Not My Romeo (The Game Changers 1)

“I’m a librarian,” I hiss. “I shelve books for a living, for God’s sake. I don’t have time to stalk you. I just want my undies! I spent hours sketching that design. It took weeks. Do you have any clue how hard it is to make those so that when you touch them, the image changes? They’re priceless panties!”

I’m close to a come-apart in public, and I don’t do those—I don’t. Mama taught me to hold it all in. Smile. Say please and thank you. Don’t cause drama. Don’t be the object of gossip. If you’re angry, say “Bless your heart,” and move on.

But bless your heart just won’t cut it here.

“Stop saying panties,” he hisses back, tossing a look around the room. He takes my arm and tugs me over to the side. His hands are gentle but a brand on my skin, a current that runs from him to me.

He lets me go, his gaze lingering where he touched me, as if he was just as aware of that electricity as I was. “How did you get in the VIP room?”

Devon, who’s been following us, approaches. There’s an odd look on his face. Maybe it’s surprise. “Dude. She’s with me.”

Jack rears his head back, as if he’s been slapped, and I guess he didn’t notice Devon following us. He puts laser-sharp eyes on him. “Is that right? And where did you meet her? Because seeing her again, here, is weird. I think she’s scouting hot spots to pick up NFL players. Everyone knows you own this club and I own Milano’s—”

I push my finger into his broad chest. “How dare you? I didn’t even know who you were. Trust me; if I’d known you weren’t the weatherman I was supposed to meet, we never would have . . .” I inhale. I can’t even finish that sentence.

Devon looks at me, then back at Jack. “Wait. You and her?”

Jack lets out a deep breath and gives Devon a sharp nod.

Devon’s mouth opens. “She’s the one you told me about?”

Anger stirs hotter, my face flaming. “You’ve talked about me to your teammates?” I cross my arms. “You two are the worst. Just full-of-yourselves athletes going around and picking up women willy-nilly—”

“You picked me up,” Jack mutters, easing in closer until we’re almost chest to chest. “You sat down with me, and now that I think about it, how do I know if that whole ‘Oh, you have a blue shirt on, so you must be my date’ was legit? You didn’t even sign your real name on the NDA.”

What? His words give me pause, and I frown, trying to process. He did say how private he was, and I get that, but to be this paranoid . . .

Devon rubs his chin as he takes us in. “I just met her at the bar, and I picked her up—”

I snap my fingers at Devon. “You did not pick me up. I only came to find Jack.”

“Ouch,” Devon replies with a smirk.

“And you just happened to be here tonight?” Jack asks.

“Yes,” I say.

“I see.”

Some of that tightness leaves his face, and we stare at each other, both of us breathing harder than is necessary. He’s just so . . . full of himself!

“I am not.”

I must have said it aloud.

I shake my head. “I don’t watch TV. I don’t know football. Even if I did, I’d avoid you both like the plague. I like my dates to be sweet. Also not liars.”

Jack winces. “Elena . . .” But he doesn’t finish it, and Devon takes over.

“I’m sweet,” Devon says with a pout.

But I’m barely listening.

I study the planes of Jack’s face, trying to understand him. He’s not . . . he’s not the same man from last night. That person was into me, his kisses deep, like red wine, dark and rich and intoxicating—

Forget that.

“I just came back here to get my underwear.”

Jack scrubs his face, his tone softening. “Elena, please, this isn’t the place. People listen to every conversation I have. Can we just talk somewhere more private?”

Like his penthouse? Ha.

I shake my head. I get that he’s famous. He was on a billboard in New York, but . . .

“Was nothing real with you?” I ask.

Devon looks away from us, fidgeting, and I guess I’m saying too much, and it draws me up. Ugh. This isn’t me. I don’t walk into VIP rooms and approach superstar athletes. I lick my wounds and move on.

My anger deflates, and a long exhalation leaves me. Fine, fine.

I’ve had my say. I should go. I eye the exit.

“Elena, wait . . .” He shoves a hand through his hair, the golden highlights glinting. “Look, it’s just . . . this is such a coincidence, and a VIP party is the last place I’d thought you’d appear.” He pauses. “This isn’t how I wanted to see you again.”