“Your name is Romeo,” I say again.
“I know.”
“Romeo Rodriguez.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m Juliette. Juliette Chastain.”
“I’m aware.”
“Romeo and Juliette.” I’m staring at him. “We’re literally Romeo and Juliet.”
“Technically we’re Romeo and Juliette. With a ‘te.’ Different spelling, so?—”
“That doesn’t make it better!” I can feel myself spiraling. “That makes it worse! You never once thought to mention that our names were ROMEO and JULIETTE?”
“Everyone calls me Rodriguez, I didn’t think it was a big deal?—”
“I’m not everyone! I’m your girlfriend! I should have known your first name!”
“I told you my name,” he says quietly. “That day at the coffee shop. When we exchanged numbers. I put Romeo in your phone. You’re the one who freaked out and told me it was a bad pickup line.”
I freeze.
Oh my god.
He’s right. I remember now. Seeing “Romeo” in my phone and thinking?—
“I thought you were joking,” I say slowly. “I thought you were making a play on my name. Like literally every other guy has done my entire life. ‘Oh you’re Juliette, I’ll be your Romeo’ as if it’s the most original line ever invented. I thought you were being utterlyunoriginal and I changed it to just Rodriguez because I wasn’t going to fall for that.”
He’s staring at me. “You thought?—”
“Yes! I thought you were doing the Romeo thing! Because EVERYONE does the Romeo thing! Do you know how many times I’ve heard ‘Where’s your Romeo’ or ‘Are you looking for your Romeo’ or some guy introducing himself as Romeo thinking he’s hilarious?” The words are spilling out now. “I changed it to Rodriguez immediately because I was NOT going to be that girl who falls for the Romeo line!”
“But that’s actually my name!”
“I DIDN’T KNOW THAT!”
The elevator dings and we walk down the hall in silence.
“So you got in a fight, broke Garrett’s nose, your name is Romeo, we’re Romeo and Juliette, my entire family is upstairs dying of laughter, there are photos in forty-five minutes, when we—” I break off and suck in a breath because rapidly listing all the things is only making me feel worse.
“JuJu—” He takes a step toward me.
“What did he say?” The question comes out sharp. “What did Garrett say that made you hit him?”
He shakes his head and walks toward the bathroom, ignoring the question. He’s fumbling with the shirt, trying to unbutton it with his swollen hand.
I can’t watch this.
“Stop.” I cross to him. “Let me.”
I step in front of him and reach for the buttons. My hands are steadier than his even though I’m the one shaking. The shirt is ruined. I peel it off carefully.
His ribs are definitely going to be bruised, and I trace my fingers over the redness.
“Did he get you anywhere else?”
