Not My Romeo (The Game Changers 1)

“I did,” I say, heading out to the screened-in back porch, mentally taking notes of the leaves I’ll need to clean up that have swept in from Romeo going in and out.

“I had to get back before anyone noticed my car wasn’t home. Plus, I planned a cleanup day for Giselle and Preston’s party.”

“You left your purple underwear.”

“Lavender. And it’s a present. I know what a weirdo you are about panties.”

“Just yours. They’re in my pocket now.”

I guess he’s not in bed.

Background noise of him rustling around hits my ears. “What are you doing?”

“Just left the gym, where I ran. Getting in my car. Did you really think you were just going to run away?”

“No, I mean, I didn’t know if you’d want to, you know . . .” I stop, biting my lip as anxiousness hits, part of me excited that he’s called, the other side of me disappointed that I really should get back to work.

“Want to do a late lunch? You can come over, and we can call Milano’s?” he asks.

Back to his penthouse.

“We’re cleaning. It’s one of the only days I’ll have to get everything done. Between the play and work, I need to trim the shrubs, get the carpets cleaned, polish the hardwood, power wash the sidewalk. Everyone’s here now. Maybe Preston later. There’s a lot to do.”

His car starts, and there’s a long pause. “This party . . . isn’t it going to bother you?”

Giselle waltzes out to the porch and grabs one of the extra brooms. I glance down at her ring, waiting for the wince that usually comes when I see it, but it doesn’t hit my heart like it did in the library. She gives me a wave, and she mimics throwing a football and waggles her eyebrows. She arrived bright and early at eight o’clock, an unsure look on her face as she came in and took in the house. I can’t remember her actually being here since the Fourth of July, when she met Preston. She must feel really guilty.

I wait until she goes back in the house before answering. “In the grand scheme of things, she’s family. We may not have it all together, but we’re in it together. Nana used to say that.”

“And Preston? On Valentine’s Day, you were definitely upset about him,” he adds. “Do you always fall in and out of caring for someone so quickly?”

I sputter. “What kind of question is that?”

“A good one.”

I huff, thinking back to what Giselle said in the library, how if I had really loved him, then why hadn’t I told Mama or at least confronted her? “Everyone in Daisy knew he picked right up with her after me, and she’s my sister. How do you think I felt?”

“So it’s just your pride that’s hurt. Not your heart?”

Why is he asking such hard questions?

I exhale. “If my heart was broken, I wouldn’t have agreed to the party.”

“Hmm. You might. You’re a kind person. I don’t like him,” he growls. “And I’m annoyed that he gets to see you today.”

“Jealous of my ex and the preacher. Tsk, tsk.”

“I can hear you smiling through the phone.”

I laugh.

He sighs. “Okay, so you don’t want to see me.”

“It’s not that.”

“So you do want to see me. There’s always dinner . . . or whatever.” His voice deepens.

Play it cool, Elena. Protect your heart as much as you can.

Mama comes out with Romeo in her arms. She’s dressed him in a blue sweater I knit last year. She sees me on the phone, and I wave at her that I’ll be off in a minute.

She leans in, ignoring me, and whispers, “Elena, the sewing room is locked. Don’t you want to use it for the party? We could put some chairs in there. Giselle thinks we’ll have at least a hundred people here.”

I groan.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asks.

“Nothing. I have to go,” I say.

I click the end button without even saying goodbye and blow out a breath as I stand and head back into the house while Mama follows me.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your call,” she says as we walk in the kitchen.

“No, it’s fine.” I glance at the sewing room door. “I really don’t want to use my workroom. All my stuff is everywhere. Material is a mess. Machines are hard to move. Let’s leave it be.” I keep my voice firm, eyes on hers.

“Okay. Your house, your call.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief, feeling winded, as she wanders into the den.

Two hours later, I’m polishing the cherry staircase when I hear car doors shutting out in the driveway. Preston? Did he bring someone? He still hasn’t arrived, and Giselle keeps texting him to see when he’s coming.

“Topher, can you see who that is?” I call from the top of the staircase.

“Got it, Elle!” He jogs into the foyer from the kitchen and opens the front door.