Not My Romeo (The Game Changers #1)(52)

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 behind 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.”