Not My Romeo (The Game Changers #1)(87)

My eyes flare, and I ease up and turn around, grimacing when I see Laura, who’s got her head cocked as she watches us from the floor.

“They’ve been talking during my entire speech!” She tosses her golden-blonde hair over her shoulder and crosses her arms.

“Uh, sorry,” I say, biting my lip as I ease off Jack and move to standing.

She gives me a death glare. “It’s been happening every time you two are supposed to be dead. Would it kill you to let the rest of us say our lines? Also, all the kissing is ridiculous. There will be kids at this show. Can you tone it down a notch?”

Jack stands. “Right. Yes. We were just . . . discussing how to do the scene better.”

“Uh-huh,” she says. “Everyone here knows you two are dating, so just chill with the excuses. We’ve all seen the video of you two in the rain, running into that hotel. It was all over the TV. I honestly think your relationship is interfering with the entire play.”

I smirk. Someone is bitter she never got a call from Jack.

I dart a look at Jack as he exhales and lifts his shoulders, his expression saying, What do I say?

Patrick comes out onstage, dressed in his red shirt and pants, playing Tybalt, who’s already dead by Romeo’s hand. He glances at Ms. Clark. “Oh, it was fine. It’s not like it’s opening night. We barely heard them backstage.”

Crap, they heard us?

Ms. Clark looks at her manicured nails. “Still, it would be nice to have a practice where they aren’t all over each other.”

“You’re right,” I say, just wanting to keep the peace, even though I think she’s clearly going on way too long about it. I flutter my lashes at her. “Would you like for us to start the scene from the beginning, or would you like to just say your lines?” There’s so few of them, my sharp look tells her.

Her lips tighten. “Whatever Laura thinks” is her reply.

“They should do that death scene again!” Timmy calls from a folding chair on the floor. He grins up at Jack. “Jack looks awesome when he drinks that poison and falls down.”

I smile.

Jack does a little bow. “My biggest fan.”

Laura laughs. “Okay, let’s pick up when Romeo comes in the tomb and sees Juliet? Ready?”

We all nod and get into our places.

And this time, when I stab myself and fall across Jack, he keeps his eyes tightly shut, never once opening them to look at me, like I want him to . . . so much.



“Two more days till the play!” Timmy tells us as we grab our things after practice the next day.

Jack ruffles his hair. “Can’t wait, little man. Want to go throw some footballs for a minute?”

Timmy holds up his ball. “I’m ready!”

They laugh and head off across the gym.

I hide my smile. Does Jack have any clue how good he is with Timmy?

“Y’all look great onstage, Elle,” Topher murmurs.

I sigh. “Yeah.”

Laura nods. “Best couple ever. I’m so happy you guys are dating.”

“Yeah.” I nod, that trickle of uneasiness hitting me when someone uses that word.

He still hasn’t come to Sunday lunch. He still hasn’t told me how he feels . . .

Neither have you, a voice says.

But we haven’t spent one night apart—at my house. I’ve gotten used to him getting up before the sun is up and making me coffee, then chatting with me on the back porch before I go to work and he heads off to Nashville. Then he comes back in the afternoon, and we eat and laugh and read, then make love. I’m living in a bubble of us. I feel . . . disoriented and at sea . . . waiting for the tide to push me back onshore, to reality.

Our play will be over soon, and then, yes, then, I’ll make a decision for us to really talk.

But for now . . .

I just want him.

Giselle walks up, wearing a guarded look. She wasn’t right tonight during practice. I take in the dark shadows under her eyes.

“You okay?”

She dips her head. “Yeah.”

I watch her walk away, frowning. I don’t like that slump in her shoulders at all. Are she and Preston okay? They seemed fine at lunch this past Sunday, but then my head was on Jack. I haven’t really been noticing everyone else around me.

My phone rings, and I glance at the caller—my old boss from New York. He gives me a call every three or four months to check in and offer me a job.

I wave at Laura and Topher as I walk to the empty stage and sit down on the floor.

“Marvin! How are you?” I laugh. “Kind of late for you to call.”

“Ah, you know me,” his deep voice says. “Always working. How’s library life and lingerie?”

I grin. When I worked for him, he’d catch me on my break sketching. An older man with a head of white hair and a big smile, he hired me fresh out of NYU as one of their copy editors. I climbed the ladder fast in two years, scoring a senior editor position, hungry for the work, missing my family more than I’d thought I would. I focused on romance, a small imprint of Blue Stone.

“You want a job?”

I laugh. “Again?”

I hear a crunch as a chuckle rumbles out of him, and even though it’s nine o’clock at night, his time, I know he’s still at his desk, munching on Doritos and drinking Diet Coke.