Chapter Seventeen Luca
SEVENTEEN LUCA
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 being this 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.
Luca remembers what Octavia had said at dinner, about how Juliette is sensitive. Maybe all her bravado is simply another barrier to keep herself safe.
Barriers are a sentiment Luca can relate to. If she keeps her inner circle small, there is less chance for being hurt, disappointed, or abandoned.
She starts to say something, but when she looks up, every word in every language she’s ever known flits from her brain. Juliette’s mouth is slightly parted, her eyes clear and bright, burning with a desperation that Luca’s never been on the receiving end of before.
“Erm,” Luca says, because she’s intelligent.
Juliette snorts out a laugh, the minty coolness of her breath drifting over Luca’s face.
She’s so close, close enough to kiss, close enough to devour.
A featherlight touch to her cheek has her gaze lifting to Juliette’s, a little taken aback.
Juliette’s fingers curve against her jaw, her thumb caressing her cheekbone.
“Don’t,” Luca breathes, and she can’t stand the fragility in her voice.
“Don’t what?” Juliette asks, her face dipping closer.
Luca can count her freckles from this close.
She can’t stop staring at the beauty mark above Juliette’s lip.
“Luca.” The sound of her name on Juliette’s tongue sends a shudder down her spine.
“I can feel you thinking,” Juliette says, echoing Luca’s words from earlier.
Luca isn’t really thinking; her thoughts are mangled beyond comprehension. Juliette’s head tilts, and their foreheads press together.
This is the closest they’ve ever been to kissing. Juliette’s eyes are big, pupils blown black to nearly eclipse the whiskey heat of her irises. Their breath mingles, and if Luca tilts her head, their lips would press together.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Juliette says.
“Why?” Luca is so distracted by the unbridled look of wild longing in Juliette’s gaze.
“I don’t know how to read you,” Juliette whispers back, her gaze flickering, as if she’s trying to rob Luca of her thoughts through her eyes.
Luca lifts her other hand and places it on Juliette’s cheek. Her skin is soft and warm as she skims her hand through Juliette’s gold-touched curls. The tie holding them back loosens, and the silken feel of them is even better in real life than in her dreams.
“I’m thinking about how much I want to kiss you,” Luca says finally. It’s the only way she can make sense of the wild pounding in her heart and the electric sparks between them.
Juliette starts to smile. “Really?”
Luca looks away, tempted to shift away. “Don’t mock me,” she whispers, curling her fingers tighter into Juliette’s hair.
“I know it might be hard to believe, but I’m not,” Juliette breathes. “I was thinking the same thing.”
Luca freezes and looks back at Juliette, the frenzied beat of her heart stuttering. “Well, why don’t you?” Luca challenges.
Juliette smirks, her eyes gleaming as she tilts her head and their lips brush.
It’s barely a kiss. It’s the most delicate touch of their lips, the tremble of their collective breaths so fragile between them.
It lasts only for a heartbeat.
Luca lunges, capturing all of Juliette’s mouth. It isn’t neat or even particularly good. It’s hungry and driven by the marrow-deep need to feel Juliette against her.
Juliette gasps as Luca knocks them backward. Her fingers dig into the back of Luca’s neck, driving her closer. Luca shudders, reminded viscerally of Juliette’s hands on her burned skin.
Luca licks into Juliette’s mouth, drawing a breathy gasp from her.
She lifts the hand she still has a hold of up over Juliette’s head.
She trails her fingers down Juliette’s wrist, brushing down the length of her forearm and bicep before she stops on her heaving ribs.
Juliette’s skin is hot beneath Luca’s hands.
She kisses the corner of Juliette’s mouth, the beauty mark, the dip of her chin, the hinge of her jaw.
She sucks lightly at her skin, addicted to the way Juliette’s breath hitches and her chest heaves.
She soothes every bite with a swipe of her tongue.
Juliette whines and hauls Luca up by the back of her neck to cram their mouths together. It’s needy and desperate, but so incredibly hot that she rolls her hips down and presses the length of their bodies together.
Juliette rakes her fingers across Luca’s shoulders, a strangled moan caught in her throat. Juliette arches into Luca, and her free hand slides beneath Luca’s T-shirt, fingers splaying across her back, dipping beneath the straps of her sports bra.
It’s too much, these sloppy kisses and frantic touching. Luca rips herself from the velvet heat of Juliette’s mouth and gasps for air. Her head spins like she’s drunk, and she can’t find her breath.
Juliette cups her jaw and tries to reel her back in for more heated making out, but Luca grabs her wrists. “Stop,” she whispers, staring at where her hands engulf Juliette’s wrists. “I can’t do this.” Luca lets go and scrambles off the bed.
“What, why?”
Luca risks turning back to her. Juliette is tangled in the sheets, her chest heaving, and her curls spill down her shoulders in spirals.
Her lips are kiss-swollen and scarlet, her face blotchy with a flush.
Luca is desperate, tempted even, to dive back in the sheets and finish ravishing Juliette.
Heat pulses in her core, slick and wet already.
“You don’t have to leave. We could be, like, soulmates-with-benefits?” Juliette frantically pushes her hair out of her face. “The health benefits of touching each other cannot be understated.”
Luca’s fingernails dig into her palms, tiny crescents of pain. “You don’t want that,” she whispers, desperately wishing it wasn’t true.
“What if I did?” Juliette scrambles off the bed.
Luca scoffs, stepping back from Juliette. She sways, hitting the wall. She swore she would never let herself land in another solely-physical relationship, especially with another player. But this is her soulmate
“I know it’s hard to believe—” Juliette starts.
“You’re right,” Luca cuts her off, “and even if I did believe you, I can’t have a purely physical relationship.
I can’t do it again.” Luca steadies herself against the door, fingers curling around the doorknob.
Her body clearly wants one thing, but she knows she can’t keep her feelings from tangling in a messy knot.
She can’t trust Juliette with her heart—even if she is her soulmate, she’s also her rival.
One who has been hell-bent on playing mind games in the media and distracting her for months.
“And once you get what you’ve always wanted, will there be any room in your life for me? ”
Luca needs to focus. She has tournaments to win and a number one ranking to keep.
If she loses herself and looks away from her goal for one moment, all she’s worked for will be ruined.
The resulting spiral will destroy her. A tight, thorny feeling latches around Luca’s lungs, a familiar panic she knows more intimately than any lover.
Juliette blinks and stammers, trying to come up with words, but ultimately she fails.
“I hope your wrist feels better,” Luca says as she shoves out of Juliette’s room.