Not My Romeo

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

Right. He never came to any of my plays.

  “Well, welcome to the crazy.” I do what any good sister would. I motion her to join our circle, introducing her to Devon and Jack.

  She shakes hands with them and grows quiet, her finger twitching at the seams of her jacket.

  Jack frowns, a pucker on his forehead as he takes her in, then turns back to me, a question in his eyes. I give him a nod and let him connect the dots. Yeah, she’s the one who’s with my ex.

  Devon smiles at us, appreciation in his gaze. “You two look nothing alike.”

  “Elena’s the fun one,” Giselle murmurs.

  “And you’re the smart one,” I add.

  She pushes up her glasses. “Well, you’re the one everyone adores.”

  I blow out a breath. What is up with her? I push it aside.

  “She’s recently engaged,” I say. It’s a non sequitur, but her ring is right there, glittering up at us.

  Jack starts, looking at Giselle’s hand, then giving me a lingering look that I avoid.

  “Congratulations,” Devon says with a smile. I don’t think he ever stops smiling. “Shame. I was hoping Elena knew some single ladies.”

  “Elena knows everyone in town. I’m sure she can hook you up.” There’s a wistful tone in her voice, and I frown, about to disagree, but I realize she’s right. I do know everyone. Even though I moved away, as soon as I came back, I fell right into getting reacquainted with everyone in Daisy, either through the library or the community center.

  I look at Devon and Jack. “We’re having the engagement party at my house for Giselle and her fiancé in a few weeks. You guys should come.” I groan inwardly. Why did I say that?

  Jack starts and glances at Giselle. “Is that so?”

  She nods. “Yes. Please come. I’d enjoy getting to know Elena’s friends.”

  I shouldn’t have even invited them. It’s not my party. I’m just hosting it.

  “My schedule is tight,” Jack says, shrugging.

  That means no.

  Devon laughs. “I’ll be there. I’m digging this town. What should I bring? Wine? Whiskey? Beer? What’s your favorite, Elena?”

  I smile, my face burning at Jack’s odd behavior. I need some distance from him, from his coolness, like now, but I hang tough. “Just you and a smile.”

  “Bells on, babe. So tell me about the single girls in Daisy.”

  I nod. “There’s a teacher at the elementary school, Ms. Clark. Twenty-two. Long blonde hair. Drives a red convertible Mustang. Might be your style. She auditioned. I’m sure she’s here somewhere. Everyone gets a part if they want it.”

  I dart my eyes around the gym until I find the teacher. She’s talking to a group, but her eyes are focused on Jack like a laser beam. I picture her dashing up to Jack and fawning all over him like those girls at the VIP room.

  Devon slides in closer. “Oh, tell me more. Does she have a ruler she can pop me with?”

  “Ask Jack,” I say, grimacing, even though I try not to. “He got her phone number when he visited the school. Heard from Birdie Walker he was very interested.”

  Devon sends Jack a hard glance. “Did you now?”

  “She pressed it in my hands.” Jack glares at me.

  He should have ripped it into shreds!

  Elena. Stop. He isn’t yours.

  Tell that to my body.

  Annoyance rises, with him for being Romeo to my Juliet, with myself for daydreaming about him all week, and finally with Giselle for being part of something that’s always been mine.

  “You should totally call her,” I snap.

  Jack’s nose flares, his eyes glittering. “I will. Thanks.”

  “She’s right up your alley.”

  “Really. Glad you know what I like.”

  “VIP-room perfection,” I say curtly.

  A muscle pops in Jack’s jaw. “Elena . . . ,” he starts but stops, his face like granite.

  We stare at each other, and the air around us feels tight.

  Giselle frowns, looking from me to Jack. “Uh, is everything okay?”

  “Fine,” I scoff.

  Topher clears his throat. “Nice evening out. Wonder if it will rain?”

  I could throw out a weatherman comment, but I bite my tongue and force myself to keep my lips zipped.

  How is he able to bring out this childish side of me?

  I’m acting like a jealous girlfriend—and that is not what I am!

  But ever since I heard about Ms. Clark at the beauty shop, it’s been stewing.

  And he just said he’d call her.

  And obviously, he probably hasn’t even thought about me again.

  A long exhalation leaves Jack’s chest, and he murmurs that he wants to go talk to Laura. He turns and leaves, his back stiff and tense.

  “Well, that went great,” I mutter.

  Later, after Laura has given some brief instructions about rehearsal dates and times and introduced everyone, the cast settles in chairs at a long table. Read-through time.

  Jack sits next to me, the heat of his leg close to mine. I scoot over to give him more space.

  He shook every hand in the place before we sat down. A couple of people asked for autographs, and he signed their playbooks. I tried to not watch him, but it feels impossible. He’s the kind of man people stare at. He’s earnest and kind when he talks to them and not at all cocky. Once or twice, though, I caught a red flush on his cheeks when people got close to him, and it makes me wonder . . .

  Patrick sits on the other side of me, playing Tybalt, Juliet’s cousin. Topher sits directly across from me, playing the sparkling Mercutio. Giselle occupies a spot at the end of the table, head down, glasses perched on her nose as she thumbs through the playbook. Ms. Clark plays the prince, although in this case, since the play has a majority of male roles, it’s princess. Suits her, I think, watching as she reapplies her lipstick as she sits directly across from Jack. She keeps reaching over the table and touching his arm, commenting how much she loves football and the Tigers.

  Please.

  Control yourself, Elena.

  Devon is at the back of the gym, shooting hoops with Timmy.

  “Let’s start and see how far we get tonight with a read through,” Laura announces with a smile. “Scene one starts with Sampson and Gregory from the house of Capulet. It’s fun and snappy. Tybalt enters, and he’s ready for a fight.”

  Patrick laughs. “I’ll try to be angry. We could end the play early if I just tell them about loving your neighbor and all.”

  Laura raises her head and smiles, her eyes drifting over his face. “You’ll be great, Patrick.”

  I arch my brow.

  Well.

  Laura continues, clearing her throat. “Then Romeo comes in, lamenting his love for Rosaline. Scene two brings Paris and Capulet discussing Juliet’s marriage. Next, Romeo and company show up at the masquerade—and it’s love at first sight! The last scene in act one is when Romeo kisses Juliet. We’ll take a break after that and see if there are any questions.”

  Patrick nudges me and leans in and whispers, “Nice. You and Jack are going to be great.”

  “So awesome.” My voice is flat.

  He raises an eyebrow, voice low. “What? I could have sworn I felt sparks at church. He walked in, and well, you sort of melted.”

  Melted? I blink at the preacher. “Don’t know what you mean.”

  He chuckles. “Cynthia will be devastated we didn’t work out.”

  I wince. “Sorry if she tried to throw us together. Pretty sure she had the wedding all planned.”

  He shrugs. “Hard to date a preacher. You have to memorize the entire Bible before the first date.”

  I laugh. “You’re going to be great for this town.” I nudge my head toward Laura. “Sparks?”

  Patrick blushes a deep red.

  Jack leans in on the other side of me, his leg pressed against mine now. “Can you stop flirting with the preacher? I can’t hear Laura.”

  I sti
ffen in my seat and hiss at him, “I was not flirting.”

  I expect him to move back to his bubble, but he doesn’t, that taut muscled leg not moving one inch.

  Fine. I’m not moving either.

  We begin the read, and I forget about him, getting lost in the words and language.

  Jack/Romeo reads his first line, and I come back to reality.

  His voice is beautiful, deep, and husky yet lacks his usual confident tone.

  I’m not sure if anyone else even notices, but I do. I’ve heard him talk, the cadence of his syllables, his mouth on my skin . . .

  I dart my gaze over to him. Is he okay?

  “A little louder,” Laura says.

  He nods and reads louder. It’s perfect, the emotional inflection spot on for a man who is experiencing unrequited love. For a moment, dread filled me as I wondered if he was a bad actor, but he isn’t at all.

  But . . .

  I glance down, and his hands are clenched under the table.

  I frown, taking in his expression without being too obvious. The furrowed brow, the concentration on his face.

  Realization hits. He . . . he doesn’t like this. Even though he’s flawless in his execution. Is he this unhappy about me being here? Oh. I deflate a little. Maybe he never wanted to see me again, and tonight was a shock.

  Minutes pass, and we get to the last scene in act one, where Romeo and I meet and kiss.

  I can’t look at him as we pause for the kiss, which we don’t do—obviously. This is just a read through.

  Keeping my eyes down on my playbook, I say, “Then have my lips the sin that they have took.”

  Jack replies, “Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg’d! Give me my sin again.”

  We pause to allow for the second kiss, our heads rising up to stare at each other. His face is a mask.

  “You kiss by the book,” I say to him, looking right into those amber eyes. I hate it when my voice trembles.

  The nurse interrupts Romeo and Juliet, Giselle’s voice saying her lines, and I clear my throat and look down at the table.

  It’s clear as day that this play is going to kill me.

  Chapter 20

  JACK

  I heave out a long sigh as we wrap up our read through, rolling my shoulders and my neck as I stand. My entire body is tight and wired, yet exhaustion ripples over me, as if I’ve come off the field after being sacked. I shake it off. Literally. I do a few stretches with my arms and shoulders, mentally shoving down the stillness of the past three hours.

  I’m acutely aware of Elena as she stands, gathering up her things. I watch as she puts her purse crossbody-style over her shoulder, the motion delicate and fine, graceful. She’s barely showing any skin at all, just the creamy part of her wrists and hands. Swallowing, I stare at them—

  Dammit.

  I’m bad off, turned on by a wrist. My eyes rove over the soft curve of her neck, the auburn hair that’s up and trailing over one shoulder—

  “Hey, Jack. I just want to thank you again for visiting our school,” comes the high, squeaky voice from the girl who’s appeared next to me. Blonde. Young. Lots of jewelry and makeup. A short dress. Ms. Clark from the elementary school, whom I barely recalled until Elena reminded me. “I can’t believe you’re doing the play. The entire town appreciates you. It’s so sweet.”

  Sweet?

  It’s hell. I almost stumbled when I sat down at that table to read. But I did it, hands tight, my body pumped with adrenaline. Admittedly, it wasn’t as bad as a group of reporters shooting questions at me, but still, it makes me squirm knowing that I have to speak in front of people I don’t know.

  “You’re welcome,” I say politely, then move to walk around her, my gaze on Elena, who’s already walking away. She chats with Topher briefly before striding toward the exit. He appears to be staying behind to help with props.

  “There’s a little tavern near here. Some of us are headed there. Would you like to join us?” Ms. Clark grabs my arm, and I stop and look down at her. She is pretty and willing, if that gleam in her eyes is anything to go by.

  “No.”

  She bats long lashes. “Are you sure? It’ll be fun. Dartboard, pool tables, great ambience.”

  “Positive.”

  She pouts, but I murmur goodbye and step around her, eyes on Elena.

  I have to jog because she’s already disappeared out the gym doors, her ass swaying.

  “Elena!”

  I catch up to her as she stomps down a dark hallway toward the exit. I don’t know what I’m going to say, but . . .

  She keeps on walking, face straight ahead. “Not going to have a drink with Ms. Clark?”

  “Guess you heard. Sharp ears. Not interested in her.” I tuck my hands in my jeans as we pass by silver lockers, some of them rusty and dented. “Did you go to school here?”

  “Yes.” Those pretty eyes find mine before looking away. “You said you’d call her.”

  I blow out a breath. Dammit. That was stupid, but she pushed me, and I pushed right back.

  I take her hand, making her stop. An uncertain look crosses her face. “Jack. What do you want with me?”

  I don’t know.

  And after she walked out of my penthouse, that should have been the end of us.

  And I’m probably going to hurt her.

  But . . .

  I can’t forget her—her face, those lips, the way she talks to me like I’m an average person, no judgments, no care about who I am.

  I ask what’s been on my mind since I heard the news. “Giselle and Preston are engaged. Are you okay?” My eyes study her face, looking for clues. “That must be hard for you.”

  Her shoulders dip. “She loves him. I’m not sure I ever did.”

  I rock back on my heels. “I see. Over him already?”

  “Maybe Giselle did me a favor.”

  “Maybe your one-night stand erased him from your memory.” I smirk at her, wanting to make her laugh—or something. I don’t like this hardness from her, that expression of reserve she has on her face.

  She pulls her hand out of mine and takes off walking again. I follow her.

  A long breath comes from her. “Isn’t Devon waiting on you?”

  “We drove separate. He left earlier. He just came to snap some pics.” I pause. “He knew I wanted to talk to you.”

  “You knew I’d be in the play?”

  “Laura told me.”

  “You could have come by when you were in town last week,” she says curtly.

  I grow silent, feeling surprised. “Figured you might need a break from me. You left angry. Wasn’t sure how you felt about seeing my face again.”

  “Ms. Clark was glad to see you.”

  I laugh. She wants me to react and be angry enough to walk away. “You’re jealous of a teacher who gave me a number I didn’t even ask for.”

  She sputters as she comes to a stop. “No!”

  “Liar,” I murmur. “You were sending death glares to poor Ms. Clark all night. If looks could kill . . .”

  “I was not!”

  Damn, I love getting her riled up. “You can’t stand the idea of me calling her.”

  She puts her hands on her hips, which look damn good in her black leggings. She advances toward me, her fingers poking me in the chest, while I stare at her deep-red lips. “And you’re jealous of Patrick.”

  “You wouldn’t stop talking to him.”

  “About you!”

  I chuckle, feeling elated. “Can’t stop thinking about me, can you?”

  I back up to a locker, and she follows me.

  “You are so . . . cocky! It’s a little maddening.” She shakes her head, her expression changing.

  “What’s making you frown?”

  Her teeth pull at her lower lip. “Jack, earlier . . . I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed a little off when you came in and when we sat down to read. You did amazing. Your voice is beautiful—” She stops. “What was it? Are you that unhap
py about being here? About being around me?”

  Ah, she noticed. People rarely do. All they see is this face and talent and just assume I’m comfortable in my own skin. “I’m doing this for Timmy—and it looks good for my image. Lawrence insisted, and he isn’t wrong. I need to push myself more. I didn’t have to agree to play Romeo—especially when it’s hard for me to be around people I don’t know very well. But I did.”

  A dawning expression crosses her face. “You really are shy.”

  I grimace. “Told you I was. Most people just assume I’m rude.”

  “You are not rude! You were so nice to everyone here.”

  “I am a nice person.”

  “Right. But you play football in front of millions. You boss around football players and tell them what to do. Is that hard for you?”

  I smile, seeing that she’s inched in a little closer. Curious girl.

  “But when I’m out on the field, I’m the warrior.”

  “But here, will you be able to do the play?”

  I think back to the read through we did. “I was a little nervous, meeting new people, getting adjusted. Everyone here is down to earth, and no one is throwing a microphone in my face. Plus, you’re here. It helps. Keeps my mind on other things.” I don’t even realize it’s true until I say it.

  Her head cocks. Another step closer. “So what you’re saying is . . . you’re kind of socially awkward.”

  “Yeah.”

  Her mouth opens. “But you’re so . . .” Her voice trails off.

  “What?”

  “Stop fishing for compliments.”

  I laugh.

  “Is this why you don’t give interviews?”

  I nod. “I’ve never been able to relax with them.” I pause, feeling uneasy for a moment before brushing it off. “Not many people know that, Elena.”

  She takes my words in, her emotions easy to read on her face—mainly confusion.

  “But you don’t seem to have a hard time with women. Apparently, they flock to you.”

  “I’ve never had to work for it.”

  She glares at me. “Arrogant!”

  I smirk. “It’s the truth.”

  “But why on earth would you agree to be Romeo?”

  “Well, as it happens, this town kind of loves me. Plus, you’re here.” I let those words settle around us, watching the flush that starts at her neck and works its way up to her face. Does she have any clue how I wrestled with the idea of doing this play? Yet as soon as Laura mentioned Elena would probably be Juliet . . .