Not My Romeo (The Game Changers 1)

Surprise ripples over me.

I sit back, frowning, trying to get a read on her.

She reaches out to touch my arm, and I pull back.

“What do you want?” I ask, my voice gruff. “Closure?”

She sniffs, dabbing at her eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s just we were together for a year, and you’d never had a girlfriend that long. I gave up on you too soon, Jack. I should have been more patient. I had to see you to see if . . . if . . .”

“What?” I say.

She winces. “If there was any feeling left for me? If maybe we could get past this and move on, maybe see each other sometimes.”

My mouth parts. “You’re joking?”

She bites her lip. Swallows. “No. I know you haven’t been seen with anyone since me—well, except for that video of you with some girl. I . . . I just wanted to . . .” She takes a deep breath and looks at me, longing in her eyes. “Jack, I still want to be with you.”

What? Confusion takes over. Does she actually believe that it would be that easy? She shredded my trust. I take a deep breath. “If we got back together, what would you do when everyone asked why you’re back with the man who hit you?”

“I’ve thought about that. I’m willing to say it wasn’t true.”

I feel off kilter. “And you think that’s all it would take for people to just forget about it?”

She nods, leaning in, her scent wafting around me, heavy and floral with a hint of jasmine. Perfume I bought her. “I do. I can say I was upset at our breakup. I can own it, Jack. For you.”

“Might mean the end of your modeling career once people know you’re a liar.”

She leans closer, her finger tracing my hand. I pull away, and she grimaces. “I’m twenty-eight, and modeling isn’t forever. And who knows—any news is good news for me. I can spin it however I want. Plus, it would be great for you—and that’s worth it to me. Those fans would eat up a story about us reconciling. I love you, Jackie. I’m willing to be with you on your terms.”

I cringe at the nickname. “I’m seeing someone.”

She freezes, a look on her face as if I slapped her. A few moments of silence tick by as we stare at each other. “You aren’t in love with her, or you wouldn’t have come. You wanted to see me.”

“I came because I said I would.”

She looks down at the table, then back up at me, her eyes pleading. “Jack, we had something good. If you’d just give me a chance, you can forgive me. I know you have a big heart. We can start all over a little at a time, and you’ll see that I mean it. I want this. I want to be a better person. I won’t ask for marriage. I won’t ask for anything but the chance to just be with you.”

Her willingness to put herself out there like that makes me do a double take. I came here thinking maybe she wanted to hold something over me one more time, but now I see that she . . .

A long exhalation leaves my chest as I realize something I hadn’t before.

I did hurt her, more than I ever realized, even though I tried not to. With my distance. With my walls. With my refusal to say words of love.

I can see the proof of it on her anxious face.

She does love me, as much as a person like her can.

I pause. How different would our relationship have been if I’d given more of myself? Would we still be together?

A thought niggles at me, sneaking in: Aren’t you just going to hurt Elena the same way you hurt Sophia?

No.

But . . . I don’t know.

Shit.

What is wrong with me? Why can’t I just . . .

I clear my throat, coming back to the girl across from me. “Sophia, we are finished.”

She closes her eyes, opens them, visibly shaken. “Everything I said was true. You broke my heart, Jack; you used me up and tossed me away—”

“I cared for you, Sophia. But you ruined what we had. Not me.” My gaze hardens.

“You hate me.” She pales, regret on her face as her gaze clings to mine, another tear tracing down her cheek. I hand her a napkin, and she takes it from me, her fingers grasping mine, trying to lace them together.

Untangling our hands, I let out a deep exhale. “Sophia, I don’t hate you. Be happy. Go back to Rodney or just find yourself. Live your life.”

Her voice, when it comes, is wobbly. “Are you happy?”

She’s fishing.

“I have to go, Sophia.” I stand up from the table but frown down at her, puzzling over what’s on my mind until I realize that I want to tell her . . . “The girl I’m seeing . . . she’s kind and good.”