Not My Romeo (The Game Changers 1)

He laughs. “You fucked the baddest, sexiest jock in Nashville. Do you have any clue how women have chased him his entire life? I hear he even needs security.” He grabs his diary from the coffee table. “I’m writing this down. It’s going in that great American novel I’m going to write—”

“Not a good idea,” I mutter, recalling the NDA. I stand up and pace as he eyes me, frowning.

“Do you plan on seeing him again?”

“One-time thing.”

He looks crestfallen, slumping back against the cushions. “Was it good, at least? Is his lower body proportional to the rest of him?”

My face flames as my entire body clenches, recalling the orgasms I had. Oh boy. He did deliver on that front. The first one in the kitchen with him on his knees; the second time on the floor in the master bedroom, him behind me; the third time, we finally made it to the bed—

I suck in a breath.

“Your face is redder than a stop sign.” Topher chuckles.

“Here’s the kicker: Jack didn’t tell me who he really was, and he left before I woke up.”

He winces, closing his notebook. “Ouch. That is not diary worthy at all. Asshole.”

I exhale, thinking again about how I assumed he was Greg. “He mentioned my blog, and I assumed he meant where I post my designs, but I wonder if he thought I was another blogger . . .” I frown. “Why wouldn’t he just tell me he wasn’t my date? Why keep it a secret?”

He shrugs and waggles his eyebrows. “You wore your naughty things?”

“Unicorn set.”

He lets out a low whistle. “Nice.”

“And he kept the panties.”

“Not nice. We need to get those back.” Topher knows how important my work is, how much I love creating fanciful pieces, things I want to wear. Not those ill-fitting, basic, run-of-the-mill scraps of lace sold in stores. I yearn for unique clothing, something eye catching and sexy yet quirky. Made for full-figured women with moxie.

Topher’s frown turns into a scowl, deepening. His feet shift around as he stands, walking over to me. “Elle, honey, I have other news, and I want to tell you before you find out some other way.”

I groan. “Please tell me it’s nothing to do with Mama or Aunt Clara.” They are constantly popping over. I’ve even taken to locking my sewing room.

He shakes his head, his pretty hair swishing around his shoulders.

“Okay, tell me.”

“I ran over to the Cut ’N’ Curl to get a Sun Drop a few minutes ago. You know they have those from the distributor, when we can’t even buy them at the Piggly Wiggly. Giselle was there . . .” His voice trails off, and my stomach drops.

“She saw me with Jack.”

He watches my face. “She didn’t say a word about you and Jack . . .”

“But?”

He grimaces and takes a big breath, his eyes soft and careful. “She was showing everyone her ring. Flaunting it around, waving it in people’s faces. I’m so sorry.”

A huge chunk of lead lands on my heart, and I wrestle to throw it off, to eviscerate it from my chest and make it go away. I feel winded. “Ring, huh?”

He sits on the arm of the chair. “Preston proposed last night. Had the ring hidden in the cheesecake. So stereotypical. What a snooze fest.”

I clasp my hands together. Part of me knew this was coming. It was apparent in the Sunday lunches where I’ve been forced to sit across from them. Giselle can’t keep her eyes off him. She’s completely enamored with him.

I recall how she waltzed into my Fourth of July party and met him for the first time. She’d been living in Memphis, and somehow the two of them had never crossed paths in the six months I dated him. Tall, leggy, and blonde, she’s three years younger than me—and beautiful with her heart-shaped face and baby-blue eyes.

I recall that sinking feeling when I introduced him to her, the way his eyes flared when he took her hand in an energetic handshake.

I barely notice as Topher dashes to the kitchen and returns with a splash of bourbon in a glass. “I think this calls for the expensive stuff.”

I take a small sip. “Nana’s twenty-year Pappy. So much for never drinking again.”

“She’d want you to have it. Lady was a rebel. Like you.”

I slump down in the chair, feeling incredibly tired and not like a rebel at all.

“I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again. Preston wasn’t right for you. He’s a pompous jerk with a stick up his ass. I mean, what man doesn’t see you and all the sweet things you do for . . . for . . . even an ugly pig!”

Romeo sticks his head out of the tent and glares at Topher, and his eyes clearly say I know what you said about me.