Not My Romeo

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  He laughs, and I see he has on another one underneath, short sleeved. “I came prepared for a cold run. You did not.” He reaches over and slides the shirt over my head. “This is supposed to stay dry even when it gets wet.”

  “Oh.” I gaze down at the shirt. It fit tight across his chest but flows around me loosely.

  I look up at him. “You’re going to get cold. All I needed was the money for the pie. You didn’t have to do all this.”

  “I don’t want you to be cold, Elena.”

  My breath hitches as we stare at each other. A few moments tick by as we take the other in. He breaks our gaze. “Where did you park? It’s dark, and I’ll walk you.”

  I nod, feeling disappointed for some reason. “Right. About two blocks from here, right off Second Avenue near the Marks Building. Maybe you should just go, and I can wait for the rain to let up.”

  He nudges his head at the checkout girl, who is probably taking pics of Jack Hawke with a poorly dressed woman. “Leave you with her? Don’t think so.”

  He takes my hand. “Ready to run?”

  I nod, and he flings the door open to a curtain of rain. We take off down the street, flying past storefronts and people who were smart enough to bring umbrellas.

  I never see it coming when it happens, although I shouldn’t be surprised. Here I am, sprinting in stilettos in a too-snug skirt, alongside a man whose gait is three times the length of mine. So yeah, when my heel gets stuck in a grate and I topple down knees first on the concrete, it pretty much seems like the final straw in a very long day.

  Chapter 24

  JACK

  “Elena!” I bend down to her body and pull her up. “Shit! I’m sorry. I didn’t even see that grate. Are you okay?”

  Rain pelts us as she huddles against me. “I think so. My knees hurt, but I can walk.” She squints through the water as it falls on her face. “How far did we get?” She starts off again, and I pull her back and under an awning. Lightning strikes in the distance, making her flinch.

  I glance down, eyes widening. “You’ve skinned them both. Blood is running down your legs. Dammit. I’m sorry I ran too fast.”

  “Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault. My skirt is too tight, and these heels . . .” She grimaces, bending down to get a look at her legs. “They’re fine. Nothing a little soap and water won’t fix when I get home.”

  Nope. She is not driving like that. I guess I muttered it, because she cocks her hip, then winces. “I can drive.”

  “No, you can’t. Plus it’s a monsoon out here.” I look up at the sky as the wind picks up.

  “Hang on,” I say and bend over and sweep her up in my arms.

  “Jack Hawke, you can’t carry me all the way to my car!”

  I duck out from under the awning and take off at a sprint. “I know. But my place is closer. Put your head down in my shoulder, and hang on to your stuff.”

  She opens her mouth to say something—knowing her, it’s to protest—but another bolt of lightning flashes off in the distance.

  “Besides, this is good for me. Cardio. How much do you weigh?” I grin, feeling exhilarated.

  She snorts. “Like I’d tell you. Just stop talking, and get us there already.”

  I huff out a laugh, hitching her up higher and jogging for the Breton about a block away. I weave in and out of pedestrians on their way home from work, feet slapping against wet concrete, concentrating on not slipping.

  She glares up at me, clutching her purse and garment bag. The pie box is on top, and I don’t even recall giving it to her, but I must have. She has a death grip on it. I start laughing, and shit, I don’t even know why except that she looks angry and wet.

  “Why are you laughing?” she calls over the rain.

  “I don’t know! You always make me laugh.”

  A smile starts across her face, steadily getting bigger until she’s giggling. “Oh my God, if you drop me and this pie, I will never ever forgive you.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll save the pie.”

  “You will not get one piece!” She blows at a piece of wet hair in her face.

  I gaze down at her, laughing more, then sobering as emotion claws at me, soft yet somehow terrifying as it tiptoes its way inside my chest. A knot forms in my stomach, and I can’t seem to take a breath, and it has nothing to do with running.

  It’s the girl in my arms who’s got me freaked out.

  “I’m dripping everywhere,” Elena mutters as I ease her down to her feet inside the foyer of the penthouse. She plops her purse, garment bag, and squashed pie box on the table near the door.

  “But you look super sexy,” I tease as she whips off the knit hat and takes off her shoes.

  “Wet is the new thing, I hear.”

  “Hmm.” I tear my eyes off her face and take in her knees again, wincing at the scratches there.

  “Whoa! Give me a warning next time,” she says as I sweep her up again and carry her into the den, setting her on one of the chairs. “Jack, I’m soaked! I don’t want to ruin your furniture.”

  “I’m more worried about your knees than my stupid chair.” She looks up at me, hair wet and stuck to her face, her clothes dripping. Mine aren’t any better. She shivers, rubbing her arms as she stands.

  My body clenches as I take her in, how her skirt clings to those full curves. Mind out of the gutter, Jack. She isn’t here for that.

  “Do you mind if I use a towel?” She chews on her bottom lip. “Maybe borrow some old clothes? I can get them back to you at rehearsal.”

  I blink, realizing I’ve been staring at her longer than I should have. Right, right.

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  She heads to the bathroom, and I dash to my bedroom, yanking open the drawers of my chest for something that might fit her. I find a pair of shorts with a drawstring and an old practice shirt from my college days. After I knock on the door, she reaches out and takes them, a fluffy white towel wrapped around her chest. I see creamy shoulders and avert my gaze. “Put these on, and when you’re dressed, let me take a look at those knees.”

  “Jack, you don’t have to do that. I can wash up in here.”

  “No. I want to see them. Meet you in the den.”

  “Thank you.” Her lashes flutter against her cheeks as she nods, taking the clothes and shutting the door.

  Five minutes later, after changing into a pair of joggers and a T-shirt, I come out to the den holding antiseptic and bandages. She’s sitting back in the chair I put her in, hands clasped as she looks around the room. Her expression is reserved, her shoulders tense as she waits for me, and I sigh.

  Fucking penthouse.

  She doesn’t want to be here, and I know it, but my real home is two blocks from here.

  Would you have taken her there anyway? a voice says in my head.

  I don’t know!

  Maybe.

  Stop.

  Just stop.

  You need to stay away from any romantic involvement with her.

  Plus, she’s too good for you. She wants more than you can give. Remember.

  Right.

  But it’s . . . her.

  And I’ve never . . .

  She smiles at the wad of bandages I have in my hand. “You look serious. Are my knees that bad?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Shit, I can’t seem to think straight. I sit on the floor in front of her, my eyes running over her from head to foot. I clear my throat, and my voice is gruffer than I intended. “You look good in my clothes.”

  She blushes, and I watch as the color rises.

  “What? Why are you staring at my face?”

  I focus on her knees. “Never realized how much I enjoy a girl who still blushes.”

  “Oh.”

  We stare at each other. I exhale.

  Have I ever stared at a girl this much in my entire life?

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Her gaze drops first. “Warning here. One reason I couldn’t do med school is I’m a big scaredy-cat w
hen it comes to blood. Crazy. I passed out once when a window broke at Nana’s when I was trying to lift it. It was old and stuck, and I pushed too hard and cut my hand. It bled everywhere. And I hate pain. Like, I might cry.”

  “Right. Your knees,” I murmur as I tear open an alcohol wipe and brush it across her lacerations. There are several on each knee, and I dab as gently as I can.

  “Stings! Oh my God!” She inhales a sharp breath and clenches the side of the chair. “Jack, Jack, talk to me; tell me something good or funny or something, please!”

  I huff out a laugh. “I love Justin Bieber’s music. Listen to it when I run.” I give her a fake hard look. “You are sworn to secrecy. If Devon knew, he’d never let me forget it.”

  She gives me a wide-eyed look. “No way.”

  “Yes way. ‘Love Yourself’ is my favorite.”

  “Sing it.”

  I hum the first few lines.

  “Don’t stop,” she murmurs, eyes on my face.

  “Kinda hard to concentrate and work on your knees.”

  “Pretty pleeeeaasse.”

  I scoff but start the song again, singing the words, getting all the way to the chorus. I feel my own blush rising. I can’t sing worth shit.

  I look up at her. “How you feeling?”

  She’s watching me intently. She licks her lips. Swallows. “You know any Taylor Swift? I mean, if you like the Biebs . . .”

  I laugh. “Right. That’s me, football player who digs pop music. Sorry, don’t know all the words to hers.”

  She arches a brow. “How about Meghan Trainor’s ‘All about That Bass’? That’s my theme song, and if you sing it, maybe I’ll leave you the pie.”

  “Hmm. Your theme song should be something by Lizzo, maybe ‘Good as Hell.’ I see you like that—a hair toss, checking your nails, and walking your fine ass out the door.”

  “But if you know Meghan Trainor . . .” She winks. “I’ll make it worth your while.” Another blush. “Pie, I mean. Food.”

  “Hmm. How about one of those make-out kisses?” I keep my head down, carefully tearing open one of the wide Band-Aids so she can’t see my face. I want her. And it’s not going away like I need it to.

  “Okay, it’s a deal—because I don’t think you know it.”

  “Mmm, ‘All about That Bass.’ Let’s see, I seem to recall that song . . .”

  “You don’t know it!”

  “Oh, Elena, I so know it, every fucking word.” My eyes find hers.

  “Sing it.” She bites her lip, anticipation evident by the gleam in her eyes.

  I burst out laughing, putting the last Band-Aid on her knee. “Again, our secret.”

  “Right.”

  I don’t know who I am when I stand up, grab the remote to use as a microphone, and belt out the song. I stumble over the words a little, making up words that fit, but the song is mostly the chorus, and I give it all I’ve got.

  “Can you dance a little? Do one of those body rolls?”

  I roll my chest. I’m not a terrible dancer, yet she’s crying/laughing, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “Damn, girl. You make me do crazy shit.”

  “If football doesn’t work out, I’m sure you can sing backup for some pop star.”

  I plop down on the couch. “I sing all that shit in my head on the field when I’m pissed off and need to calm down. When I’m nervous too. That first practice for Romeo and Juliet, I was humming ‘Dark Horse’ by Katy Perry under my breath.”

  “Shut up.”

  “True story.” I spread my hands. “I’m basically a teenage girl.”

  She shakes her head at me, her eyes shining.

  I pat the seat next to me. “Come on. Let’s watch my K-drama. There’s a new episode this week, and I haven’t seen it.”

  “Thank you for fixing my injury,” she murmurs as she stands.

  I jump and take her hand and help her as she walks over to me, my baggy navy shorts swishing. She’s rolled them under a few times, and they hit around her upper knees.

  I click on the remote, my arm going around her shoulders and pulling her against me. She doesn’t protest, sighing as she leans into me.

  “So what’s up with Lee and Dan-i? Have they kissed yet?”

  “No. Dammit. I mean, what’s wrong with them?”

  “Guess they still have things to work through?”

  I watch the characters on the show. Lee is running after Dan-i after he saw her on a date with another guy. “He has trouble talking about his feelings. He’s holding back.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s never been this crazy about a girl, I guess. Doesn’t know how to handle it.”

  Her head fits snugly on my shoulder. “Hmm. What about her?”

  “She likes him, but she’s scared. Past issues. Terrible boyfriend from before.”

  “Silly people. Why don’t they just talk?”

  “Right.”

  We get quiet, and I inhale, feeling like . . . like maybe we aren’t discussing Lee and Dan-i anymore, but us.

  “Elena?”

  “Hmm.”

  I glance down at her. She wears a blank expression, fighting drowsiness. “You know that feeling of déjà vu? Where it seems as if something is familiar and has happened before?”

  Her eyes close, flutter open, then shut again.

  I smile. “Sleepy?”

  “Tired. Hard week with Romeo. He drives me crazy at rehearsals. Always looking at me and . . .” Her voice trails off. “Yeah, I get déjà vu. We’ve watched this show before; maybe that’s it?”

  Her eyes close, her mouth parting softly.

  I give her a few minutes to settle into sleep before I reply. “No, it’s not that. It’s as if I’ve dreamed about this before—you here with me, images of us together . . . just this feeling of . . .” Completeness comes to mind, but I disregard it. “Like if there was such a thing as a past life, which I’m not some woo-woo person and don’t buy into souls that always end up together, but if I did, I’d say we had something before . . . like a whole life . . . shit, that is totally stupid. I’m only saying this because you’re asleep, by the way.”

  She gives me a little snore, and I push hair out of her face.

  Mine.

  No, Jack.

  Not yours.

  You don’t do those deep feelings . . .

  I sigh and focus back on the show, watching as Lee tries to explain to Dan-i how he feels, but he gets quiet and stalks off. True, man. I feel you.

  But damn—I’m legit losing my mind with Elena.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  You know what’s wrong with you, asshole.

  Love ruined your mom. Sophia nearly ruined your career.

  Right.

  Caring for someone isn’t what I need right now. I have to focus on my upcoming surgery and image problems. And if I want to win a Super Bowl, I absolutely have to give everything, starting with training camp. Elena is just an interlude before football.

  And once the play is over, I’ll never see her again.

  But why do I feel so . . . wrong?

  Sure, we can fuck, but she wants more.

  Everything I can’t give her. Full trust, commitment.

  A long exhalation leaves my chest as I lean my head back against the couch.

  Chapter 25

  ELENA

  I don’t know what wakes me up. My eyes blink open in the darkness of a room that is vaguely familiar, and the pillow underneath my head is plush and soft. Jack’s bed. The clock next to my bed shows it’s ten o’clock at night, and I start. I must have fallen asleep, and he carried me in here. Clothes still on. I ease up to sitting, glad for the moonlight coming in from the window as I sweep my gaze over the room. Where’s Jack? My body warms at how sweet he was to me earlier, and his singing? Terrible. I smile. Has anyone ever seen this side of him? That softness? The care he takes when he’s worried?

  I slip out of bed and pace the room, checking the master bathroom. Empty.


  I pad out to the den and see him stretched out on the couch, one arm off the couch and on the floor. He put me to bed but didn’t join me, when it clearly would have been more comfortable. Yeah. He needs his distance just like I do. With a glance I see that he’s hung up my clothes on a hanger and draped them over the chair at his desk. My garment bag and purse sit on top of the surface. I don’t see the pie anywhere, and I figure maybe he put it in the fridge. He can keep it. He deserves it after doctoring my knees. I chew on my lips and head to the kitchen, moving quietly, to look for a pen and paper to leave him a note before I go.

  I get it written, thanking him for everything, and walk back into the den, setting the note on the coffee table. I glance down at him, my eyes tracing the planes of his face, the full lips that are slightly parted, the mahogany hair that falls across his face. Damn. Just damn. All that hotness—right here. I exhale.

  His eyes pop open, finding mine. “Elena.”

  I grab my chest. “You’re awake! I thought you were asleep.”

  “Hard to sleep when you’re staring at me.” He grins, easing up to a sitting position, rolling his shoulders.

  “You couldn’t have been comfortable out here.”

  “Nah, I was fine. You passed out during the show.”

  “Sorry. This week caught up with me.”

  He stretches as he stands, and I swallow at the fact that he’s removed his shirt at some point, the muscles of his chest flexing as he rolls his neck and pulls at his arms, as if he’s warming them up. His gaze flicks over me, lingering on my mouth before looking behind me. “You were just going to leave?”

  I nod.

  “You think I’d let you walk to your car this late? Hell no.”

  I cross my arms. “I’m a big girl. Plus this is a safe neighborhood.”

  “With pockets of bad. It is downtown.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I take a step away from him, decidedly not looking at his taut muscles.

  “Hmm, aren’t you forgetting something?” He gives me a heavy-lidded look.

  I lick my lips. “No, all my stuff is on the desk. Thank you.”

  His body moves closer, his hand reaching out to brush against my mouth. “You owe me a kiss, Elena. For the song.”