Not My Match (The Game Changers 2)

Elation swells. Topher is Elena’s BFF, and him wanting to hang out with me makes me giddy. I smile so big it hurts and nudge my head to the car. “Nobody drives her but me,” I say as we walk out.

He smirks, delight on his face as he runs his hands over the sleek hood. “Uh-huh. I bet you go fifty on the interstate in this fine piece of horsepower.”

“Sixty-five. I’m more of a rebel than you know.”

“Give me the keys. Devon never has to know.”

“You don’t know the password.”

He chortles. “Damn, it takes a password to start this machine?”

I pop the locks, liking the clicking sound it makes. He’s insisted I drive it every day. “Nope, just a song you have to know before you get the keys from the valet—who knows me now.”

“What is it? Come on; tell me.” He slides into the passenger seat. “Devon’s password . . . hmmm . . . is it ‘Closer’ by Nine Inch Nails—no, how about ‘Get Ur Freak On’ by Missy Elliot?”

“You can keep guessing all the way to Vandy, but I hold that man’s secrets to my heart.”

He smiles as I pull out of the parking lot, dodging the potholes. “Do you now? How interesting.”

“We are friends,” I say grimly, repeating the mantra in my head. If I keep telling myself over and over, it might just become the truth—on my side. It’s already truth for him.

He throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, Giselle, that man has been checking you out since the night he met you at the community center for Romeo and Juliet. He didn’t take his eyes off you at the wedding. Looked to me like a man conflicted.”

I pause, then tell him how Devon showed up at my apartment during the fire, about how I ended up sleeping in his bed after my nightmare, and then about last night at the barn. I break down my gaze levels and describe the best kiss of all time.

He fiddles with the music, looking for a station.

“He had a date at the reception,” I say.

“Want to know a secret?”

“If you truly have one, I can’t believe you haven’t told me already,” I muse, sending him a wry grin.

He taps his fingers on his white skinny jeans, his Converse shifting around as he turns to me. “I didn’t really put it together until you said how adamant he is about staying friends, but . . .” He stops, tapping his chin.

“What?” I groan after he’s let ten seconds pass.

“When we were getting in our cars to head to the reception, I heard him talking to Lawrence about when this girl Lawrence knew would be showing up, because she was late.”

“Lawrence knew her? Like he set them up?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. He arranges dates all the time for some of the guys. Public appearances, galas, that sort of thing.”

“Who told you that?”

“Quinn.”

“Oh.” Quinn is Jack’s foster brother and a reliable source. He manages some of the players’ apartments and cars.

“Anyway, from my perspective, he wasn’t into her,” Topher adds, nodding his head, as if an idea is taking root. “When you weren’t looking, he was checking you out like you were a shiny gold championship ring. I bet he called in a date to put some distance between you and him.”

I frown, easing onto the interstate, being careful as an eighteen-wheeler roars past us. I haven’t analyzed why he showed up with a girl no one knew, who didn’t have a relationship with Jack and Elena, but then, it’s not unusual to bring a plus-one to a wedding—although technically it was a very small affair. And he hasn’t mentioned a girl he’s been seeing, but then maybe he wouldn’t . . .

Ugh. I don’t like this train of thought and tell Topher as much.

He gets quiet for a few moments, then: “Giselle, how are you? No sugarcoating.”

My hands clench the wheel, and I swallow down the tightness in my throat. “Preston may have broken my heart, but I fucked over my sister. I can barely stand myself.” There it is. The reason why this whole year has sucked.

Guilt hammers at me as I recall the day it happened. I’d been in town only a few weeks when Preston asked me to meet him at his law office to talk about Elena. He was handsome and oh-so sad with his “I love her, but your sister is ignoring me” routine.

One minute he was behind his desk dabbing at his tears; the next he was kissing me right as she walked in. In retrospect, I think he heard her in the office and wanted to shock her or screw with her or who knows—only Elena never reacts like a normal person. Instead of blowing up, she told us to enjoy each other, then pretended like it never happened. And like a chump, I let Preston weasel into my life.