Not My Romeo

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  I straighten up from the desk as she approaches, waving it in the air. “I’ll take it. Just read a hot scene. Whew.” She fans herself, eyes on mine. You okay? they ask.

  I don’t know. A sister’s betrayal is hard. And it wasn’t even needed. Preston should have broken up with me first. They did things in the wrong freaking order.

  Life is messy, love especially. I hear Nana in my head, but I’m not sure my pride is ready to listen. It still hurts that I trusted both of them.

  Preston approaches the desk, probably seeing that we’re winding down our conversation. He gives me a once-over, lingering for half a second on my shirt, and I bristle. It does have little hearts all over it and is quite cute with the red velvet collar, but he better keep his eyes off my breasts.

  He drops his gaze immediately and takes Giselle’s hand, lacing it with his.

  “Everything good?” he asks us.

  I smirk, recalling his full set of pajamas, average build, and mediocre penis size. His inability to find my clit!

  “Did you ask her about . . . you know . . . ,” Preston says to Giselle, giving her a nudge.

  “What?” I say.

  Giselle inhales a deep breath, her eyes regretful as she flicks her gaze at Preston. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I do,” he mutters. “It’s perfect.”

  Aunt Clara slams her book down on the counter. “Y’all might as well spit it out. We ain’t got all day. I have hair to cut.”

  Giselle closes her eyes.

  I frown at Preston. “Ask me what?”

  He frowns back. “Your mama suggested we might have the engagement party at your house. It’s the biggest house in town, and the community center is booked, and the church has renovations, although we’d want alcohol there, so that’s really not an option. I have a huge family in Oxford, and Giselle has her friends from Memphis, and well, I think your house would be perfect.”

  He is such a dick!

  I glance at Giselle, and her face has reddened. She says, “You know how Mama is. Once she gets an idea—”

  “Yeah, I know.” I can’t identify what emotion ripples through me, but I power through it. I put on a smile. “My house is perfect! Let’s do it!”

  Giselle blinks, and Preston tosses an arm around her. “See. It’s fine. Told you. Elena is the best.”

  The best? Ha.

  Giselle waffles; I can tell by the way she’s wringing her hands, her gaze trying to hold mine.

  I stare down at the books on the desk instead.

  And they mumble a few more words, apologizing for something, but I’m barely listening, my head racing. A party. I’ll need to get the shrubs trimmed, have the rugs and curtains cleaned . . .

  Aunt Clara whisks them out the door, and Topher is next to me, arm around my shoulders.

  “You heard?” I saw him darting by periodically.

  He nods, face grim as he watches them get in the Lexus and drive away. He gives me a squeeze. “You know you don’t have to host a party for them, Elena. Not really. They could do it in Nashville somewhere.”

  “No, I do. I really do. I have the prettiest house in town, and it’s a sister’s duty to help. She did spend time there. It has special memories. Daisy is her hometown.”

  “You are too kind. Also, he’s an ass. He was totally checking you out.”

  I shrug. “It’s the boobs. Guys can’t help it.”

  “Elle, honey, it’s you. I wish you could see you how everyone else does. Fucking Preston. I hope Giselle knows he’s got a roving eye.” He pauses. “I honestly think you intimidated him. He never liked me living with you.”

  I wince. “I never said that.”

  “I could tell. Dirty looks and all.”

  “He’s going to be her husband, so let’s focus on the positive. He’s . . .” I stop, not able to think of one nice attribute.

  “Well, we know he was a horrible lay.”

  I laugh.

  “And he never liked Hog from Hell,” he adds. “Didn’t Romeo crap in his shoes once?”

  Yep.

  “He never put the toilet paper back on when he finished a roll!”

  I nod.

  “And his nose hairs need to be clipped.”

  I snort. “You should have seen his toenails. Gross.”

  Topher stares down at me. “Are you terribly upset? Usually I can tell, but not today.”

  I let out a long sigh and give him a nod. I expected the tears to come when I first saw them walking in, but they never did.

  “You know, I talked to Greg.”

  “Yeah?” I ask.

  He nods. “He really wants to meet you.”

  “Uh-huh. We know how my last blind date turned out.”

  “I’m serious. I showed him that picture of us at Halloween—you know the one, where you dressed up as the tart and I was the priest? He was super into it.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Just sayin’ . . . he likes your kind of sexy.”

  I pick up a book and run it through the scanner. “Nope. Between Preston and Jack, this girl is done with men.”

  Chapter 19

  ELENA

  The following Monday evening after work, Topher and I walk into the community center after dinner. Just a block from my house—like most things in town—it’s on Main Street. It used to be the old elementary school until the new one came along several years ago. The center holds bingo nights and chess clubs in the cafeteria, ballet and salsa dancing are taught in the classrooms, and plays are in the gymnasium.

  There’s a crowd of people, maybe thirty, when we stroll in, some sitting in chairs, some on the stage already working on the backdrop and blocking, while others are congregated in a huddle, reading the back wall. The list of who made the auditions.

  “Well, my audition sucked,” I say to Topher as we look around. They held them last Friday night—after my debacle with Giselle and Preston.

  Laura, our director, clipboard in hand, stands front and center near the stage, congratulating the actors. The curtains that frame the stage are a tattered black velvet, draping softly in thick folds. DAISY ELEMENTARY SCHOOL is scripted on top of the concrete wall, and two roaring lions stand sentinel on either side.

  Timmy is next to Laura, beaming. He throws a wave and runs across the gym floor, shoes squeaking on the hardwood, legs pumping. I guess his ankle is better.

  “Ms. Riley, Ms. Riley, you got Juliet!”

  He wraps his good arm around my waist.

  I laugh down at him. “Well, actually, I don’t think anyone else tried out for that role.”

  He pushes up his black goggle glasses. “You’re perfect for it, and guess what?”

  “What?”

  He jumps up and down, like he might pop. “I’ve kept it a secret for a week, but did you notice that no one auditioned for Romeo?”

  “Oh, I hadn’t noticed.” It was a hectic evening with people coming and going. I read some lines and then left.

  “Guess who it is!”

  Unease trickles over me. Who’s the one person Timmy would be this excited about? No, no . . .

  “Jack Hawke!” Timmy exclaims with a happy squeal. “He’s going to be Romeo! I’ve been dying to tell everyone, and now I finally can! What do you think about that? Isn’t it awesome?”

  “Awesome,” I breathe.

  I look over at Topher. “Did you know?”

  “I may hang out at the Cut ’N’ Curl, but I don’t know everything in this town. That one slipped by me and the beauty shop. But it’s great for our theater program. Maybe we can use the money to do some improvements. We need a new spotlight and microphones.”

  Timmy runs in circles around us. “It was a big secret! He—he kind of wanted to just help out Mom and be an assistant, but that is just silly. I told him how much it would mean if he had a real part. A hero’s part. Jack needs to be a hero. I asked real nice and everything.”

  He begged. I’d bet my house on it.

  Timmy stops and looks behi
nd me. “And there he is!”

  He dashes off without another word, and I pivot, heart flying in my chest, butterflies fluttering.

  Jack stalks in the gym like he owns the place. Wearing jeans and a tight black-and-gold Daisy Lions long-sleeved shirt, he pauses, nearly stumbling, when he sees me.

  Our eyes cling.

  I drop my gaze.

  Dammit.

  He’s still amazingly hot.

  I sneak another glance from behind Topher’s shoulder. Jack’s face has that scruffy look, and maybe those are dark circles under his eyes, but it’s dim in the gym. We need new overhead lights too. Half of them work, half don’t.

  “Finer than frog hair,” Topher murmurs with awe in his voice.

  “Traitor,” I mutter.

  “And those eyes. They glitter like topaz. No wonder you rode that stallion.”

  I elbow him hard.

  He grunts. “Sorry. I hate him—for you. I’m team Elle all the way.”

  Unhappiness at those words washes over me. “No, don’t hate him. Too many people do, and he . . . he doesn’t deserve it.” I think about that story he told me about his scar. How hard it must have been to have lost his mom and then take the life of another person. I can’t imagine the violence of it, the anguish, the aftermath that came with it. I grew up with stability and so much love—he didn’t.

  Topher puts an arm around me, watching my face. “Regrets, Elle?”

  Yeah. I wish I kissed him one more time—one of those breathy make-out kisses he does so well—so I could play it back in my head for the next few years.

  “No. He stuck to his guns. And I did too.”

  “Hmm.”

  I shoot him a look. “I have principles. He reduced sex to a professional transaction. He wants a regular hookup without giving anything of himself. I can’t do that. I’d be the one crying when he got tired of me.”

  “Nobody gets tired of you.”

  I lean on him, emotion clogging my throat. “Topher, the men I fall for always leave.” I dart a look at him. “Not that I fell for him or anything.”

  “Mohawk has entered,” Topher adds as we see Devon come in the door behind Jack. He’s wearing a black shirt with a skull on it, a studded belt, and dark jeans.

  Realization dawns, the enormity landing hard on my chest now that the shock has worn off. “I’m going to be seeing a lot of Jack for the next few weeks.”

  “Yeppers. Close proximity. Kissing bits. Lovemaking scenes. Death scenes. Crying. Lot of star-crossed-lovers romantic shit.”

  “This is going to be hell,” I mutter as both men stalk toward us.

  “Feels like fate to me,” he murmurs. “I mean, have you actually thought about the odds of you meeting him at his restaurant, then the club, plus the Timmy connection? Destiny is pushing you together.”

  I sigh. “Destiny is a bitch. I want to slap her. You need to lay off the romance novels, Topher.”

  Devon jogs over to me, outpacing Jack, who is hanging back to talk to Timmy.

  He runs a glance over my Chucks, high ponytail, leggings, and baggy NYU sweatshirt. “We meet again, pretty girl. I sure have missed you. When are you going to come back to my club? VIP is always open for you.”

  I adjust my white glasses and smile. He was sweet to me at the club, and he totally reminds me of Topher, only straight.

  “Oh, shut up, and give me a hug,” I say, and he grins and swings me around. “Guess I still owe you for that bet.”

  “You can make it up to me some other way soon.” He winks.

  “I’ll thump you.” I punch him on the shoulder, and he rubs it like it hurt, grinning.

  After I introduce him to Topher, they shake hands briskly. “Nice to meet you,” Devon says. “I play with Jack. Wide receiver. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Oh, I know who you are. This one doesn’t watch TV”—Topher points at me—“but I catch a game now and then.”

  Jack approaches us, and I can’t help but eat him up, the way he moves, the grace of his body.

  He stops just outside our little circle, and for a moment, I see uncertainty on his face.

  Devon turns to him. “Dude. Found your Juliet. Yeah, Timmy told us.” He flashes me a smile. “Guess you know who Romeo is. My number one man is going to rock this play.” He slaps Jack on the back, getting a grimace in return.

  Jack looks at me, those golden eyes holding mine until I can’t look away. I feel pinned by the intensity of them, caught and entranced.

  I convinced myself we were done, and now here he is, making me feel things I shouldn’t. Damn those butterflies. I squash them down.

  “Elena. How are you?”

  The rumble of that cool, husky tone slides over me. I take a deep breath.

  He’s being polite. A little standoffish.

  Fine, that’s how we’ll play this.

  “Super. You?”

  He smiles faintly. “Super.”

  He takes in the room, unease on his features. “What do we do now?”

  Topher points to the front of the stage. “You missed auditions, but this is where the magic happens. We’re doing a modern version of Romeo and Juliet. More Baz Luhrmann than old-school Shakespeare, gangsters with guns and black outfits. We won’t get to wear tights, and I’m a little disappointed.”

  Devon laughs. “I’d love to see you in tights, Jack.”

  Jack doesn’t smile. “Yeah. Cool. Love that movie. How many people come to this thing?”

  “About two hundred. Not a big crowd, but interest is growing. With you here, I imagine it will be covered up with people. Thanks for volunteering.” Topher grins. “Although if I know Timmy, he probably weaseled you into it.”

  Jack nods, frowning. Something about him is off.

  What part of Topher’s words bothered him?

  It isn’t Timmy, because I saw how Jack treats him, with kid gloves and a genuine, if rather bemused, smile on his face.

  Is it the idea of a huge crowd of people from Daisy being here to watch him?

  But that doesn’t make sense. According to Birdie Wheeler, half the town is already in love with him.

  Also, he plays football in front of thousands of people.

  Millions watch on TV.

  Oh . . . maybe it’s—

  “Do you like Shakespeare?” I blurt.

  He swivels his head back to me, eyes cool. “English major. Got my degree, even though I could have gone to the draft early. My mom always wanted me to get a degree because she never did.” He shrugs nonchalantly, but I sense deep emotion in that movement. “I did it for her.”

  English major. And he graduated for his mom.

  “Well, how interesting,” Topher says with a smirk. “Elena is also an English major. She got the library job without a library science degree.”

  “I did apply at the high school for a teaching position, but there wasn’t one available. I love the library. It worked out for the best.”

  Jack raises an eyebrow. “What was your specialty? British lit for me.”

  I chew on my lips, and his eyes follow my movement. “Um, American is my favorite.”

  “Right, how could I forget? Mark Twain. ‘Go to heaven for the climate, hell for the company.’”

  My lit-loving heart pounds. “‘They did not know it was impossible, so they did it.’”

  “Nice. How about, ‘If a man could be crossed with a cat, it would improve the man, but deteriorate the cat.’”

  I smirk. “Speaking of, I still have a cat if you want him, but he’s more of an outside tom now. He runs around the whole neighborhood.” I rack my brain for another quote. “I got one: ‘The two most important days in your life are the day you were born and the day you find out why.’”

  He mulls, rubbing his jaw. “How about ‘Don’t wait. The time will never be just right.’”

  “Or ‘Any emotion, if sincere, is involuntary.’ I love that one.” I grin, then remember I’m mad at him.

>   He huffs out a laugh. “Is this some kind of face-off where we see who knows the most Mark Twain quotes?”

  “I can go all night,” I say.

  “Hmm,” he murmurs, his lip curling. “Mark Twain battle. I sense a contest.”

  “We should do it,” I say.

  “I dare you to try.”

  “Is that a challenge?” I tuck my hands inside my pockets. They tremble. It’s him. I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind since the penthouse, wondering how he is.

  If he’s as lonely as I am.

  “Name the time and place, Elena.”

  I suck in a sharp breath at the way he’s looking at me, those eyes warming.

  And shit, he has no right to say my name like that, as if he’s savoring it.

  My eyes stare at his lips, the fullness, the softness mixed with strength—

  I look around and realize Topher and Devon are looking at us strangely.

  “What?” I say.

  “Nothing,” Devon murmurs.

  “Just awed by y’all’s memorization abilities,” Topher says. He looks at Jack. “Are you familiar with Romeo and Juliet?”

  Jack clears his throat. “Yeah, I’ve been refreshing myself all week.”

  I picture him laid up in his bed, sans shirt, turning the pages of the play. Maybe reading glasses on his face. My face feels hot.

  This is really going to be a long month.

  “Hey, guys,” comes a familiar voice behind me, and I start and turn, my eyes widening at the sight of my sister.

  “Giselle? Are you doing the play?”

  She dips her head and nods. I haven’t seen her since the library. Mama cooked lunch on Sunday, but she said she wasn’t feeling well and didn’t come.

  Wearing a tweed jacket, dressy slacks, and heels, she walks over to us. I guess she came straight from her classes at Vandy. “Mama said Laura mentioned no one signed up to play the role of nurse, and well, I thought I might give it a go. You don’t mind, do you?”

  I want to frown but put a smile on. “Of course not.”

  But . . .

  She’s never shown one iota of interest in the fine arts.

  I flick my gaze behind her. “Preston here?”

  “No.” She grimaces. “He hates this stuff.”