Chapter Sixteen

· Sixteen ·

Will

“Orsino.” Petruchio throws me a chest pass from the other side of the basketball court where we’re shooting around, waiting for the rest of the guys to show for pickup. I catch the ball and shoot a three-pointer that falls through the net with a satisfying thwack .

He whistles. “Someone’s been working on their game.”

“Fuck off,” I tell him. “I’ve always been money on three-pointers.”

He laughs as he grabs the ball, which has bounced toward him.

Jamie walks onto the court, dropping his duffel bag at his feet and throwing us a friendly wave. We both wave back.

Petruchio dribbles, then shoots a baseline jump shot. “Nothing but net!” he yells.

“Someone’s humble as ever!” I call.

He flips me the bird.

The sound of what seems like women’s voices comes from somewhere to my left. Before I can stop myself, I glance up, right to Juliet’s apartment balcony. It’s the first time I’ve let myself look, and I’m both annoyed with myself that I already caved—we’ve been here all of ten minutes—and disappointed she’s not there.

I knew what I was getting into when I accepted Petruchio’s invitation to join his pickup game, remembering Juliet said this is where he plays, right behind her building. I told myself I could handle it, feeling her close by, knowing that, according to Petruchio, she and her sisters often watch their game from her apartment’s little balcony, and there was a good chance they’d be watching today.

But that was before last night—a practice date I told myself was going to go off without a hitch, because I was going to simply ignore and not repeat everything that happened with Juliet on Sunday night.

Obviously, that did not happen.

At least we didn’t kiss again. That was a win.

But you sure as hell thought about it , a voice whispers in my head.

The ball hits me in the stomach, punching the air out of me.

“Shit,” Petruchio calls. “Sorry, man! I thought you saw it coming.”

“All good,” I wheeze, scooping up the ball, dribbling it, then taking a shot at the top of the key. It bounces off the rim. “Dammit.”

Jamie catches the rebound and pulls back, nailing a tidy jump shot. Another guy I met at game night but didn’t talk to as much, Hamza, walks onto the court next, throwing us a smile and a chin nod.

I nod back.

Another sound—this time I’d swear it’s women’s voices—comes from the same place I heard last time. I glance at the balcony—empty again—and mentally kick myself.

Petruchio jogs up to me. “You good?”

I wrench my gaze away from the balcony. “Yeah. Why?”

He shrugs, taking a drink from his water bottle. “You just seem…a little tightly wound?”

A little tightly wound. Understatement of the century. If I were wound any tighter, I’d snap. “I’m fine. Just some stress with work.”

It’s not exactly a lie. This learn-romance-so-I-can-woo-a-wife plan is directly related to work, and it’s definitely stressing me out. I’ve spent a grand total of three days on it with Juliet, and I’m about to burst at the seams with how bad I want her. I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to survive two more weekends of this.

“Want to talk about it?” he asks.

“Nah.” I shake my head. “It’ll pass.”

God, I hope I’m right. That I can wrestle this gnawing ache for her into submission and get my shit together.

Petruchio claps me on the back. “If you change your mind, I’m here for you.”

“Thanks,” I tell him.

This time, when I hear those soft female voices, I’m proud to say I don’t glance up, not immediately. But once Petruchio does, I let myself, too.

Kate stands on the balcony, some kind of thermos in hand, and catcalls him. “Hiya, hot stuff. You, uh”—she wiggles her eyebrows as she leans into the railing—“come here often?”

Petruchio laughs, the sound echoing off the brick building. “For a view like the one you’re giving me, honey, I’d come here every day.”

My eyes find Juliet, smiling down at me. I don’t even notice what she’s wearing, how beautiful I’m sure she looks. I’m locked on that smile; on the way she drags her sunglasses from her hair, sets them on the bridge of her nose, and playfully makes them shimmy up and down; the moment she throws me a little thumbs-up and mouths, Good luck!

Heat coils through my body.

It’ll pass , I tell myself.

It has to.