Not My Match (The Game Changers 2)

With a grimace at my bare feet, she says, “Prince Charming?”

I plop down on the third step. “Charlie was an alligator-wearing weasel.”

“Ah. The emu?”

“We didn’t get that far, and I was afraid to ask. I need some wine with a side of Ragnar Lothbrok. You up for a Vikings binge session?”

She takes a toke. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“How’s your head?”

“Better now. How did the advisor meeting go?”

Dread inches up my spine as I tell her about my meeting at Vandy. “He isn’t going to recommend me for CERN, he isn’t happy with my teaching methods, and my work last semester was not impressive.” I sigh as the words fall out. He’s not wrong about last semester.

She lets out a wave of smoke, and I inhale the smell. “I’m still waiting on the next Vureck and Kate chapter. Is she going to escape the ship?”

I’ve been writing a sci-fi novel for the past five months. A romance, of all things, although the writing didn’t quite start out like that—it just sort of happened. Science has been the center of my world since I discovered Einstein in elementary school, but writing is a way to vent my frustrations. “He’s finally given her clothing after scanning her for disease, but now he’s locked her in an antigravity chamber, and she can’t cross the threshold. She needs to disable the control pad to escape. Haven’t figured out how.”

“Loss of power on the ship?” she offers. “His pet snake slithers into the chamber with the tools to get her out?”

“Because a snake can carry tools.” I smile.

“It’s an alien snake. Give him little fingers.”

I jerk out my phone and take notes. “Maybe. Or the big guy is tormented in his sleep, since he has a murky past, and he sleepwalks up to her prison, opens it himself—”

“Because he secretly wants to bang her—only he hasn’t acknowledged it. Just give the purple alien a big dick. Size does matter; I don’t care what Cosmo says.”

I grin. “She pops out and makes a run for it, and he grabs her, and they fall to the ground. His seven-foot muscled frame lands on her, and she’s soft and silky, and he’s never seen a female form the color of hers . . .” My voice trails off as ideas flash in my head, and when I glance up, she’s smiling wryly at me.

“Your eyes light up when you talk about them. There’s an artist inside you.”

Ha. I sigh, stuffing my phone back in my bag. “My classmates would think my writing is ridiculous.”

“Ah, you care what people think. My old age gives a fresh perspective, I guess, but if you want to be happy, do what makes your heart fly. Every breath you inhale must be meaningful. What do you really want, Giselle?”

I don’t know. Not anymore.

Her words settle inside me, twisting around. Now that CERN is gone, my career goals feel uncertain. What will I do now? Graduate. Teach. Research. Sure, but is that all? What about love and my dreams of a family? When it comes down to it, physics is all I have left, the only thing I trust, and that life stretches in front of me, empty. That tight feeling in my throat rushes back.

Pookie pees, then runs over and jumps in my lap.

I stroke the dog’s hair, plucking at the pink barrette on her head. “I’ve made so many bad choices lately—Preston, ugh, what a disaster. At least physics won’t disappoint me.” My voice cracks, surprising me, a testament to my very bad day. “I had an argument with Devon.”

“Oh dear. You hate confrontations. Tell me everything, and leave nothing out,” she says, sitting down next to me, and I recount the date with Rodeo, then reenact both sides of the minifight between me and Devon. Sometimes it’s torturous, especially for those bad things you’d rather forget, but I have an eidetic memory, where I remember almost perfect mental images as well as auditory occurrences and other sensory recall. I’ll never be able to forget how Devon smelled and how he felt when I was pressed against his chest. Hard chiseled muscles, the scent of summer and delicious male. I sum it up with, “I had a good old-fashioned hissy fit and stormed out. It’s Jack’s fault, but now Devon sees me as someone he needs to protect.” I scratch Pookie under the chin. “Every time he looks at me, he’s thinking about my virginity. He’s wondering what’s wrong with me. Explains the gaze at the wedding.”

She pats my hand, her mascara heavy on her lashes as she juts the joint at me. “You look like you need a toke.”

I grin.

“You’re already getting a contact high. Might as well. Opens the brain waves for free thinking.” She waggles her eyebrows.

“I need my brain cells to stay focused at the moment.”