Not My Romeo (The Game Changers 1)

“Whatever,” she mutters.

Dammit. I’ve waited too long, and she grabs her purse and shoes and stalks to the door.

I should beg her to stay. I should. Because it feels like that—like I’d be willing to walk across hot coals just to get her to be with me.

Shit.

That is just . . . crazy.

I barely know her!

I clamp my lips together as she opens the door.

She looks back at me, a flash of vulnerability on her face, as if waiting for me to stop her.

I just stare at her, getting a good look at her face, that long auburn hair, those big eyes. Fuck. I’m never going to see her again. She’s done. I feel it.

She lets out a sigh and darts out, brushing past the concierge fellow who’s in the hall holding our food.

Dammit.

Chapter 18

ELENA

“Alert, alert! Douchebag and fiancée approaching the library!” Topher calls to me from the front desk as I shelve a new shipment of YA books. My hands tighten around one as I come out from behind the stacks and glance out the tinted windows.

Preston and Giselle. They’re arriving in his Lexus in the parking lot. I watch as he walks around to her side and helps her out. She wraps a hand around his arm, and they march toward the door.

Someone stops them on the sidewalk, and Giselle holds up her ring. Glowing.

I let out a sigh. I’ve been avoiding them all week. Not in the mood to deal with something I clearly should. Preston started calling on Monday, leaving voice mails and texting again. I never responded. Giselle took up the cause on Tuesday evening, coming by the house, but I didn’t answer her knock.

On Wednesday, Mama barged in and asked me to talk to them. She was businesslike about it, reminding me that Giselle is my sister and always will be, and I need to make things right.

My lips tighten. Why should I make things right? He dated me first!

On Thursday evening, Aunt Clara popped over, surprising me in the middle of a sewing session. I slammed the door to my secret room and joined her in the kitchen, where we shared some bourbon. We barely talked about the engagement, but I knew that was her mission, to convince me to sit down with them. Instead, I told her about Jack and the stupid NDA. We ended up outside on the screened-in porch, a little tipsy, talking about men and sneaking cigarettes she’d brought.

And now it’s Friday, and Preston and Giselle are here to double-team me. Perfect.

Topher slides in next to me and pushes up the sleeves of his Nirvana shirt. “I’m gonna protect you, Elle.”

“I know you would, but I don’t think it’s going to come to blows. Preston isn’t a fighter—or much of a lover.”

Topher’s eyes never leave Preston’s face as they continue to chat outside. It’s a sunny day for the end of February. “He’s an uptight prick. I bet he never got hugs as a baby.”

“She did, though.” Mama especially doted on her. Pretty is key to her, and she showered Giselle with attention, the good daughter who’s now working on her doctorate in physics.

I watch as she gazes up at him, a soft expression on her face, the way her eyes glitter. Love. I want to spit.

I’ve been extra . . . not really angry . . . but disillusioned since I walked out of Jack’s penthouse several days ago. I almost thought . . . he might try to stop me, but he didn’t.

But he’s been back to Daisy. I heard all about it at the Cut ’N’ Curl yesterday when I popped in to get Sun Drops for me and Topher.

Why, he’s just the sweetest man. Polite and gracious! He signed over three hundred footballs for all the kids at the elementary school! Little Timmy right next to him. Such a handsome fellow! That came from Birdie Walker, the school secretary. She was getting her roots touched up by Aunt Clara, who met my gaze in the mirror and grinned like a loon.

I just rolled my eyes and sat down in a chair, pretending to read a magazine, and listened.

Every student and teacher got to meet him one on one with Timmy and Laura! It took almost all day!

Oh, so Laura was there. Nice. Why don’t they just get married?

I hear Ms. Clark even slipped him her phone number! I wonder if he’ll call! She’s so pretty. He looked interested!

That was it. I groaned and maybe glared a little at the mouthy secretary. Ms. Clark is barely twenty-two and gives everyone her number. She’s also his type.

Whatever.

I flounced off from the Cut ’N’ Curl, part of me . . . annoyed that he hasn’t tried to find me.

Is that crazy?

But he was in Daisy and didn’t even come by the library. It’s right across from the church! If he was so gung ho about me, then why not try harder? Where’s that competitive nature of his?