Not My Match (The Game Changers 2)

My shoulders heave out a long exhalation, and I bend over and just . . . breathe. “Yeah. I’m fucking terrified.”

My phone pings, and I grapple to get it back out of my pocket, to get it back in my hands and see if it’s her. Just Aiden. I sigh.

Yo. Saw you come in. Where you at? There’s a chick out here asking for you.

On my way, I send and stand up, relief washing over me.

“Giselle’s here; I need to go,” I tell Selena, and she nods and follows me.

“Cool. I need to get to know her better. I get the feeling she’s going to be around awhile.”

I hope so.

“You think she likes Trans Ams?”

“Red is hers, so probably,” I say, my steps lighter, the tension loosening the closer I get to Giselle as we weave through the hallway and head out to the club. My eyes search the bar for her blue hair, not finding her but seeing Aiden at the end. I stalk his way, shifting past patrons with eager steps. My baby, my girl, my sweet, sexy scientist. I’m going to kiss the fuck out of her.

“Where is she?” I ask Aiden, who turns to face me from his stool, a water in his hand.

He nudges his head at the girl next to him. “Right here.” He waggles his eyebrows and leans in. “Says you guys talked about getting married. Came in to say hi. Didn’t recognize her, but she said she went to Ohio State—”

“You’re a moron, Alabama,” Selena breathes from behind me. I’m aware of her popping Aiden on the arm and his exclamation and curse, muttering something along the lines of “What is her problem? I didn’t know it was that big of a deal.”

The girl turns on her stool, and my chest seizes, the same hazel eyes behind thick lashes, the round face, and the straight black hair.

“Hannah?” I say, not believing my eyes. “What are you doing here?”

She stands in a graceful motion, petite and as curvy as she used to be, dressed in a black dress, pumps on her dainty feet. Her hair is shorter now, around her shoulders instead of down her back.

A blush rushes up her face. “I would have called, but I don’t have your number. I messaged your IG profile, but I’m not sure you even see those.” A half grimace crosses her face. “I probably shouldn’t have done that—a bit forward of me, I suppose, but . . .” She trails off. Her voice is small and lyrical, pulling me further down into the past, into when I hung on her every word. I see her in my dorm room, telling me she’s breaking up with me. I found someone else. You have football. I have medical school. He knows me better than you do. He’s the one for me. I’m sorry, so sorry . . .

She walked out and never looked back. I didn’t breathe right for a year, always looking for her face in crowds, wondering if she was happy, if she thought about us, if she’d really loved me at all.

“Because you’re married,” Selena mutters, easing next to me and crossing her arms and glaring at Hannah. “You dumped my cousin, married some guy, messed with Devon’s head, and I’ve never forgotten it.”

I hear Aiden sucking in a breath. “My man getting the shaft from a girl? No fucking way.” He scowls, darting his eyes from Hannah to me. “Nope, can’t see it. You two don’t go together. As Giselle says, no zing.”

Hannah sighs, her eyes on me, looking for something. “Right. It’s been a long time—seven years. I’m in town with some friends and read somewhere that you owned this place. Thought I’d just take a chance and pop in and see you. You look different.” She looks at the floor, then back up to me, holding my gaze.

And by different, she means the hair and earrings.

“I’m living in Cleveland and started a dermatology clinic with some colleagues.”

“Congrats,” I say, not sure why she wants me to know the details of her life. After that first year, I placed her on the shelf of people who deserted me, and I’ve never once reached to find her pages and read more. The pain of what she did lingered—not denying that—but she’s been written off, finished, closed, over. Once you hurt me like she did, once you leave me broken with scars that fester, I will rally and erase you.

Selena looms closer to her. “Well, Devon is famous and rich. Not that you ever cared about football, but he’s the best wide receiver in the country.” She pauses. “His girlfriend is younger, prettier, and a physicist.” She lets out a derisive laugh. “She doesn’t pop zits.”

“Selena, ease up,” I murmur. “She’s just passing through, right?” I glance at Hannah.