Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Chrissy
N o one can say I didn’t try, but Gwen might. The look she throws at me when Rome and I enter the cat café screams “I told you so.” And now I owe that bitch five bucks.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and fresh, out-of-the-oven pastries wafts through the air. Rome sits in a booth, and I follow suit. I observe him as he looks over the menu, admiring how his sea-glass eyes dance along the words.
His hair is more relaxed today, not slicked back. It covers his forehead and ears, making my fingers itch with the desire to run them through his locks. His cologne tickles my nose, sandalwood and salty ocean air.
Closing my eyes, I can imagine the two of us on the beach, listening to the waves, and feeling the gritty sand on our skin. Him shirtless, and me wanting nothing more than to feel his power between my legs.
“Chrissy, are you okay?” Gwen interrupts my thoughts. “You look like you were having a very pleasant dream.”
“I was thinking,” I blurt out.
“Again?” Rome asks without looking at me.
Gwen chuckles. “Uh-huh, sure you were,” she teases. “Anyway, since you’re my two favorite people, I’ll take your order here. Can I get you guys anything?”
“Iced vanilla coffee and a chocolate croissant, please.” I bat my eyelashes at her as she jots it down.
“Rome?”
“Just water.”
Both Gwen’s and my eyebrows raise instantaneously. “That’s it?” we ask at the same time, earning a baffled stare from Rome.
“What? I have to watch my figure.” He rubs his stomach.
I know damn well that the last thing that boy is watching is his figure. He looks like he needs four thousand calories a day to maintain his weight.
“Can you bring him a blueberry muffin?” I ask, and Gwen winks at me.
“Chrissy, I have to be good.” He sighs, and I roll my eyes.
“Shut up and eat the carbs, muscle man,” I snap at him with a playful tone.
Rome drops the menu and raises his hands. “Damn, my girl’s got a bite. Whatever you say, Wildflower.”
My girl.
Wildflower.
These next couple of months are going to be rough.
Gwen is quick to bring us our drinks and pastries, and I chew on my straw as I bop my head to the song that comes on next, “Genie In A Bottle” by Christina Aguilera.
Clicking my pen, I flip my notebook to an empty page and write Rome’s name on the top of the sheet with a few random doodles as he eats the muffin he didn’t want.
“So, shall we start, Mr. Carter?”
“I guess so.” He leans back in his seat and crosses his hands together to cradle the back of his head.
“Just a heads up, I hate scaling emotions. You’ll probably hear a lot of your teammates talking about it. I don’t agree with that technique. I’d rather you tell me your feelings. So, how do you feel about this program?” I keep my eyes on him, knowing the moment he starts talking, I’ll be able to gauge whether he’s lying or not.
“It doesn’t bother me.” He shrugs while picking at his muffin.
“Football practice started this week. How’s that going?”
“It’s good. Same old stuff.”
He’s keeping his answers straight to the point, but I need him to dig deeper.
“Do you have any responsibilities besides being an all-star wide receiver?” I keep my tone even. The last thing I need is for him to curl up in his bubble of self-protection. He can’t know I’m prying for more information.
“I memorize plays, help the coach develop strategies, and help the new players fit in and get used to the schedule. On top of that, I have to keep up with my own workout routine and meal regiment.” Rome’s eyes are on the empty muffin paper.
I notice then that his shoulders are tense. The fun-loving guy I started to fall for weeks ago seems to be disappearing, and I have a feeling I know why.
“Those sound like a captain’s responsibilities. Were you promoted?” I ask even though I already know the answer.
“No.”
“Did Malik hand some of these responsibilities off to you?”
“Not really. I noticed he was slacking, so I stepped in.”
And now look at you, Rome. The once fun, bright-eyed, attention-seeking, beyond-extroverted guy I was reintroduced to months ago is slowly becoming a ball of stress and fatigue. My heart starts to break for him. I noticed a shift during the beach trip and even when I cooked him breakfast the next day. He won’t survive if things continue as they’re going.
“So you train and help the rookies, you review and memorize plays, and your days are planned to a T. Along with coursework and socializing with your friends. Hearing me say all that out loud, how does that make you feel?” I try to keep my voice level, but the emotion slips through.
Rome has taken on too much responsibility that isn’t even his to bear. It doesn’t surprise me that he wants to help the new guys or offered to help Malik initially. But he needs to start setting boundaries because, looking at him now, I see the deep bags under his eyes.
Rome looks up at me, and I offer him a faint smile. “You’re tired already, aren’t you?”
“I am,” he mumbles.
“And classes haven’t started yet. It’s going to get worse.” I want to reach out and take his hand, but I resist the temptation and focus on his expression instead. “Want to know what I’m thinking?”
He nods in response.
“You are a giver, Rome. You picked up Malik’s slack. You wanted to help the new guys because you are kind and selfless. You work on the game plays with your coach because no one else is going to do it. You are the captain of your team, minus the official title. I don’t know what your home life was like when you were a child, but I’m willing to guess you were a helper there as well. Rome, looking at you now, I can tell you’re tired. But it’s going to get worse when classes resume. My suggestion? Take a step back before it gets too hectic. Tell Malik he needs to resume some of his duties.”
“I can’t do that,” he responds solemnly.
“Why not?” I ask, but silence is his only response. “If you don’t stand up for yourself, Rome, you will burn out.”