Not My Romeo (The Game Changers #1)(56)

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 stiffen 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.