“Above my fortunes, yet my state is well,” I replied. “I am a gentleman.”

“Get you to your lord. I cannot love him. Let him send no more—unless perchance YOU come to me again… to tell me how he takes it. Fare you well.”

And then—after I exited the stage—Olivia confessed a bit more.

“I am a gentleman,” said Imogen, repeating the words with fervent adoration. “I’ll be sworn thou art: Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit, do give thee fivefold blazon.”

She raised a tight fist to her chest.

“Not too fast!” she instructed her racing heart. “Soft, soft!”

Oh. My. God. Was there a thing in this world hotter than Imogen performing Shakespeare?

I wanted to feel like progress was happening. That I was making some real strides forward with Imogen. She and I had some serious chemistry onstage.

Problem was: I wasn’t me! I was Wynonna. And as far as Imogen was concerned, this was the BFF chemistry she and Wynonna had had since the dawn of time.

I let out a deep, sexually frustrated breath, pulled out my phone, and glanced at the time—five minutes till.

Thank god. I was falling way too hard for Imogen right now. I was falling like a meteor—like the one that killed the dinosaurs—trailing fire and stardust and annihilation behind me.

Nothing falling this hard could end well for anybody.

The second Shakespeare practice ended, Willow made a straight line to Wynezra. No hesitation. There was almost a sense of urgency in every step.

“Hey, Ezra,” she said.

I probably reacted just a bit too much—considering that I wasn’t Ezra, and I was standing thirty feet away. And it took Wynezra just a little too long to realize that Willow was talking to her.

“Oh, hey,” said Wynezra, finally. “What do you want?”

Willow shifted uncomfortably. “Can I get a ride home?”

Wynezra glanced indiscreetly at me. I nodded my head furiously.

“Yeah, okay,” said Wynezra. She glanced over Willow’s Black Veil Brides–level emo hair. “Just don’t shed on the upholstery.”

Willow’s eyes were so wide, they were eclipsing her eyeliner. She was clearly offended. “Excuse me? Fuck you.”

“Hey, I’m kidding!” said Wynezra. “The hair’s badass.”

She clapped Willow on the shoulder—but probably just a little too hard. Willow hadn’t braced herself for the impact and nearly tipped over.

“Whoa, sorry, don’t know my own strength,” said Wynezra, which was probably true. “You’re a scrappy little runt, aren’t you?”

Willow gaped at this stranger in her big brother’s body.

“Imogen has permanent dibs on shotgun,” said Wynezra, “so you’re stuck in the back seat with Holden and Wynonna. Wynonna’s cool, FYI. You two should be friends.”

Wynezra winked at me. Willow watched with confusion, then looked directly at me.