A closed mouth ensured he didn’t say anything in response. I could tell he wasn’t going to talk; his lips were locked tight in refusal. I took his hand again and he gripped mine, making sure I couldn’t let go.

He appeared so lost, his usual hard exterior split open, exposing his weakness. I needed to change the topic, gradually reseal the scar.

“How was your game in Arkansas?”

A small flicker of relief flashed across his face at my turn in conversation. “We won. No help from me though.”

“You have a bad game?”

He licked his lip, prodding at the fresh cut, and picked up a fallen twig, snapping it in his clenched fist. “Fuckin’ nightmare of a game.”

“Well, you’re only human.”

“I’ve never had such a bad start to a season in my entire life. My senior year, the one in which I’ll enter the draft, and it’s all goin’ to hell in a hand basket.”

“Why is it going so bad?”

“Because I can’t complete even one of my passes. I’m lettin’ the team and fans down. My parents won’t back the f**k off over Shelly—you just witnessed my daddy’s insistence on that issue. She’s being a bigger leech than normal and I’m constantly fightin’ her off. My head is all over the place, I can’t sleep or get focused, and thinkin’ about a certain English girl keeps me up every night. Every f**kin’ night. She’s plaguin’ my dreams.”

He pulled our hands to his unshaven cheek and ran them up and down his rough stubble.

“Yeah, I know what that’s like,” I whispered, watching as my fingertips brushed past his mouth, completely breathless at his confession.

“I thought about our last meetin’ nonstop while I was away.” Rome’s voice was almost inaudible, as if admitting to committing a cardinal sin. He seemed nervous, not an emotion I’d seen from him before. I guess actually liking a girl was a whole new world to the king of meaningless sex.

“Yeah. Me too. It’s been… different to have my head filled with a certain Bama hottie and not Dante, Descartes, or Kant.”

He nudged me with his knee, amusement brightening his dead eyes. “You think I’m a hottie?”

I blushed and nudged him back. “You’re all right.”

Peeking at me from under his long lashes, he cracked a smile. “Where were you goin’ at this time of mornin’ when you saw this hottie gettin’ a beatdown?”

“Rome—”

“Answer the damn question, Shakespeare.”

I shook my head. Hard Romeo began to rouse from his sleep. “The library. I have notes I need to write up for Professor Ross. She has an office there where I can work undisturbed. I saw… what happened with you and your daddy and thought you needed me more than the exciting world of academia does right now.”

With a pat on my leg, he pulled me to stand, our hands still clasped tight. “Let’s go.”

“Where to?”

“The library. I’m gonna help you. We can’t let the world of academia down now, can we?”

“Romeo… are you sure you don’t want to go home or do something else? We could talk more if you’d like. Whatever you need.”

Losing his jovial tone, he stressed, “No. We’re gonna go to the library and I’m gonna help you with your paper.” He wasn’t to be trifled with. He wasn’t far from snapping and I could see it, untapped aggression waiting impatiently at the surface for its chance to pounce. He needed the distraction and I thought it best to take him with me to save some poor fellow student from meeting the end of Romeo’s fist when he finally slipped over the edge.

“You’re going to help me with philosophy?”

A moody pout formed on his lips. “Hey, just ‘cause I’m a jock don’t mean I’m stupid.” He wrapped his arms around my shoulders from behind. “For your information, I’m acin’ that class. I may be able to show you a thing or two.”

Stepping away, he put a finger to his cheek, conveying he was deep in thought. “For example, Immanuel Kant was a real piss-ant who was very rarely stable.”

A huge grin spread on my face and I blurted out a loud laugh, singing, “Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar who could think you under the table.”

He paced in before me in a lecturer-like fashion. “Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle, and Hobbes was fond of his dram.” He bowed playfully for me to go next.

“And Rene Descartes was a drunken fart. I drink, therefore I am.’”

I covered my giggle with my hand, feeling light and flirtatious, and Rome, with a stunning smile, held up his hand for a high-five. I slapped it with gusto.

“So you’re a Monty Python fan?” I asked excitedly.

“Well, you can’t study philosophy and not be familiar with ‘Bruces’ Philosophers Song.’”

“I agree, but I never pegged you for a British comedy nut.”

He snorted. “It’s Python.” As simple as that. “So let’s go. I surprised you once with my philosophy knowledge. I’m pretty sure I can do it again.”

I waved dismissively. “Whatever, you’re twenty-one. I’m still only twenty and I’m already on my master’s. I doubt there’s anything you can show me, superstar. It’s my area of expertise.”

In a flash, Rome had jostled me into his chest and caught my earlobe between his teeth. “Maybe not in philosophy, but I can sure as hell show you other things, Mol—in my area of expertise.”

“And what’s that?” I asked breathlessly.

He pressed lingering lips on the furiously beating pulse on my throat. “Much more… pleasurable things than work.”

I froze and he moved before me, jerking me back into stride. “Come on, megabrain, let’s go research and get your dirty mind outta the gutter.”

* * *

Romeo stayed with me at the library for hours, helping me type up notes and research counterarguments for the paper. To give him his dues, he was extremely knowledgeable on the subject. He seemed different when we parted, somehow lighter, and I was too. His company settled me and although he could be abrupt and occasionally a bit scary, I found I liked it. But unfortunately, that meant I was right back to thinking about him constantly.