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“Lonely, Kacic?” Juliette sneers. “None of your friends want to deal with you?”

Kacic glowers. “Something like that,” she mutters.

Juliette’s breath hisses in and out of her open mouth. Maybe Livia is right. Maybe she is being unreasonable and bitchy, but Kacic makes her blood boil.

Kacic pulls her sleeves over her wrists, fingers curling tightly into the hem. “Why are you here?”

“I’m playing in the Connolly Cup, dumbass,” Juliette says, realizing after it comes out of her mouth that Kacic hadn’t meant Italy, but rather the beach.

Kacic shoots her a loathing glare. Juliette doesn’t back down and stares right back, forcing Kacic to specify. “I meant,” she grits out, “why are you here on the beach with me? I thought you couldn’t stand me.”

“Maybe I’m here to bask in your self-pity?” Juliette snipes.

Kacic twists her head away. “Then go away,” she mutters, almost too low for Juliette to hear.

Juliette should leave. She brought Kacic a drink. They exchanged more than ten words. She can scurry away without the guilt of being a bad host. But her limbs are drunk-heavy, and the sand is warm, making it impossible for her to lift out of its soft cocoon.

“I won’t apologize for winning,” Kacic says suddenly.

Juliette stares at her. “I wouldn’t believe you if you tried.”

Kacic meets her gaze evenly, her eyes burning with such intensity that Juliette can’t find her breath. “What is wrong with you?”

Juliette blinks rapidly, trying to regain her composure, but her brain is sluggish. “What?” she asks stupidly.

Kacic’s breath heaves. “I don’t know what I did to make you hate me so much.”

“You’re not the one who lost a Grand Slam final!” Juliette snarls. “You get everything, and for what? You win a few good matches and suddenly everyone says that you’re going to be the greatest of all time. The second coming of Aurore Cadieux and Payton Calimeris!” Juliette’s hands shake, and she wants to hide them in the sand.

“You think I want this attention?”

“Oh, spare me the pity party.” The wind snaps against Juliette’s face, crisp compared to the fire that burns on her skin. “I’m sick of it, Kacic. And I’m sick of everyone saying you’re the perfect professional and I’m the asshole.”

“You started this!” Kacic hisses.

“I did not! You said it was such a shame that I only won because Chen sprained her ankle. Don’t pretend that wasn’t bitchy.”

Kacic blinks. “I was being honest. I wanted to see you guys play a good match. Didn’t you want to win fair and square?”

Juliette doesn’t deign to respond, glaring at her.

Kacic’s lower lip wobbles, a sheen on the edge of it that Juliette can’t help but stare at. “Whatever. Why don’t you just continue existing as if I don’t?”

Juliette shakes her head. “Unbelievable.” She watches as understanding flickers over Kacic’s face. Her mouth falls open, and she exhales like Juliette punched the air out of her.

“You’re jealous.” Kacic says it like a revelation, as if she can’t believe it.

Now it’s Juliette’s turn to be sucker punched in the stomach. She can’t scoff or deny or even say anything at all. So, she does the next best thing.

She runs away.

NINELUCA

“You’re jealous,” Luca says, the realization illuminating Ricci in sudden and spectacular light. It’s strange, the relief flooding through her chest as she swallows the idea that maybe Ricci doesn’t hate her just for the sake of hating her.

Ricci’s jaw snaps shut, and then she scrambles to her feet. Just like six months ago, in the locker room, Ricci is running away from her. This time, Luca leaps to her feet and chases after her. “Hey, wait, we’re not done,” she says, grabbing Ricci’s shoulder without thinking.

Heat flares across her palm, scalding her skin, but she can’t let go. A tug deep in her gut threatens to overwhelm her.