Not My Romeo (The Game Changers 1)

“Oh.” I gaze down at the shirt. It fit tight across his chest but flows around me loosely.

I look up at him. “You’re going to get cold. All I needed was the money for the pie. You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I don’t want you to be cold, Elena.”

My breath hitches as we stare at each other. A few moments tick by as we take the other in. He breaks our gaze. “Where did you park? It’s dark, and I’ll walk you.”

I nod, feeling disappointed for some reason. “Right. About two blocks from here, right off Second Avenue near the Marks Building. Maybe you should just go, and I can wait for the rain to let up.”

He nudges his head at the checkout girl, who is probably taking pics of Jack Hawke with a poorly dressed woman. “Leave you with her? Don’t think so.”

He takes my hand. “Ready to run?”

I nod, and he flings the door open to a curtain of rain. We take off down the street, flying past storefronts and people who were smart enough to bring umbrellas.

I never see it coming when it happens, although I shouldn’t be surprised. Here I am, sprinting in stilettos in a too-snug skirt, alongside a man whose gait is three times the length of mine. So yeah, when my heel gets stuck in a grate and I topple down knees first on the concrete, it pretty much seems like the final straw in a very long day.

Chapter 24

JACK

“Elena!” I bend down to her body and pull her up. “Shit! I’m sorry. I didn’t even see that grate. Are you okay?”

Rain pelts us as she huddles against me. “I think so. My knees hurt, but I can walk.” She squints through the water as it falls on her face. “How far did we get?” She starts off again, and I pull her back and under an awning. Lightning strikes in the distance, making her flinch.

I glance down, eyes widening. “You’ve skinned them both. Blood is running down your legs. Dammit. I’m sorry I ran too fast.”

“Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault. My skirt is too tight, and these heels . . .” She grimaces, bending down to get a look at her legs. “They’re fine. Nothing a little soap and water won’t fix when I get home.”

Nope. She is not driving like that. I guess I muttered it, because she cocks her hip, then winces. “I can drive.”

“No, you can’t. Plus it’s a monsoon out here.” I look up at the sky as the wind picks up.

“Hang on,” I say and bend over and sweep her up in my arms.

“Jack Hawke, you can’t carry me all the way to my car!”

I duck out from under the awning and take off at a sprint. “I know. But my place is closer. Put your head down in my shoulder, and hang on to your stuff.”

She opens her mouth to say something—knowing her, it’s to protest—but another bolt of lightning flashes off in the distance.

“Besides, this is good for me. Cardio. How much do you weigh?” I grin, feeling exhilarated.

She snorts. “Like I’d tell you. Just stop talking, and get us there already.”

I huff out a laugh, hitching her up higher and jogging for the Breton about a block away. I weave in and out of pedestrians on their way home from work, feet slapping against wet concrete, concentrating on not slipping.

She glares up at me, clutching her purse and garment bag. The pie box is on top, and I don’t even recall giving it to her, but I must have. She has a death grip on it. I start laughing, and shit, I don’t even know why except that she looks angry and wet.

“Why are you laughing?” she calls over the rain.

“I don’t know! You always make me laugh.”

A smile starts across her face, steadily getting bigger until she’s giggling. “Oh my God, if you drop me and this pie, I will never ever forgive you.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll save the pie.”

“You will not get one piece!” She blows at a piece of wet hair in her face.

I gaze down at her, laughing more, then sobering as emotion claws at me, soft yet somehow terrifying as it tiptoes its way inside my chest. A knot forms in my stomach, and I can’t seem to take a breath, and it has nothing to do with running.

It’s the girl in my arms who’s got me freaked out.

“I’m dripping everywhere,” Elena mutters as I ease her down to her feet inside the foyer of the penthouse. She plops her purse, garment bag, and squashed pie box on the table near the door.

“But you look super sexy,” I tease as she whips off the knit hat and takes off her shoes.

“Wet is the new thing, I hear.”

“Hmm.” I tear my eyes off her face and take in her knees again, wincing at the scratches there.