shirt lifted slightly, showing a line of his tanned, hard stomach.
“That’s not the only weird thing about our names,” I announced nervously.
“Really? ‘Cause things have been all kinds a’weird since meeting you today. I’m not sure I understand what it all means yet.” He furrowed his brow and shook his head.
“Well, get a one-way ticket to freaky-ville, my friend, because my middle name, Romeo, is Juliet,” I rushed out, tapping my fingers on the glass-topped table.
Rome’s drink froze mid-air and his tongue caught between his teeth. “Are you serious?”
“Yep, my dad thought it would be a fitting tribute to our family surname.”
He tipped his head to the side, regarding me with a curious expression. “Very fittin’.”
“Yeah, but at the same time kind of embarrassing.”
“Well, Shakespeare, you gonna treat me differently now too? Now that you know I’m Romeo ‘Bullet’ Prince?”
“Bullet?” My nose scrunched in confusion.
Scratching his hand across his forehead, he said, “Yeah. Football nickname. ‘Cause of my arm.”