Page 27 of Backhanded Compliments

She stares down at them. They look normal apart from the tremor in each of her fingers and the tacky, half-dried aloe gel caughton the ridges. She half expects them to be bright red and gleaming, making a mockery of her. How could she think that she wouldn’t feel something the moment she touched Kacic?

She had convinced herself that she was helping Kacic in an effort to be nice. However, once her hands started moving, she couldn’t stop. And shewantedKacic to feel better; not just physically, but also emotionally. She had bared herself, given in to the feelings that Juliette had evoked in her and that felt too much like a fragile gift. One Juliette doesn’t want. Or deserve.

She shoves into the bathroom, slamming the door closed with more force than she means to. She washes off her hands, roughly scrubbing the gel from her skin. Then she stares at herself in the mirror. She looks wild. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips red and bitten, her arms shake where she holds on to the sink, and her pupils are blown wide and dark.

She splashes ice-cold water onto her face, the rivulets running down her cheeks like tears, streaking down her throat, and making her shiver. “Get a grip,” she mutters to her reflection.

Still, no matter how much she tries, Juliette can’t stop hearing Kacic’s strangled moans, her soft whimpers growing more audible as Juliette stroked her burning skin. She felt the heat of Kacic’s burn seeping into her hands as she drew the sting away. She can’t stop seeing the way Kacic shivered uncontrollably, as if she couldn’t decide whether to lean into the touch or pull away. Juliette knows what she wanted.

It’s driving Juliette crazy. She could get drunk off the way Kacic had whispered her name. A wild, desperate part of her wants to race back downstairs and pounce on Kacic. Wrap her up in Juliette’s arms and kiss all of her reddened skin better.

She clenches her jaw and forcibly stuffs the sudden yearning for Kacic into a box, locking it away behind the wall of her ribs.

She pushes off the sink and retreats into her bedroom, closing the bathroom door behind her and sliding down it. Moonlight mingles with the amber lamplight, twisting together and casting shadows across the length of the cold floor. She digs her fingernails into the grooves of the wood and breathes in through her nose.

She hates Kacic. She hates the way she stares and sees everything. She hates her clinical demeanor as she dispatches her rivals on court with brutal efficiency. She hates that Kacic has dug herself under Juliette’s skin like a leech and distracted her from what she actually wants. And she hates that with a few touches, Luca Kacic’s walls had seemingly crumpled. This is simply a mind game—one Juliette will not lose.

She doesn’t want her soulmate, she doesn’t want to be told by God or the universe or karma who she should love. She wants to be a Grand Slam champion. It’s all she’severwanted.

She desperately holds back the intense feelings that threaten to wrangle loose and complicate her very uncomplicated dream. When she closes her eyes, she feels like she’s tumbling into a free fall, and no matter how she pinwheels her arms, she can’t slow the descent. She curls in on herself, wrapping her arms around her middle.

Slowly, Juliette regains control over her harsh breathing. Tonight was simply an… anomaly. She doesn’twantKacic romantically, she just hasn’t gotten laid in a week.

The words ring hollow in her mind.

Her throat hurts like she’s been screaming, her eyes are gritty, and she knows she needs to go to bed and sleep this off. But as she looks up, arms still tight around her stomach, she doesn’t really want to get into the king-size bed alone. It’s a sea of cold white sheets that threaten to drown her.

She gets up and stumbles downstairs. The lights are off, and the living room is silent. She crawls onto one of the couches, wrapping the too small but fluffy blanket around her shoulders. It’s almost like she’s a kid again, napping before her next tennis practice. So, she curls into a tight ball and, with her lashes wet, falls asleep.

FOURTEENJULIETTE

The early morning sun and a gentle shake wakes Juliette.

She blinks blearily up, her vision fuzzy around the edges. She can’t quite make out who is gently touching her shoulder.

“Jules, are you all right?” a familiar voice asks in Italian.

“?’m fine,” Juliette mutters, even if she isn’t. She somehow feels more exhausted than when she fell asleep. Her neck aches, her back muscles bent the wrong way, and her nose is stuffy.

“Jules?”

Juliette lifts her head, rubbing her eyes so she can see Leo clearly. He looks concerned, his warm brown eyes searching Juliette’s face and his lips curved into a frown. “I’m fine,” she says again.

“Why are you on the couch?” Leo asks, his brows scrunching in confusion. He’s switched back to English, now that Juliette is awake. His Italian is better than before they met but still limited. At least it’s better than Octavia’s rather poor attempts at Portuguese.

Juliette shakes her head, but her temples pound at the movement and she winces. “I don’t know,” she lies, not wanting to talk to her sister’s boyfriend about her problems. “What time is it?”

Leo straightens from his crouch. He’s still wearing his pajamas, a pair of sweatpants and a Brazilian fútbol T-shirt, so it can’t be too late. “Half-six,” Leo says. “You want coffee?” He gestures to the kitchen.

Juliette uncurls her limbs and shoves the blanket off her lap. “That’d be great.”

Leo pads into the kitchen, leaving Juliette to drop her head into her hands and collect her thoughts. She allows herself a moment towallow in the pain caused by sleeping on the couch before forcing herself to her feet. She stretches her arms over her head, letting the near orgasmic relief of the early morning stretch ripple through her.

“Do you take cream and sugar?” Leo asks.

“In espresso? Hell no.” Juliette twists around to stare at Leo, who is making coffee from apacketof all things. Juliette shakes her head. “How does Octavia stand you?” she mutters as she pads over to the kitchen and slides onto one of the stools beneath the island.

Leo starts to smile. “We don’t do a lot of standing,” he says innocently.

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