Page 8 of Forever Cursed

“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“You’re quiet.” His tone is soft and gentle.

“I’m just thinking.” That makes him smirk and snicker. “What’s so funny?” I ask with a hint of laughter.

“I thought you said you try not to think often,” he says, and I purse my lips.

“This is one of those rare occurrences,” I fire back, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You’re adorable.” His eyes scan over to me, lingering for a moment.

Adorable.My grandma calls me adorable. Normally, I wouldn’t take such a compliment to heart. Although, the way Rome says it, how he seems to admire me, I can’t help the warm butterflies that whirl in my chest.

“How are you? The last time I saw you, your hair was down to your shoulders.” I lean over to ruffle his hair, earning myself a chuckle.

“I’m doing okay. Football is intense. I feel like all I do is eat, work out, and sleep most days.”

He does sound tired. I saw him two weeks after Christmas, and he was fine. What happened between then and now? Is football weighing on his shoulders? Or is it something else? A girl, maybe?

“I really needed this today. It was nice.” He glances over at me and smiles. “I missed you, bubbles.”

And there goes my heart, right out the fucking window.

“I missed you too.” I try to hide the hint of longing in my tone. “You didn’t have to cut your hair though.”

“Do you know how hard it was to manage the tangles after practice? All the detanglers in the world couldn’t help me!”

“You think you have an issue with tangles? Look at me! I’m a walking bird’s nest.” I shake my head and show off my tight curls. “Do you know how many combs I’ve broken over the years?”

Rome’s laughter fills the car, and a rush of happiness makes me smile widely.

“Your hairissomething else,” he teases.

“I know. I’m a walking, talking mess,” I joke, but deep down, I know it’s true.

What kind of girl lets go of a decent guy because he didn’t do something as simple as offer her his jacket on a chilly night? What kind of girl my age hasn’t had one decent relationship? What kind of girl stares at her best friend and her boyfriend and wishes she had what they had? The answer is simple. This girl.

“You’re not a mess, Chrissy,” Rome states, pulling me from my thoughts. “You’re ahotmess.”

“Shut up!” I giggle while punching his bicep, but he’s like a brick wall, and my knuckles almost crack. “Ow! I should have known better.” I wince while shaking my hand.

“Sorry, Willows.” He lets out an airy laugh and looks over at me.

“Don’t be sorry. Ladies love muscles.” Looking down at the hoodie I’m wearing, I wonder how many other girls have worn it. Rome is a sexy football player, so of course he would have fangirls. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.

“I don’t care about that,” he states, and my brow wrinkles.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Interesting,” I say without thinking. I’m trying not to go all psych major on him, but my thoughts are running rampant. “And why don’t you care?” I ask, trying not to sound like a therapist.

“I need to focus on football,” he says with a casual shrug.

“Hmm,” I muse as I try to pull the truth out of him because he’s clearly lying to me. “You don’t date? At all?”

“Nope.”

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