Not My Romeo by Ilsa Madden-Mills

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.”

Unhappiness at those words washes over me. “No, don’t hate him. Too many people do, and he . . . he doesn’t deserve it.” I think about that story he told me about his scar. How hard it must have been to have lost his mom and then take the life of another person. I can’t imagine the violence of it, the anguish, the aftermath that came with it. I grew up with stability and so much love—he didn’t.

Topher puts an arm around me, watching my face. “Regrets, Elle?”

Yeah. I wish I kissed him one more time—one of those breathy make-out kisses he does so well—so I could play it back in my head for the next few years.

“No. He stuck to his guns. And I did too.”

“Hmm.”

I shoot him a look. “I have principles. He reduced sex to a professional transaction. He wants a regular hookup without giving anything of himself. I can’t do that. I’d be the one crying when he got tired of me.”

“Nobody gets tired of you.”

I lean on him, emotion clogging my throat. “Topher, the men I fall for always leave.” I dart a look at him. “Not that I fell for him or anything.”

“Mohawk has entered,” Topher adds as we see Devon come in the door behind Jack. He’s wearing a black shirt with a skull on it, a studded belt, and dark jeans.

Realization dawns, the enormity landing hard on my chest now that the shock has worn off. “I’m going to be seeing a lot of Jack for the next few weeks.”

“Yeppers. Close proximity. Kissing bits. Lovemaking scenes. Death scenes. Crying. Lot of star-crossed-lovers romantic shit.”

“This is going to be hell,” I mutter as both men stalk toward us.

“Feels like fate to me,” he murmurs. “I mean, have you actually thought about the odds of you meeting him at his restaurant, then the club, plus the Timmy connection? Destiny is pushing you together.”

I sigh. “Destiny is a bitch. I want to slap her. You need to lay off the romance novels, Topher.”

Devon jogs over to me, outpacing Jack, who is hanging back to talk to Timmy.

He runs a glance over my Chucks, high ponytail, leggings, and baggy NYU sweatshirt. “We meet again, pretty girl. I sure have missed you. When are you going to come back to my club? VIP is always open for you.”

I adjust my white glasses and smile. He was sweet to me at the club, and he totally reminds me of Topher, only straight.

“Oh, shut up, and give me a hug,” I say, and he grins and swings me around. “Guess I still owe you for that bet.”

“You can make it up to me some other way soon.” He winks.

“I’ll thump you.” I punch him on the shoulder, and he rubs it like it hurt, grinning.

After I introduce him to Topher, they shake hands briskly. “Nice to meet you,” Devon says. “I play with Jack. Wide receiver. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

I roll my eyes.

“Oh, I know who you are. This one doesn’t watch TV”—Topher points at me—“but I catch a game now and then.”

Jack approaches us, and I can’t help but eat him up, the way he moves, the grace of his body.

He stops just outside our little circle, and for a moment, I see uncertainty on his face.

Devon turns to him. “Dude. Found your Juliet. Yeah, Timmy told us.” He flashes me a smile. “Guess you know who Romeo is. My number one man is going to rock this play.” He slaps Jack on the back, getting a grimace in return.

Jack looks at me, those golden eyes holding mine until I can’t look away. I feel pinned by the intensity of them, caught and entranced.

I convinced myself we were done, and now here he is, making me feel things I shouldn’t. Damn those butterflies. I squash them down.

“Elena. How are you?”

The rumble of that cool, husky tone slides over me. I take a deep breath.

He’s being polite. A little standoffish.

Fine, that’s how we’ll play this.

“Super. You?”

He smiles faintly. “Super.”

He takes in the room, unease on his features. “What do we do now?”

Topher points to the front of the stage. “You missed auditions, but this is where the magic happens. We’re doing a modern version of Romeo and Juliet. More Baz Luhrmann than old-school Shakespeare, gangsters with guns and black outfits. We won’t get to wear tights, and I’m a little disappointed.”

Devon laughs. “I’d love to see you in tights, Jack.”

Jack doesn’t smile. “Yeah. Cool. Love that movie. How many people come to this thing?”

“About two hundred. Not a big crowd, but interest is growing. With you here, I imagine it will be covered up with people. Thanks for volunteering.” Topher grins. “Although if I know Timmy, he probably weaseled you into it.”

Jack nods, frowning. Something about him is off.

What part of Topher’s words bothered him?

It isn’t Timmy, because I saw how Jack treats him, with kid gloves and a genuine, if rather bemused, smile on his face.

Is it the idea of a huge crowd of people from Daisy being here to watch him?

But that doesn’t make sense. According to Birdie Wheeler, half the town is already in love with him.

Also, he plays football in front of thousands of people.

Millions watch on TV.

Oh . . . maybe it’s—

“Do you like Shakespeare?” I blurt.

He swivels his head back to me, eyes cool. “English major. Got my degree, even though I could have gone to the draft early. My mom always wanted me to get a degree because she never did.” He shrugs nonchalantly, but I sense deep emotion in that movement. “I did it for her.”

English major. And he graduated for his mom.

“Well, how interesting,” Topher says with a smirk. “Elena is also an English major. She got the library job without a library science degree.”

“I did apply at the high school for a teaching position, but there wasn’t one available. I love the library. It worked out for the best.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “What was your specialty? British lit for me.”

I chew on my lips, and his eyes follow my movement. “Um, American is my favorite.”

“Right, how could I forget? Mark Twain. ‘Go to heaven for the climate, hell for the company.’”

My lit-loving heart pounds. “‘They did not know it was impossible, so they did it.’”

“Nice. How about, ‘If a man could be crossed with a cat, it would improve the man, but deteriorate the cat.’”

I smirk. “Speaking of, I still have a cat if you want him, but he’s more of an outside tom now. He runs around the whole neighborhood.” I rack my brain for another quote. “I got one: ‘The two most important days in your life are the day you were born and the day you find out why.’”

He mulls, rubbing his jaw. “How about ‘Don’t wait. The time will never be just right.’”

“Or ‘Any emotion, if sincere, is involuntary.’ I love that one.” I grin, then remember I’m mad at him.

He huffs out a laugh. “Is this some kind of face-off where we see who knows the most Mark Twain quotes?”

“I can go all night,” I say.

“Hmm,” he murmurs, his lip curling. “Mark Twain battle. I sense a contest.”

“We should do it,” I say.

“I dare you to try.”

“Is that a challenge?” I tuck my hands inside my pockets. They tremble. It’s him. I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind since the penthouse, wondering how he is.

If he’s as lonely as I am.

“Name the time and place, Elena.”

I suck in a sharp breath at the way he’s looking at me, those eyes warming.

And shit, he has no right to say my name like that, as if he’s savoring it.

My eyes stare at his lips, the fullness, the softness mixed with strength—

I look around and realize Topher and Devon are looking at us strangely.

“What?” I say.

“Nothing,” Devon murmurs.

“Just awed by y’all’s memorization abilities,” Topher says. He looks at Jack. “Are you familiar with Romeo and Juliet?”

Jack clears his throat. “Yeah, I’ve been refreshing myself all week.”

I picture him laid up in his bed, sans shirt, turning the pages of the play. Maybe reading glasses on his face. My face feels hot.

This is really going to be a long month.

“Hey, guys,” comes a familiar voice behind me, and I start and turn, my eyes widening at the sight of my sister.

“Giselle? Are you doing the play?”

She dips her head and nods. I haven’t seen her since the library. Mama cooked lunch on Sunday, but she said she wasn’t feeling well and didn’t come.

Wearing a tweed jacket, dressy slacks, and heels, she walks over to us. I guess she came straight from her classes at Vandy. “Mama said Laura mentioned no one signed up to play the role of nurse, and well, I thought I might give it a go. You don’t mind, do you?”

I want to frown but put a smile on. “Of course not.”

But . . .

She’s never shown one iota of interest in the fine arts.

I flick my gaze behind her. “Preston here?”

“No.” She grimaces. “He hates this stuff.”

Right. He never came to any of my plays.

“Well, welcome to the crazy.” I do what any good sister would. I motion her to join our circle, introducing her to Devon and Jack.

She shakes hands with them and grows quiet, her finger twitching at the seams of her jacket.

Jack frowns, a pucker on his forehead as he takes her in, then turns back to me, a question in his eyes. I give him a nod and let him connect the dots. Yeah, she’s the one who’s with my ex.

Devon smiles at us, appreciation in his gaze. “You two look nothing alike.”

“Elena’s the fun one,” Giselle murmurs.

“And you’re the smart one,” I add.

She pushes up her glasses. “Well, you’re the one everyone adores.”

I blow out a breath. What is up with her? I push it aside.

“She’s recently engaged,” I say. It’s a non sequitur, but her ring is right there, glittering up at us.

Jack starts, looking at Giselle’s hand, then giving me a lingering look that I avoid.

“Congratulations,” Devon says with a smile. I don’t think he ever stops smiling. “Shame. I was hoping Elena knew some single ladies.”

“Elena knows everyone in town. I’m sure she can hook you up.” There’s a wistful tone in her voice, and I frown, about to disagree, but I realize she’s right. I do know everyone. Even though I moved away, as soon as I came back, I fell right into getting reacquainted with everyone in Daisy, either through the library or the community center.

I look at Devon and Jack. “We’re having the engagement party at my house for Giselle and her fiancé in a few weeks. You guys should come.” I groan inwardly. Why did I say that?

Jack starts and glances at Giselle. “Is that so?”

She nods. “Yes. Please come. I’d enjoy getting to know Elena’s friends.”

I shouldn’t have even invited them. It’s not my party. I’m just hosting it.

“My schedule is tight,” Jack says, shrugging.

That means no.

Devon laughs. “I’ll be there. I’m digging this town. What should I bring? Wine? Whiskey? Beer? What’s your favorite, Elena?”

I smile, my face burning at Jack’s odd behavior. I need some distance from him, from his coolness, like now, but I hang tough. “Just you and a smile.”

“Bells on, babe. So tell me about the single girls in Daisy.”

I nod. “There’s a teacher at the elementary school, Ms. Clark. Twenty-two. Long blonde hair. Drives a red convertible Mustang. Might be your style. She auditioned. I’m sure she’s here somewhere. Everyone gets a part if they want it.”

I dart my eyes around the gym until I find the teacher. She’s talking to a group, but her eyes are focused on Jack like a laser beam. I picture her dashing up to Jack and fawning all over him like those girls at the VIP room.

Devon slides in closer. “Oh, tell me more. Does she have a ruler she can pop me with?”

“Ask Jack,” I say, grimacing, even though I try not to. “He got her phone number when he visited the school. Heard from Birdie Walker he was very interested.”

Devon sends Jack a hard glance. “Did you now?”

“She pressed it in my hands.” Jack glares at me.

He should have ripped it into shreds!

Elena. Stop. He isn’t yours.

Tell that to my body.

Annoyance rises, with him for being Romeo to my Juliet, with myself for daydreaming about him all week, and finally with Giselle for being part of something that’s always been mine.

“You should totally call her,” I snap.

Jack’s nose flares, his eyes glittering. “I will. Thanks.”

“She’s right up your alley.”

“Really. Glad you know what I like.”

“VIP-room perfection,” I say curtly.

A muscle pops in Jack’s jaw. “Elena . . . ,” he starts but stops, his face like granite.

We stare at each other, and the air around us feels tight.

Giselle frowns, looking from me to Jack. “Uh, is everything okay?”

“Fine,” I scoff.

Topher clears his throat. “Nice evening out. Wonder if it will rain?”

I could throw out a weatherman comment, but I bite my tongue and force myself to keep my lips zipped.

How is he able to bring out this childish side of me?

I’m acting like a jealous girlfriend—and that is not what I am!

But ever since I heard about Ms. Clark at the beauty shop, it’s been stewing.

And he just said he’d call her.

And obviously, he probably hasn’t even thought about me again.

A long exhalation leaves Jack’s chest, and he murmurs that he wants to go talk to Laura. He turns and leaves, his back stiff and tense.

“Well, that went great,” I mutter.

Later, after Laura has given some brief instructions about rehearsal dates and times and introduced everyone, the cast settles in chairs at a long table. Read-through time.

Jack sits next to me, the heat of his leg close to mine. I scoot over to give him more space.

He shook every hand in the place before we sat down. A couple of people asked for autographs, and he signed their playbooks. I tried to not watch him, but it feels impossible. He’s the kind of man people stare at. He’s earnest and kind when he talks to them and not at all cocky. Once or twice, though, I caught a red flush on his cheeks when people got close to him, and it makes me wonder . . .

Patrick sits on the other side of me, playing Tybalt, Juliet’s cousin. Topher sits directly across from me, playing the sparkling Mercutio. Giselle occupies a spot at the end of the table, head down, glasses perched on her nose as she thumbs through the playbook. Ms. Clark plays the prince, although in this case, since the play has a majority of male roles, it’s princess. Suits her, I think, watching as she reapplies her lipstick as she sits directly across from Jack. She keeps reaching over the table and touching his arm, commenting how much she loves football and the Tigers.

Please.

Control yourself, Elena.

Devon is at the back of the gym, shooting hoops with Timmy.

“Let’s start and see how far we get tonight with a read through,” Laura announces with a smile. “Scene one starts with Sampson and Gregory from the house of Capulet. It’s fun and snappy. Tybalt enters, and he’s ready for a fight.”

Patrick laughs. “I’ll try to be angry. We could end the play early if I just tell them about loving your neighbor and all.”

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.