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Juliette tilts her head, face unreadable as she studies Luca’s face. “No, it isn’t, is it?” She sounds pensive, as if she’s doing this to try to test the boundaries, see where she can press and where she has to back off.

“Enough chitchat over there!” Antony Ricci calls from across the court. Vladimir must have been successful in getting Ricci to relent to actual match play against each other for the remainder of Juliette’s session.

Juliette tosses her the ball, and Luca barely snags it before it flies over her right shoulder. “Good luck, Luca,” Juliette says with a smirkbefore she brushes past her and onto the other side of the court. “Hi, Vladimir,” she says brightly as Vladimir joins Luca.

“I don’t know what you were so worried about. Ricci is very strict about media around his player.” Vladimir grabs his racket. “You and Juliette should be practicing against each other more. It’s good for you both.”

Luca ignores the pointed look from Vladimir and jogs over to her side of the court. The grass is firm and browning beneath her shoes on the baseline. She scuffs her heels over the white lines.

Her knees are like jelly, but after a few rallies, Luca eases into the routine of practice.

The problem, however, lies with Antony Ricci, who will not stop shouting in Juliette’s ear and let her play. Luca knows it would drive her insane if Vladimir tried to micromanage every aspect of her game. Her favorite part of tennis is sinking into the quick-time instincts of strategy. There is no time to overthink when she has a fraction of a second to decide. The muscle memory kicks in, and she only needs to live in the moment.

After twenty minutes, Luca sheds her hoodie and tosses it to Vladimir, who appears pleased.

Told you, Vladimir mouths, and Luca purposefully turns away and smacks a ball back at Juliette.

They move into actual points, a couple of tiebreakers, and Luca starts with a serve. As she’s tossing the ball into the air for the first point, an alarm blares and she flinches. Her shoulder twists through the air and she connects awkwardly with the ball, sending it into the ceiling.

“This thing!” Ricci yells, and he stomps across the court to the revolving door. “It’s been blaring off and on all session. I thought they’d fixed it.” Ricci snarls something else in Italian before he vanishes through the revolving door.

“I better make sure he doesn’t kill the club manager,” Vladimir half-shouts over the pulsating noise. “You can handle this, right?” Vladimir pauses.

Luca waves Vladimir off, even though her throat constricts. Shecertainly would not want to be the employee dealing with the hotheaded Antony Ricci. Vladimir dips his head and jogs away.

The blaring alarm feels like it’s throbbing in the back of Luca’s neck, irritating and too loud. She can’t even hear herself think. Juliette jogs to the net, her bun flopping and her curls nearly spilling free. Sweat drips down her cheeks, gathers in the hollow of her throat and gleams on her arms. Luca forces herself to look away as she joins her.

She grabs water from the cooler behind the bench and rips it open.

“That’s irritating!” Juliette shouts.

Luca nods. Juliette’s gaze is hot on the back of her neck.

The alarm cuts off midscreech, and Luca touches her temple where a thorough headache has burrowed itself. “And it keeps going off?” Luca asks to make conversation.

When she turns, Juliette reaches around her for the cooler, even though there’s one on her side of the net. Juliette grins up at her as she yanks a bottle free. Luca freezes, unable to step out of the gravity of Juliette, even as she straightens. Heat climbs up Luca’s neck. This isn’t very different from the night among the trees after the disastrous Truth or Drink game. Juliette smells like sweat, and Luca has the absolutely unhinged urge to lick her.

“Yep,” Juliette says, popping thep. She cracks her bottle open and lifts it to her lips. Her head tilts back as she drinks, and Luca’s eyes trail down her throat to her collarbones, the straight line of the top of her shirt and where it stretches across her breasts. Juliette sighs as she lowers the bottle, chest heaving. She wipes sweat from her brow. “Good excuse for a break.”

Luca swallows and gives a noncommittal sigh as her focus slips away from her. She wants to lean into Juliette, thread her fingers through her loosening bun, and tug until it all tumbles free and gives Luca the leverage to drag their mouths together.

“Do you want to get lunch after this?” Juliette asks. Luca blinks, returning to the present. “You like tea, right? There’s a shop my sister loves we could go to.”

“How did you know that I like tea?” Luca asks, caught off guardby Juliette remembering something about her—even something as innocuous as her love of tea.

Juliette tilts her head, a smile playing on her full lips again. “I do pay attention to you.” She shifts on her feet. “Occasionally.”

“Right,” Luca drawls, a surge of warmth flooding her stomach. “And when do you pay attention to me?” For once, being under the scrutiny of Juliette’s dark, smoldering eyes doesn’t feel so scary.

Juliette shakes her head. A stray curl, soaked limp with sweat, brushes her cheek. “Anytime I can,” she says.

Luca can’t resist reaching up and gently twisting the strand off her face, tucking it into the headband. “You’re sweaty,” Luca comments, even though it’s obvious.

Juliette’s fingers brush her wrist, and she is so close that Luca can almost count all the faint freckles speckling her cheeks, brought out by months in the sun. “It seems like you’re paying attention too.”

Luca’s fingertips brush against the shell of her ear. “And if I am?” Luca murmurs. Once again, she tells herself this is a bad idea. She said she couldn’t do this in Naples, and that hasn’t changed. But no one could possibly trust Luca to make good decisions when faced with a sweaty, hot, and incredibly close Juliette Ricci.

Juliette doesn’t get a chance to reply.