Not My Match (The Game Changers 2)

“Everyone out!” Devon yells, pointing to the people at the back of the room. They take one look at his face, grab their drinks, and shuffle out of the room.

I watch it all with bated breath. “He told you, didn’t he?” I whisper.

“Giselle—”

“I asked you a question. Courtesy demands you answer me.” My hands clench, waiting, waiting . . .

He wipes at his mouth, then slides his hand down to rub the shadow on his chin. “Yes.”

Chapter 3

DEVON

Giselle Riley has gone off the deep end.

Ninety-nine percent of the time, the girl is straight-up prim and proper, all the way from her little topknot to her heels. Nothing ruffles her. After that asshole Preston cheated on her, she never uttered one unkind word about him. I’ve never heard her curse or seen her with her hair down.

And there it is now, tawny-gold-and-white strands shining and cascading down her back like a blonde waterfall, the ends drifting below her slim shoulders. It’s the kind of hair a man wants to wrap around his hand.

Is it any wonder I can’t stop staring?

Who is this girl?

Her cheeks are twin spots of color, her silvery-blue eyes snapping as she paces around on her bare feet. She shoves her glasses up to her head and pivots and comes back and stops in front of me. She’s breathing rapidly, and her damp shirt draws my eyes, the points of her nipples pushing through her lacy bra as her chest heaves. She’s got small tits, but enough for me to look at. I bite back a suggestion on the tip of my tongue that she put her jacket back on. At this rate, she’ll slap me.

I almost want her to. It might make me stop staring at her like an idiot.

Jack is going to flip when he knows I blabbed, but he can fuck right off. He’s on his honeymoon, and here I am doing damage control with his slightly insane family. Perfect.

“I knew it!” she calls. “You’ve been acting off, and now you think I’m even more boring and weird than you did before. I’m going to strangle him when he gets back from Hawaii!” She mimics throttling someone. “I hope a shark takes his throwing arm right off.”

Jesus.

“I never thought you were weird!” Why am I yelling? “And you’re the least boring person I know!” I toss in.

Her eyes sparkle like lightning in a storm. “Oh, I can picture it now, him in the locker room, giving you guys the lowdown, talking about poor innocent Giselle and how she’s never . . .” Her full bottom lip trembles for half a second before she sucks it in and straightens her spine. “It’s wrong. And personal.”

I hold my hands out. “It wasn’t everyone, okay? It’s just me who knows that part.”

She stops in her tracks. “Just you?”

“Only me—”

“Ah! He leaves it with you to make sure everyone falls in line. Do you always take orders from Jack?”

I groan. “He trusts me, Giselle! I’m his best friend! Aiden doesn’t know, which is why you should beware around him. If he knew the truth”—I cringe, not really quite sure what the unpredictable ass might do—“I’m sure he would stay far away.” He better. “I may need to sit him down for a serious talk.” And box his ears.

Red flames on her face. “You’d tell him? Just take out a banner in the paper, Devon; post it on Insta!” Lifting up on her toes, she gets up in my face, which doesn’t take much. She’s tall and willowy. Little puffs of angry air come from her chest. Steely eyes glare at me, and her pouty mouth purses as she pushes a finger into my chest. She smells good—not that heavy flowery stuff, but light and sweet and fresh, like after a soft rain in the spring, and how could I have missed how creamy her skin is, that peaches-and-cream color, translucent—

I shake myself as her words dawn in my thick skull.

“I’d never tell him! Good God! It’s not my place. I just meant . . .” Why can’t I say the right thing around her? She’s always made me uneasy. Too smart. Too something.

My phone goes off again, but I can’t move a muscle. It’s the crazy girl in front of me who has my attention. She pokes me in the chest again, and I grab her finger and tug her in closer.

“You trying to tickle me?” I arch a brow, trying to defuse her anger.

She blinks, as if just realizing how close she is, and licks her lips. “No.”

Her chest presses me, those pert little boobs soft and—wait, what was I saying . . . ? “I’m not going to tell anyone, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s admirable that you’re saving yourself—”

She cuts me off, but at least her voice has lowered, rather hiss-like. “Stop patronizing me. You know nothing about my reasons, Devon.”