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Remi lowers her forehead to her palm. “My lips are zipped? Or my hands are tied?”

Claudia blinks. “That’s what I said, no?”

Karoline hums. “Satisfactory answer, I suppose.” She shrugs.

Remi eagerly spins next and it whirls on the table so fast the bottle is a green blur.

“Aggressive much?” Juliette teases, but she’s laughing so her nose scrunches adorably. A cold pit opens in Luca’s stomach, at odds with the tightness in her throat; an unpleasant mix of a desire to see Juliette laugh like that and a jealousy that Remi made Juliette laugh so easily.

Remi giggles. “I was excited for my turn! I already have my question.”

The bottle finally slows, pointing at Juliette. She groans, running her hands over her hair. “I guess I deserved that.”

Remi cackles. “Perfect. Now, describe your last intimate encounter in three words.” Her eyebrows waggle, and the bridge of Juliette’s nose flushes red.

Juliette holds up her hand. “Unfufilling.” She ticks off a finger. “Short.” She pauses, her gaze sliding purposefully to Luca. “And oily.” She smirks.

Panic freezes Luca in place. Of course Juliette would talk aboutthe massage night and not the last time she had sex. Anything to make Luca squirm. She didn’t say Luca’s name, but as her gaze lingers, she knows all the others at the table are looking at them. Did Juliette tell Remi about that night? About the massage and the kiss and Luca freaking out?

“Sounds boring”—Claudia yawns—“your turn now, Jules, spin.” Claudia smacks Juliette’s shoulder lightly, uncoordinated now that she’s finished her drink.

Juliette rolls her eyes and swats the end of the bottle, sending it spinning wildly. Luca watches as the light catches off the deep green glass and sends a shower of emerald light shards across the table. It seems to spin forever, time suspended as Luca prays it doesn’t land on her.

The wind picks up, ruffling Luca’s hair and making the bottle do one additional rotation. Then it stops, pointing directly at Luca’s chest. Her gaze connects with Juliette’s, who is staring at her with intense dark eyes.

Luca looks away and sees that everyone’s gazes are bouncing among them, riveted spectators waiting to see what Juliette will ask and if Luca will respond. Heat prickles Luca’s neck. She waves a hand at Juliette. “Ask, then.”

Juliette’s eyes narrow. “I’m thinking.”

“Really? I didn’t think you ever thought before you spoke,” Luca snaps back. Though her retort came quick and sounded confident, she feels like she wants to peel her own skin off. She’s too warm, the prickling sensation growing to an irrepressible itch.

Juliette’s knuckles blanch as she tightens her fists on the table. “Would you ever sleep with another player?” Her question burns through Luca. Every eye is on her, and Juliette knows, without a doubt, the answer. Luca was inches from crossing that line with Juliette the other night.

The longer the silence stretches between them, the more smug Juliette looks. Luca snatches her beer and sips it. It’s an answer in and of itself. Tightness winds itself like a spring around her chest, a screw twisting again and again—and it snaps. Luca puts down her beer.“Excuse me.” She pushes out of her chair and it takes every ounce of her control to not run off the patio.

The night presses in, suffocating Luca. Of course Juliette wouldn’t care if her answer to Remi’s question and her own question humiliates Luca in front of their friends and two incredible tennis legends. Now they’ll all think they slept together. And Luca can’t even refute it because she can’t very well explain that “No, actually, we didn’t sleep together, And I wouldn’t sleep withanyother player. But my very pretty soulmate? Yes, actually, I want that very much.”

It’s all just a game to Juliette. One that Luca doesn’t want to play.

Even though she wants to throw up after that conversation, her mind supplies her with thoughts of being with Juliette. The moment in bed when they could trust each other to be vulnerable without the fear of rejection. When Juliette had told Luca of her fear of being injured again. In that moment, Luca hadn’t wantedjustsex, but also Juliette’s emotional vulnerability.

And Luca doesn’t trust Juliette to put aside her jealousies and games to give Luca that. All she wants to give is the physicality, and that is something Luca can’t give away.

Luca ducks behind the thick foliage that creates a secluded path down to the beach and swerves into the tree line, away from the water. A faint citrus scent tinges the salty sea air, causing Luca to pause by one of the many potted lemon trees and breathe in deeply to ground herself, but the tangy aroma reminds her of silky curls between her fingers, now just out of reach, and she winces.

Footsteps slap against the path behind her and Luca turns, her anxiety spiking. It’s dark under the foliage, almost too dim to see, but she still recognizes Juliette’s lithe silhouette and curly hair.

“What the hell is your problem?” Juliette yells, stumbling to a stop. There is nowhere for Luca to go except deeper into the trees toward the beach or back toward the house.

Juliette followed her. For some reason, maybe to toy with her again. That thought roots Luca’s feet in place. “I don’t have a problem,” Luca says, hating the tremor in her voice.

Juliette sways. She must be drunker than Luca thought. The wind picks up and a shimmer of light cuts through the leaves and catches on Juliette’s high cheekbones, the curve of her jaw, the flutter of her lashes. Luca’s stomach clenches as she remembers her fingers skating across that smooth skin, her mouth rough and hot. She’s been avoiding thinking about it for two days, and as much as she tries to forget, the memories sear through her.

“No? Then why do you keep running away from me?” Juliette demands, taking a half-step closer.

The irony is a slap in the face. All Juliette’s ever done is run away from Luca. The locker room in Australia, the beach that first night, when she put aloe on Luca’s shoulders.

“Says the queen of running away from uncomfortable conversations,” Luca snaps.