Not My Romeo (The Game Changers 1)

I’m already envisioning the note I’m going to leave him, and I’m muttering loudly as I kick one of the chairs, only it just hurts my foot, and I call out, tears springing to my eyes.

There’s a soft knock at the door, and I hobble over to it, peeking through the peephole to see a tall young man, concern on his face. He’s wearing a black turtleneck and black pants. Very James Bond.

I whip the door open. “Who the hell is Jack?” are the first words out of my mouth, using teacher voice, short and direct, the one I reserve for the kids who come in the library, especially the high school variety. A group of them were just there last week, looking up research for their term projects, and I caught a pair of them kissing in the stacks, like the Daisy Public Library was their own personal make-out spot.

He blanches, his eyes taking in the makeshift toga-style outfit I have going on. I should have gotten dressed right away, but I was too worried about my underwear.

“Ma’am. Good morning. I, uh . . . are you okay? I heard a commotion in here and wanted to check.”

His gaze lands on the pink bra in my hands, and a slow blush starts up his cheeks.

I tuck it behind me. “I’m fine. No need to check on me.”

He swallows and stares at a point over my shoulder. “Sorry to bother you. It’s just once a reporter broke in here and went through his things. One time, a girl got in. Stole all his clothes.”

“Good for her!”

He blinks. “Ma’am. I just wanted to check on you. Jack gave me this job out of the goodness of his heart, and I don’t want to mess up.” He pauses. “He said to tell you he’s sorry.”

“He’s sorry? Oh my God! The nerve of him to send you to apologize.”

Young James Bond fidgets. “Most girls Jack dates are happy—”

My anger races up. “You aren’t helping the situation here.”

He dips his head, lowering his eyes. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I shouldn’t have said that about other girls. Hasn’t been one here in a very long time.”

Jeez. I need a better look at this guy so I can read his face. I hobble over to my purse and pull out my glasses and slide them on, turning back to check out the young man. All at once, I’m relieved. He looks antsy and uncomfortable.

He clears his throat, keeping those arms crossed in front of him like a soldier.

“You’re security for Jack?”

He gives me a tight nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Please stop calling me that. You can’t be much younger than me.”

“Yes, ma’am—sorry. Southern boy. Can’t help it. May I run out and grab you something? Or call you in breakfast downstairs? The staff here is phenomenal.” He keeps those eyes off me, and I feel at ease.

My stomach rumbles, growling, and I sigh. This is not the time to be hungry. “I’m sorry; I missed your name?”

He sticks his hand out. “Quinn. I’m here for whatever you need.”

I give him a firm handshake. “And Jack? Where did he run off to?”

He gives me an odd look, as if I should know. “Uh, he’s at the stadium. Big press conference today and all.”

“I see.” My mind churns, recalling his powerful body, those tightly roped muscles. Stadium means either hockey or football in Nashville, and since Jack said his girlfriend dumped him for a hockey player . . .

“I guess football keeps early hours.”

He gives me a big smile. “He’s the hardest-working quarterback in the league. A real legend. Brought Nashville four AFC championships since he was drafted. He finished the regular season with four thousand one hundred and four yards passing, five hundred and fifty-one yards rushing, and thirty-one touchdowns. I know we haven’t won a Super Bowl yet, but that isn’t all on him. This next season is the one. I can feel it.” He blushes.

“Uh-huh.” Sounds Greek to me. “Go on. I love football stats. What else has Jack done?”

He gives me an odd look, but you can tell he wants to talk about Jack. “Well, people are still sore about our loss to Pittsburgh this year, but it takes a team to win. We need better guys on defense. He just gets a bad rap because of his past.”

“I know. His past. Man, it follows him everywhere. Such a shame.” I look expectantly at Quinn, who’s nodding along with me.

“Right! So what if he got a DUI once and was benched. That was years ago. I mean, come on; at twenty-two he got a twenty-four-million signing bonus, fifteen more million than the quarterback that played before him. He made some mistakes. That kind of money can mess with a kid who never had a pot to piss in.” He grimaces, as if he’s said too much.