Not My Romeo (The Game Changers 1)

“Holy shit!” I hear him call from the front porch.

Holy shit means something big, especially since Mama clearly heard him as she stomps in from the kitchen, cleaning cloth in one hand, glass of ice tea in the other.

I mutter and tug down my old Daisy Lions gray sweatshirt, which was clearly too many layers for this kind of work, and head down the stairs. I wish I’d talked to Jack more on the phone. I wish . . .

Aunt Clara meets me at the bottom and follows me. “Who is it?”

I fling open the door and step outside on the porch.

Jack, Quinn, Devon, and Aiden talk as they walk around the front of the house, looking at my flower beds.

What the heck?

I freeze, inwardly cursing my lack of lipstick, crazy topknot, and old Chucks. And I’m sure I have dust on my face.

Mama heads down the sidewalk toward them. Topher watches with bemusement from the porch.

“You’re that football player” is her greeting, her eyes raking him over from head to toe, taking in his black designer skinny jeans—which cling to his thigh muscles—and turtleneck with a blue flannel shirt. Dang it. I sigh. How does he manage to look hot in everything?

“Yes, ma’am. You must be Elena’s mom. Good to meet you.” He sticks his hand out, and she pauses before taking it.

I look up at the sky. Lord, if you’re up there, please let her be nice . . .

“Well, it’s about time we had a formal introduction. You ran off from church and took Elena with you. She missed lunch. She never misses one of my meals. I cooked that one especially for her. And the preacher was there. He was disappointed.”

No, he wasn’t! He likes Laura!

“Uh, yeah. Sorry about that. Elena offered to drive me home. Emergency of sorts.” He flushes and looks at me. Mama follows his gaze, her face blank.

Blank is not good. It means her wheels are turning. It means—

Oh, who cares!

I look like hell!

I scrub at my face, pushing strands of my hair that have fallen out and are sticking to it.

Mama focuses back on Jack, arms crossed. “Is all that stuff true about you on the internet?”

No, no! Why does she always have to get right to it?

Jack sticks his hands in his jeans. “Well, which part do you mean? There’s a whole lot.” He pauses. “I’ve done some things I’m not proud of, but that was a long time ago.”

Oh, smart. Blanket statement that covers the DUI and the partying . . .

“That book some girl wrote about you. I read part of it. It was terrible!”

I close my eyes.

“No, ma’am. Not true. She just wanted money, and people love to talk about me. I tend to not say anything back, and it drives them crazy.”

“Because you’re famous.” Mama puts her hands on her hips. Wearing old jogging pants and a T-shirt with the pink Cut ’N’ Curl logo on the front, she’s not dressed in her usual slacks and blazer, but you’d never know it by her regal stance.

“I just play football.”

Oh, Jack. Please. You’re famous.

“Well, I never heard of you,” Mama retorts. “We never even had a football team here in Daisy. School is too small.”

Devon laughs. “Even me, Mrs. Riley? You’ve heard of me, right?”

She swivels her head to him, probably eyeballing the hair, tattoos that peek out from his sleeves, and those black earrings. “No, but you’re memorable. What color is that in your hair? You need to come see me. I’ll fix it.”

He laughs. “Devon Walsh, wide receiver. Pleasure to meet Elena and Giselle’s mom. Nice girls you have.” He takes her hand and kisses it.

She blinks.

Young James Bond steps forward, all brawn and blond. Even today, he’s dressed in a black turtleneck and dark jeans. “I’m Quinn, ma’am. I do security for Jack. Beautiful property here. Love the town. Jack drove us around for a few and showed us the sights.”

The sights?

Mama starts. “Security? Bless. Do you carry a gun?”

Quinn laughs, looking at Jack. “No. I usually just stock his fridge and arrange his schedule, stuff like that.”

“Well, that must be boring.”

Mama!

“Keeps me busy and out of trouble, ma’am. Jack and I are sort of foster brothers.”

“I see.” She lasers in on Aiden. “And you?”

“Aiden Woods. Best quarterback on the team.” He shakes her hand.

“Watch it, Alabama,” Jack murmurs. “You’re only here to be of use. I can send you home at any time.”

Aiden smiles sheepishly, nudging his head at Jack. “He’s better than me. For now.”

Mama takes it all in, her foot tapping, before turning back to Jack. I can’t see her face, but I know she’s sizing him up, deciding if he’s to her taste. She’s playing back all that stuff she read online, the book, probably recalling how he went to Timmy’s school.