Page 57 of Once Smitten, Twice Shy

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’mabout 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.

•Seventeen•

Juliet

“Gluten-free cupcakes and a cuddly hedgie have arrived!” The rapid stomp of Bea’s boots down the hallway punctuates every word she says. She steps into the room with a jazz hand, the pastry box keeping her from doing it with the other. “They haven’t started yet, have they?”

“Nope!” I step inside from the balcony, trying to erase the image of Will Orsino in a heather gray T-shirt stretched tight across his chest and blue gym shorts clinging to those tree-trunk thighs. Christ on a cracker, it’s hot out here.

“Cornelius!” Kate croons. She takes the fanny pack–style carrier bearing Bea’s pet hedgehog.

“Thanks, BeeBee.” I take the box of cupcakes from my twin, setting them on the little café table I’ve placed behind our chairs for easy access. It might be ten in the morning, but I woke up craving the hell out of cupcakes. Who says they can’t be a brunch staple? “You’re an angel.”

“ ’Course.” Bea kicks off her boots. “So. How’s the view today?”

Kate glances over her shoulder, down at the court. “All shirts still on.”

I peel the paper off my cupcake and shove half the thing in my mouth so I don’t have to be a part of this conversation. In the past, I haven’t minded jokingly objectifying these guys when their shirtscome off, when it’s been my friends and my sisters’ partners (whom I’ve obviously not been ogling) and some random dudes I don’t know (whom I have, purely as a woman with eyeballs who enjoys ogling sweaty half-naked men shooting hoops). But it’s different now. Now Will is in the mix, and the thought of seeing his shirt come off makes me feel like I’m going to burst into flames.

“That’s fine,” Bea says, settling into her lawn chair wedged onto the balcony, “I can wait.”

Still chewing my massive bite of pumpkin spice cupcake with what tastes like a bourbon vanilla frosting, I busy myself with closing back up the cupcake box.

Kate swats my hand away and yanks it open again, poking around. She scowls. “You took the pumpkin one.”

Bea leans back in her chair and points. “I gottwopumpkin ones and”—she reaches farther back on her chair and plucks out a chocolate-frosted chocolate cupcake—“two death by chocolates for me.”

“I didn’t know it was pumpkin,” I tell Kate. There’s frosting on my thumb. I lick it off with a pop. “I thought it was carrot cake.”

“Gross.” Kate makes a face.

I poke her wrinkled nose. “Don’t yuck my yum.”

“Carrot cake is there.” Bea points to the cupcake in the corner that I’d mistaken for vanilla, based on the heap of creamy white frosting on top.

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