Not My Romeo (The Game Changers 1)

I exit the penthouse, and Quinn stands at the elevator, big and muscular, all of twenty-one. He’s one of Lucy’s former foster kids, and I hired him a few months back to be on call whenever I need him. It makes me antsy that someone else might figure out where I periodically spend time. My apartment is a block away, but that building came with top-notch security—the hotel, not so much. I called him last night and told him I was headed to the penthouse, and he came over. He’s got zilch experience in security, but he’s tough looking, and when Lucy asks for something, I move heaven and earth to make it happen.

“Morning, sir. The stadium?”

I nod. “Yeah, and you don’t have to call me sir, Quinn.” We have the same conversation every time he addresses me.

“I’ll call a car for you now, sir. Or I can drive you?”

I wave him off. “I’m going to drive.”

He looks disappointed, and I figure he’s bored just standing here all night—although he still looks fresh. He probably napped in the big leather chair near the elevator. My head nudges toward the closed door of the penthouse. “Will you make sure the cleaning lady skips today? Call down, and let them know.”

His face splits in a grin. “Nice evening?”

I frown. “We don’t discuss my private life. Whoever comes in and out of that room is my business.” I pause. Yet . . . “Tell her I’m sorry, will you?”

He gives me an odd look, then straightens and gives me a nod. “Of course, sir.”

“Quinn. Call me Jack, please. The same lady raised us. We’re practically family.”

Not really. He came along long after I left Lucy’s house and went to college, but damn, sometimes I wish I had a real brother.

He nods. “Sorry, it’s just I’m thankful for the job, sir—Jack. Not many people want to hire someone who’s been in jail.”

Lucy told me all about his drunken skirmish with another college kid, who happened to be the son of a senator. That kid ended up in the hospital with a broken arm and broken ribs. Quinn got six months, a tough sentence for a kid just starting his life, and from what I’ve seen of him, he’s polite and good at what he does, and he definitely looks the part with that brawn. And I’m a big believer in going with my gut, and my gut says Quinn’s a good kid.

“Hey. Forget that. It’s how you live your life now that matters.”

He exhales. “It was self-defense, sir—Jack. He brought it on himself, and I took it and took it until I snapped. The media blew it out of proportion.”

“No need to explain it to me. I’ve snapped a few times myself.” I recall a skirmish I got sucked into on the field just this last season, after a helmet grab that took me down hard and hurt my shoulder. And even though I didn’t start that fight, you better believe people think I did.

I slap him on the back. “Never look back, Quinn. Let people talk.” That’s my motto.

He gives me another hopeful glance. “You think you’ll need me tonight? I don’t have any plans. I can be here or wherever you need.”

I don’t really need him tonight. But I can tell Quinn wants to be busy. “Devon’s got a birthday party at the Razor. You can hang out if you want the hours.”

He grins. “Yes, sir.”

An hour later, I’ve gotten fifteen miles in on the treadmill when Aiden waltzes into the gym, his face fucking perky for the early hour. Looks like someone else is working on his game. Most of the team is on vacation right now, chilling out in some faraway place, enjoying their families or significant others during the off-season. Not me. Here I am, working my ass off to keep my number one spot.

And Aiden . . . yeah, he’s a real go-getter too.

Twenty-three and a superstar draft from Alabama, he’s been breathing down my neck since he got on the roster, just waiting for me to screw up so he can step right into my shoes.

He doesn’t speak as he walks past me, but those eyes are all over me. A little smile curls his lips as he leans on the treadmill next to me.

I click off the machine and tug out my earbuds. “Like what you see? Need some pointers on how to run?”

A lot of this game is in the head, and nobody’s as good at that as me. Sure, my private life might be piling up around me, but I know when a young buck is aiming for my heart. Football is all I have, and I’ll do anything to protect my game.

“Ease up there, old man. I’m just here to work out.”

Uh-huh. He’s been here every morning like clockwork, staying as late as I do.