Luca shakes his head. “I can’t believe I stupidly got you a long-stemmed rose tied with ribbons in the colors of the University of Chicago.”
My heart squeezes at the memory. “That wasn’t stupid, Luca. It was adorable and sweet.”
His dark eyes are blazing. Clearly, the memory has triggered him. “No, it was dumb as fuck, because you weren’t the person you were pretending to be at all, and like a total idiot, I bought all your lies, hook, line, and sinker.”
I roll my eyes. “Would you stop being so goddamned dramatic? Jesus, Luca. Okay, I lied about a few minor things to make sure nobody in Buckeye Nation, including my family, ever found out I’d flirted with the enemy. But otherwise, I was totally me the whole time. Think about it. Who would ever fake being that big a dork?”
Luca snort-laughs, and the anger in his expression from a moment ago is gone. “You flirted with the enemy? Who’s being dramatic now?”
“That’s not dramatic; it’s factual. It doesn’t matter that I went to Northwestern and you went to Nebraska. I’ve been raised as a Buckeye and you’ve been raised as a Wolverine, and you know it. Don’t even try to deny it.”
He pulls a snarky face. “Wow. Roman always says the loser in a rivalry takes it way more seriously than the winner, and you’ve just proved him right.”
I shoot daggers at him. “First of all, this is a Satan-free zone. Don’t bring up that name again, especially out of nowhere and without warning. Talk about a jump scare. And second of all, it’s not like I was Mata Hari on a mission to get state secrets out of you in Bloomington, Indiana. I omitted some irrelevant information to keep my identity a secret because the college football world is a small one and I knew I’d never see you again.”
“Except that you have.”
“But I didn’t know that would happen, obviously. Now, please, can we talk about something that actually matters? Namely, me helping you make it to the end of training camp?”
The expression on Luca’s face reflects nothing but amusement, which causes an intense feeling of déjà vu to wash over me. Way back when, he looked at me this exact same way while we were eating our ice cream cones, as I recall, while I explained my love of math to him. I’ve never forgotten that precise moment because after I finished explaining how “totally me” I feel while solving a complex math problem, Luca grinned at me and said, “That’s exactly how I feel while I’m on the field in a football game.”
“Have I said something to amuse to you?” I snap. I didn’t mean to ask the question in such a snippy tone, but the warm and fuzzy memories flooding me aren’t welcome ones. On the contrary, I don’t need or want the distraction of feeling a damned thing regarding Luca Maguire, other than professionalism and focus.
Luca takes a big bite of his food and answers simply, “I just find you extremely entertaining, that’s all. Who’s this Matty Whoever person you were nothing like?”
“Huh? Oh.Mata Hari.She was a famous spy in World War I. Men never suspected her because they couldn’t fathom a woman being smart enough to get the better of them. My point is that I had to lie out of necessity, unlike Mata Hari, because you were a prince from an enemy kingdom, and I—”
“You thought of me as aprince?” He snickers. “Finally, the woman tells the truth!”
“From a rival kingdom.Don’t forget that part. To me, you were a Montague and I was a Capulet.”
An epiphany visibly slams into him. “That’s what you meant when you said ‘Montague’ before bolting out of my hotel room?”
“I didn’tbolt. I left calmly and politely because I neededto get a good night’s sleep for the finals the next day. But yes, that’s what I meant. I was mad at myself for letting my relatively harmless flirtation with a Montague over breakfast get so totally out of control.”
Luca runs a large palm over his face. “And here I thought you were calling me Romeo because you didn’t believe a word out of my mouth.”
“Why on earth would you think that?”
“Don’t people call lover-boy types who come on way too fast and strong Romeo? Isn’t that a thing?”
“Maybe, yeah. But that’s not what I meant at all.” I’m tempted to comment that the “lover boy” tag might not be too far off when it comes to Luca, based on what I’ve seen of his online presence over the years. Certainly, whenever I broke my rule and googled him, Luca’s social media was filled with all manner of gorgeous girls hanging off him—and I couldn’t help noticing none of those girls made it into subsequent posts.
But since that comment would require me to admit I’ve googled him in the first place—and repeatedly—I lean back in my chair instead, fold my arms, and say, “I’m sorry you’ve been tortured for seven long years about me whispering the word ‘Montague’ without further explanation. I assure you, torturing you wasn’t my intention. All I cared about was keeping our brief time together a secret forever.”
“Who was I going to tell?”
“Um, anyone and everyone?” When he scoffs, I add, “You’re telling me, if you’d known you made out with Coach Parker’s daughter, you wouldn’t have immediately blabbed the story to anyone who’d listen?”
“Not if you’d asked me to keep quiet about it.”
“Bullshit, Luca. You would’ve at least told your big brother, and you know it. And once you did that, the news would havetraveled fast in our very, very small world and made it back to my father and brothers.”
He pulls a face that concedes the point. “I never said I was tortured, by the way. Just deeply confused. I thought I did something terrible to you that night, and I’ve felt huge regret and shame about it ever since.”
“For seven years?”
Luca shrugs in a way that confirms, yes, that’s the case.
