Page 38 of Backhanded Compliments

Lucawantsher.

Juliette realizes she wants Luca too, with every fiber of her being. She wants Luca’s hands on her skin, caressing her, warming her, relaxing the tension out of her.

Juliette’s eyes water, and she bites the pillow again. This has to be purely physical. Her body is reacting to whatever magical connection soulmates have. She knows it’s natural to feel this way, enhanced by their proximity.

Luca doesn’t stop massaging her neck, but she doesn’t say anything else, and Juliette is grateful. Despite whatever tension hangs between them, Luca must sense how overwhelmed Juliette is. It’s building in her chest, and she nearly chokes on it.

Maybe being physical with Luca wouldn’t be the end of the world or her career. Juliette is no stranger to no-strings sex and friends with benefits.

Luca adds more oil and does another luxurious pass over herback. All coherent thought flakes away. When Luca gets to her hip, she swirls in gently, the pressure lessening as she reaches the edges of the pained area.

Heat grows, white-hot and all-consuming, and by the time Luca moves her hands to Juliette’s other hip, it’s as if she never had any pain. She smooths her hands over Juliette’s left hip, taking as much time and care in warming and loosening as she did with the injured one.

Her hands lift and Juliette melts into the bed, certain she’ll never be able to move again. Frankly, she doesn’t want to.

“Thank you,” Juliette murmurs, and Luca shifts off her, plopping down beside her. “I think you turned my limbs to jelly,” she says into the cotton, and Luca laughs. Warmth blooms in her stomach at the sound.

She turns her face toward Luca. “I feel like I should return the favor,” she murmurs, watching Luca fiddle with her fingers, picking at the skin around her thumbs. Juliette groans as she gets to her knees and then sits beside her.

“You technically started this by helping with my sunburn.” Luca refuses to look at Juliette. “Want me to massage your wrist?” she asks, disarming Juliette again.

Juliette doesn’t know what to say. Her instinct is to plead,yes, God, please yes. But she’s terrified of this raw feeling in her chest. And terrified that something could happen to her wrist again.

“It’s okay if you don’t want me to touch you anymore, I can go,” Luca says quickly, misunderstanding Juliette’s silence.

“No,” Juliette says, fumbling with the word, so she lays her hand over Luca’s knee.

Luca’s eyes widen as she freezes. There are flecks of green in the gilded hazel of her irises that Juliette never noticed before. They’ve never been this close.

“I would like that,” Juliette says, slowly lifting her hand from Luca’s knee and holding out her aching wrist.

SEVENTEENLUCA

Juliette surprises Luca, again, by extending her hand. “Why are you letting me do this?” Luca asks as she takes Juliette’s right hand.

“You did offer,” Juliette says, amusement laced through her voice. Her cheeky smile has returned.

Luca doesn’t start with Juliette’s wrist but instead slides her thumb across Juliette’s palm. Juliette’s fingers open like a flower toward her. “I know,” she says, finally, “I was more asking why you even let me in your room. Every other time I try to talk to you, you tell me to fuck off.”

Juliette winces. “Are we going to talk about that now?”

Luca shrugs and presses her thumbs into Juliette’s palm, arcing out toward the edges of her hand before taking her time to work out the kinks in each of her fingers. She memorizes the details of Juliette’s hand. Her hands are smaller, but she has identical calluses. Her nails are clipped short, painted a creamy gold. “What happened to your wrist?” Luca asks when the silence starts to freak her out.

Juliette’s breath catches, and Luca dares to glance up at her. She is so achingly beautiful, especially as her perfect mask slips and pain etches across her features. “There was a rupture in the tunnel that holds it in place, and the tendon slipped out of the grooves. I had surgery to repair it.”

Luca traces circles on Juliette’s palm. She can see the curve of a tiny scar on the pinky side, a ridge that tells a tale of pain and fear.

“I thought I’d never play again,” Juliette admits with a shaky sigh.

Luca looks up. Juliette’s head is turned away from her, as if beingthis vulnerable pains her. Luca slowly trails her thumb across Juliette’s inner wrist and caresses the scar.

Juliette flinches out of Luca’s grip and cradles her arm to her chest. Her breath is rapid. “Sorry,” Juliette mumbles.

Luca’s chest aches. She understands, on some level. She has no idea what she would do without tennis to keep her sane. Even the idea of injury has her thoughts spiraling into circles of anxiety. So, Luca does the only thing she can think of. She reaches out and curls her fingers around Juliette’s wrists, tugging them away from her chest.

Juliette looks up, surprised and confused. Suddenly, Luca is aware of how close they are to each other. “You don’t have to hide. I get it. And I’m sorry for knocking you over. If you’d hurt your wrist again…” Luca trails off and closes her eyes, unable to voice aloud the guilt she would have felt.

Juliette gently twists her right hand and interlocks their fingers. “Thank you,” she breathes.

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