Not My Romeo (The Game Changers 1)

Where she never wanted to go.

Where she never felt at ease, yet she . . . went.

I’ve fucked up with Elena. I’ve . . . I’ve judged her by Sophia’s actions, when Elena isn’t that girl.

She’s never used me.

She’s never pushed me to tell her anything, except out of genuine concern. I’m the one who willingly opened up more than I ever have with anyone else, and hell, even then I’m always holding part of me back.

I let her go.

Pushed her far away, scared. Afraid of my life repeating old mistakes . . .

But Elena isn’t a mistake.

Even with my shoulder surgery looming, that gnawing worry about my future in the NFL, this month has been the happiest I’ve—

God.

She’s the girl a man dreams of finding someday . . . everything I always wanted.

And I threw it back in her face.

I reacted without listening. I . . . fuck.

You lobbed another interception, Jack.

You lost the fucking game.

Chapter 33

ELENA

Dressed in a knight’s costume, Jack enters the masquerade party as Romeo and gazes at me with what Laura calls Romeo’s “Dang, she’s all I want, and I want my lips on hers” look. It’s pretend.

I’m stage right, makeup repaired, wings on, acting my ass off.

He moves toward me, a dark flush on his cheeks, his lines not quite as sure as they have been. He’s been floundering since the play started. I saw it right away, as soon as he said his first line. I watch him, encouragement in my gaze. Jack, Jack, Jack. You are so beautiful. Don’t let the people get to you is what I hope he sees on my face.

He presses his hand to mine. We kiss. Barely. Pull apart. Gaze at each other as the party continues stage center.

“Then have my lips the sin that they have took,” I say.

“Give me my sin again,” he murmurs.

I swallow. He’s jumped ahead a few lines, but I nod and kiss him again.

He slants his mouth across mine and sighs, his hand still on my face, our bodies closer than they should be.

“Elena.” It’s not loud, but it’s audible and clear. The cast keeps on, never looking at us. His eyes search mine as he opens his mouth, as if to say something, but it’s my line.

“You kiss by th’ book,” I say ardently—like the line calls for.

“Then I’ll take another.”

That is not the line. Nurse appears for her line, and Jack ignores her and kisses me again, his hands sliding into my hair. “Elena,” he whispers in my ear, and I pull back, eyes big.

The mic is hot, catching it, and the audience murmurs. If they missed it the last time, they definitely heard it this time.

Giselle says her line, and Jack is supposed to leave the scene—only he doesn’t. His eyes refuse to drop mine.

Giselle clears her throat, says her line again, and I come back.

One of the stage crew shrugs when I dart my eyes at him. He’s waiting for Romeo to leave, only Jack is still next to me.

There’s an awkward pause, until I flare my eyes backstage. Close the curtains!

The scene ends, the curtains falling at the end of act one.

I blow out a breath and dash stage right for a costume change. Jack follows me, and I whip around. The stage crew stares at us, but I barely notice.

“You can’t do that onstage,” I tell him. “They can hear you.” I refuse to think about how it made me feel, his mouth against mine, wanting me to really kiss him back.

Giselle gets between us and points her finger at him. “You best get back over there where you’re supposed to be, Romeo! You have the first line of act two.”

He swallows, his throat bobbing, then turns and stalks away.

Giselle looks back at me. “You okay?”

I nod. Yeah. But we still have a lot of play left. What else is he going to do?

By the time we get to the balcony scene, I’m sure he’s lost his mind.

Halfway through a long line, he climbs up the ladder to my window—when he isn’t supposed to—and says the rest of it. We’re face to face, and I’m overwhelmed by the maleness of him, by the intensity in his eyes.

It’s a play, Elena. Acting. This is the scene where Romeo wants to crawl in your bed and get busy . . .

But he’s doing whatever he wants onstage, trying to get close to me when he’s near me.

Focus.

I suck in a breath and say my line. “What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?”

“The exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine,” he says softly.

My lashes flutter. “I gave thee mine before you asked. I would give it again.”

I screwed it up. That was all wrong. I left out so much. Lord. Help.

He stares at me. “Would you give it again?”