Not My Match (The Game Changers, #2)(57)
“I disagree.”
He huffs. “Do you really know of a man who almost lost his foot?”
“Um . . . ,” I murmur, standing up.
He stands with me, a steely glint in his gaze. “You lied.”
I hold my index and thumb close together. “Just a little. I can, you know, in times of danger or a prank. In my defense, the man did go to the hospital.”
“This whole time, I could have just knocked her off and been done with it.”
“Maybe, but I wasn’t lying about the babies. Those are real, and I don’t know how they haven’t all scattered, considering the beating poor Cindy has taken.”
“And now you feel sorry for the scary spider.”
“But, but . . .” I laugh, clutching my sides. “You were scared! You were frozen!”
He gives me a glare as he bends down, and how in the world has his towel stayed on this entire time? I guess it’s a very large towel. He nudges the lip of the bowl until it touches one of her legs, and she crawls along the side. He scoops up the container, and she slides to the bottom. He walks out of the room, and I follow him, soaking in the back muscles, the pert rise of the towel where his ass is—
“Are you ogling my backside?”
“Yes,” I chirp as he grins and opens the door to the penthouse and stalks to the elevator.
“Are you going to take her out nearly naked?” I hiss, getting in the elevator with him.
“Yep.” He pauses, sweeping his eyes over me before looking down and hitting the button for the garage. “You aren’t dressed either.”
I cross my arms, hoping to hide my nipples poking through my cami. “We’re on a mission. Clothing can wait.” And I really do want Cindy and family gone. I have to see it for myself.
The elevator stops, and we get off and walk near one of the concrete columns. I watch Devon as he sets the bowl down on its side, and Cindy eases out, slow and steady, then darts under Red.
“No!” I call out. “Not my car!”
Devon grins. “Your car?”
I feel a blush rising on my cheeks. “I love you, you know. Red is incredible, and I can’t thank you enough. Everyone stares at me on the highway. I don’t drive her fast and always clean out my mess—”
The rest of my words halt as Devon moves like a blur in front of me, his hands on my shoulders. “What did you say?”
I lick my lips, replaying my words telling him how much I appreciate him loaning me his car, which reminds me that my car is probably ready for me to pick up and has been for a while, only I haven’t had time to get it—or maybe I haven’t wanted to. Devon is still staring at me, and I know what I said—I do, totally—but it makes my heart dip and my legs shake, and I don’t know why I said those words. I shouldn’t have, because it wasn’t like it was meant to be taken seriously—just words that slipped out, that are currently causing him to frown. I need to take a step back, mentally, and tiptoe my way through this, because if one little comment said in jest makes him wear that horrible hesitant “What am I doing?” look on his face, then I never, never want him to know how I feel.
“I just meant, thank you for letting me drive your car,” I say quietly.
His throat bobs, his Adam’s apple jumping up and down as he swallows thickly, his grip on me loosening before his hands finally fall to his sides. He stares at me—one, two, three, four—then drops his eyes to the floor. No level-five gaze here, just a man who is looking for a place to run.
“You sure that’s all you meant?”
“Yes.” Succinct and clear, my voice holds as I resist the urge to not gasp out in . . . pain? Yes, pain.
He gives me a final look and heads to the elevator. We don’t say anything the entire way up, me on one side, him on the other, his countenance set in hard lines, a baffled, unhappy—yes, definitely unhappy—expression on his face. And I put it there, after the fun of Cindy. My words dug under his skin, confusing him and putting another barrier between us, because let’s be honest: the man wants me. I know he does because of those long gazes, the soft touches, the way he kissed me, the way he held me tonight at the club. It’s more than just hormones, but he doesn’t want to want me, and that knowledge sits in my stomach like a boulder.
I wish I had more experience with men, that I knew the right thing to say to make my words not bother him. The scary part is that part of me meant those big words, and as that realization steals over me, I realize that I can’t, I just can’t fall in love with a man who wants to only be friends with me; I can’t add it to my list of failures that keep piling up. Devon doesn’t have the emotional capacity to return how I feel. No, he keeps that hidden piece of him locked away in his castle, with the drawbridge up, guards around the perimeter. People leave him. Because he served up his heart to Hannah on a silver platter, and she rejected him, hurt him when he was young and had a little bit of faith in love—
“Are you going to sleep on the elevator?” Devon’s voice breaks into my thoughts. I shake my head and step off, following him back to the penthouse.
He comes to a halt in the kitchen, his back still to me, the lines of his stance tense and drawn, as if he’s battling some internal struggle. Well, that’s me, I guess. My fault.
“You don’t have to carry through with our agreement to get naked,” I say curtly as I cross my arms. I’m annoyed and hurt.