Not My Match (The Game Changers 2)

He blanches.

“Kidding. Small dogs typically go into heat only three to four times a year—a larger dog, every six months. She’s spayed, so you’re safe.” I pat his arm and pick up the shoe, and he stops me.

“Leave it. Come on; let’s get you settled.”

I follow him past the foyer and into the massive den, taking in the open floor plan, noting the expensive gray leather couches, two huge black loungers sitting on chrome legs, the giant big screen, the trophies stuffed in the white built-in bookcase along the back wall. The floors are a wide-planked bamboo. Framed art of Devon dots the walls, one a blown-up image of him at a game in his blue-and-yellow jersey as he snatches the football from the air, his face a study in concentration. I take in a candid of him with his helmet gone, sweat misting his face as he smiles and accepts an MVP award. I watched that game. It was last year’s AFC Championship.

To the right is a huge window overlooking the gleaming lights of downtown. Farther out, I see the east bank of the Cumberland River and Nissan Stadium.

He hasn’t finished unpacking yet, judging by a few boxes lining the wall. My eyes snag on my heels, sitting like they don’t belong on a rectangular, heavy concrete coffee table. His style is modern and bare. How’s he going to feel when I start leaving my laptop and glasses everywhere? It’s just for a few days . . .

He gives me a quick tour, and I estimate it’s about four thousand square feet or more on one level. I follow him to the ultramodern kitchen with a spacious granite island in the middle. The cooking area is decorated with shiny black subway tiles all the way to the ceiling, the appliances a stark white. The formal dining room sports a Scandinavian pale-oak table with lush velvet high-back chairs. A brushed-nickel chandelier hangs from the textured ceiling. He leads me down the wide hall with thick molding around the baseboards and along the ceiling, all in white. He tells me I can have the best guest room, then shows me the en suite bathroom it opens to and the closet that’s as big as the bathroom in my apartment. The bed itself is a king, the headboard padded in tufted cream linen, the frame draped in a white duvet with pops of furry blue and gray pillows. There’s a whitewashed eight-foot armoire, an elegant mirror that leans against the wall, and two matching end tables. Everything looks like it came straight out of a magazine.

“You’re gaping,” he murmurs.

I close my mouth. “You’ll have to kick me out of here when it’s time to go.”

He shrugs. “I hired someone to decorate. Never had a home that was all mine.”

Once out of my room, he opens the door to another bedroom across the hall, but it has zero furniture; it’s just sparkling clean. Two more rooms are the same. All have private bathrooms.

He points out his room at the end of the hall but doesn’t offer to let me peek in, and I’m disappointed but tuck it away. I follow him into a laundry room with its own kitchen, and he grabs a handful of clothes and stuffs them in my hands. He tells me there’s some of his cousin’s underclothes in the chest in the bedroom and maybe other things—he really isn’t sure what’s there—and I nod, barely noticing. This place is like a resort! He frowns, worried I don’t have enough clothes; dashes to his room; and comes back with more and takes them to the guest room as I pad along. A huge weight feels lifted, and I’m not sure if it’s the fact that he’s given me a place to sleep and is taking such gentle care of me or that I told him what happened all those years ago, and we laughed about it.

We head back to the kitchen, and he tells me to sit at the black-and-white island in the center while he grabs me a water bottle from the built-in stainless steel fridge, then checks out my ankle. He props it up on a stool rung and bends down to run light hands over my skin. Warm tingles dance over me, and I bite my lip. I’ve known him for months, but he’s never touched me this much. Finally, he sets my foot gently down and moves away.

“Keep the ice pack on it tonight while you sleep.” He sets one down on the counter.

I huff out a laugh. “We’re like characters in a book—me the damsel in distress, you the dashing hero. Twice in one day.”

“Hmm.”

I suck down a drink of water while he leans against the fridge, his lashes lowering every so often as he does that thing where he looks at me—but doesn’t.