Not My Match (The Game Changers, #2)(25)

After grabbing a pair of light flannel pajama pants, I slip them over my underwear and crawl in next to her, settling her under the covers and myself on top.

“Come here,” I say.

She pauses for half a second, then scoots over while I rest on my back. Even with a layer of sheets and a duvet and a few inches between us, I feel the warmth of her body. She smells like my shampoo and bodywash—mango and citrus. In my head, visions dance around of me sliding under the covers with her, parting her thighs—

“You’re unexpectedly . . . sweet,” she murmurs.

I shove away my erotic thoughts. “Sure.”

I turn my head to see her blinking up at the skylight over the bed. It lets in more light than I thought it would when I had it installed, but something about the stars speaks to me. My hand reaches up and traces a line from one star to another. “You think there’s life up there?”

“Yes. Do you?”

“It pays to keep an open mind, but not so open your brains fall out,” I quote.

She lifts up on her elbow and stares at me. “Carl Sagan?”

I smirk at the surprise in her tone. “Not just a jock, Giselle. I read, mostly on the road.”

She blows at a piece of hair in her face and plops back down. “Devon Walsh, squashing stereotypes one quote at a time.”

“I don’t think we’re alone in the universe. We’re just a speck, simple humans walking a life unaware.”

She laughs, a hint of bemusement there.

“What?” I ask. “You don’t agree?”

“Oh, I agree. Not everyone believes in aliens.” She sighs. ‘“For small creatures such as we, the vastness is only bearable with love.’ Sagan again.”

Love? I arch a brow. Not touching that quote with a ten-foot pole.

“Tell me . . . these alternate universes you mentioned—where are we right now?”

“I love that you’re curious about my theories.” Then . . . she presses a light kiss to my shoulder—nothing sexy, for fuck’s sake—but heat licks me from head to toe. Ah hell, keep your face blank, asshole, and your dick better chill out.

I clear my throat and ease an inch away. “Come on. What are we doing in this universe? Don’t make me a teenage girl.”

“You might not like it . . .” Her voice trails off.

“If I’m some ugly insect or demon, yeah, I may not, but help a guy out. I need a story to put me to bed.”

She laughs under her breath. “Are you sure?” Then: “Ohhhh, a demon universe—”

“Focus, woman. Hit me with your best one.”

“Fine. You’re a seven-foot purple-colored alien from Sector 4, the Triangulum Galaxy, 2.7 million light-years from Earth—”

“Is that a real place? Why am I purple?”

“Yes, it’s real, and purple is your favorite color.”

“How do you know?”

“I just imagined it’s your favorite color. Is it?”

“Let’s say it’s purple or blue.” I grin. We’re not looking at each other, both of us staring up at the stars. “So as an alien, do I look like a man?”

“You have a humanoid form, yes, much like now—broad shoulders and long sleek black hair. Your prehensile tail is four feet long with a pointed end, and you use it as a whip when you fight. Your skin is made up of scales—”

“What the fuck?”

“Your scales are very small and shimmer when you’re excited. They’re very soft and warm.”

“Sounds prissy.” I’m enraptured, hanging on every word.

“Nothing girlie about you. Muscles abound. You’re a virile, alpha alien—”

“But I have a tail.” My voice is dry. “So this alien is a demon.”

She huffs. “Fine. I’ll take away the tail, but you could have used it for . . . pleasurable . . . activities . . .”

My dick twitches. “Like what?”

“Nope. You don’t want it, so it’s gone.”

“Please continue.”

“I’m trying!” She pokes me in the side. “You stalk around in a loincloth—rather strange since your world is so advanced—with metal gauntlets on your wrists. You keep an amethyst stone on a necklace around your neck. It belonged to someone important who passed away. You’re a mercenary sent to Earth to procure a woman for your king. You find me, er, her in Los Angeles. She’s a twentysomething scientist with a D cup. Her name is Kate, and she has blue hair.” She pauses. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“You said D cup. I’m riveted.”

She sighs. “Twenty days into the yearlong journey to your home planet, your cloaking goes on the fritz, and the ship is attacked by your enemies. You release her to protect her from being taken, and you and Kate fight them. A tentative friendship is born after you defeat them. She also knows how to fix your cloaking issue. You teach her your language but force her into the antigravity chamber every sleep cycle. Big alien jerk. You’ve taken an oath to hand her over untouched, yet one night, you sleepwalk to my, um, Kate’s cage, let her out, and forget your oath about keeping her pure—”

“Giselle,” I say, my voice low and husky, images flitting through my head. “Is this about to get dirty?”