Not My Match (The Game Changers 2)

“Aiden!” Giselle calls, her lips curving. “Meet my date, Greg Zimmerman.” She quickly introduces them, and normally a guy would be into meeting two players for the Tigers, but he barely cares—because his hand has moved to the back of the booth, and his fingers are toying with her hair.

I bet he graduated from a fancy school, drives a luxury sedan, and has a regular nine-to-five job. Probably doesn’t have an alcoholic parent with a penchant for gambling.

“What the hell,” Aiden murmurs quietly to me as we watch them chat, and Giselle laughs at something he’s said. “Who’s the asshole moving in on my girl?”

My knee knocks against his. “She likes him, so be nice.”

Feeling Aiden’s glare on me, I flick my eyes at him. “What?”

“All you had to do was tell me the truth,” he says under his breath. “There’s a bro code for this, and even an asshole like me knows when to back off.”

“He’s the kind of guy she wants to be with,” I hiss.

“Is Aiden your roommate too?” Greg asks Giselle, an eyebrow raised as he takes me and Aiden in.

Aiden starts in surprise, then smirks as he gives me a look that says, When were you going to tell me that?

Taking his eyes off me, he says to Greg, “No. Just friends.”

“What do you do, Greg?” I ask abruptly, interrupting their conversation, studying him. His hand has slid around lower to cup her shoulder.

“Weatherman for Channel 5 News,” he says, then proceeds to give us the forecast for the next two days. “With the cumulous clouds in the sky, we’re in for more clear weather. Those are the puffy clouds, the ones that look like cotton candy.”

“Fascinating,” I say, infusing my words with enthusiasm. “Tell me more.”

He leans in, his arm moving away from Giselle’s shoulder. “Well, their name derives from the Latin cumulo, meaning heap or pile. They appear in lines, clusters, or on their own, the type you see in the summer.”

“Indeed,” I say, propping my elbows on the table, feigning a new love for weather.

Greg keeps going, his eyes lighting up. “However, cumulus clouds are influenced by weather instability, air pressure, and temperature. Cumulus clouds form via atmospheric convection as air warmed by the surface begins to rise. As the air rises, the temperature drops . . .” He goes into an honest-to-God five-minute TED Talk, and I keep interest plastered on my face. I can’t stop the glee when Giselle’s eyes glaze over.

“Of course, most people don’t study clouds. I realize it can be quite boring.” He darts his eyes at Aiden, who’s checking out a girl that’s swaying past our table.

“Never,” I say as Giselle takes a sip of her water, her gaze on me, thinning.

Giselle says, “Maybe we should talk about something—”

Greg cuts her off. “Weather is important. As a scientist, I’m sure you appreciate that.”

A frown wrinkles her forehead. “Science is wonderful.” Her shoulders rise and fall in a soft sigh, one so tiny I don’t think Greg sees it. He can’t read her like I can. He can’t see behind the cool facade to the girl with all the layers. “Sometimes I just want to have fun.”

Greg thinks for a moment, a silent debate going on in his head, then smiles at her, his gaze softening. “My fun is painting clouds in watercolor. I have a few pieces in my loft.” He takes a sip of whiskey. “Maybe we can drop by there later, and I can show you?” His later is husky, and my hands are under the table, clenching.

“Mom would love to meet you” comes from him.

“You live with your mother?” I ask. My comment comes out a bit derisive, and he reacts by frowning.

“She’s elderly and needs care. It’s a very large apartment,” he says to Giselle. “You’d love her.”

Shit, she loves older people.

“Did she tell you she’s writing a romance?” I blurt.

Greg’s eyebrows go sky high. “Ah, no.”

“Aliens,” I say as I take a sip of my water. “Purple with sparkly scales and prehensile tails.”

“I took the tail off!” she calls.

“Oh?” He blinks down at Giselle, who’s currently giving me a flat look.

Focusing on him, I try to decipher if he’s into it or thinks it’s not worthy of a scientist, but dammit, he’s not giving me any tells.

“Do you think that’s silly?” she asks him.

I don’t, babe, is on the tip of my tongue. Tell me more about them. Tell me everything. Put me back on your Pinterest board. (Yeah, I had to look up what that was.) You be the woman who can rock whatever she wants because she’s fascinating and intelligent and sexy as fuck.

Greg leans in closer to her, his eyes heavy lidded. “I’m guessing you used real science to explain the details?”

“Of course,” she says.

He bites his lip. “Damn. That’s hot—”