Not My Match (The Game Changers, #2)(60)

“What’s the best birthday present you’ve ever gotten?” he asks me.

“You’ll think it’s silly.”

“No, I won’t.”

After wiping my mouth, I push the plate to the side and lean in closer, resting my chin on my hands. I push my glasses up. “What?” I ask, noting his weird expression.

He laughs under his breath. “You. When you get lost in thought, you get a wrinkle, right there . . .” He reaches over and rubs his finger over my forehead.

I smile. The man does watch me.

“The best present I got was on my fifteenth birthday—before all that curse business—”

“Which isn’t real.”

I wave him off. “Stop interrupting me.”

He grins.

“Anyway, I’d been on this reading binge, had read almost every book in the school library. I was hounding Mama for something to read, and Aunt Clara had slipped me some racy books from the public library. She preread them to check for sex, but some weren’t appropriate.” I laugh at the memory of Aunt Clara bringing me Harlequins that just had some light kissing. “So on my fifteenth birthday, Mama gave me a bundle of letters from my dad, copies actually, written to her.” A soft sigh comes from me, and I can only imagine the hearts in my eyes. “He got his medical degree through the army and was stationed overseas and didn’t see her for nine months. Every day, he wrote her a beautiful letter, and it was in his handwriting and just breathtaking to think he wrote for her—he poured out his heart.” Emotion clogs up my throat, and I push it down. “I got to witness how they met—at a bonfire on Halloween—and how he fell in love with her immediately; I read the little spats they had when she was dating other guys while he was gone, his heartbreak, and then I saw how she finally told him she couldn’t live without him.” A laugh comes from me. “Some were missing, of course, and those were the sexy ones. She denies it, but whenever I tease her, she blushes. I saw a glimpse of love, real love, and it . . . it . . . it was so sweet and perfect, but it also set the standard so high for me. And then, he died the next year, so I treasure those letters. I grabbed my copies when I went back for the pearls.” I pause, watching his face. “What about you?”

“Your butterfly is in my pocket now.”

Pleasure courses over me. “Really?”

He grabs my hand. “Really. And I’ve got a gift for you.”

My eyes dart all over him, and he laughs. “Not on me. Soon.”

“Giselle?” comes from the table behind Devon, from a couple just taking their seats.

I lean my head and take in . . .

Devon lets my hand go as the guy gets up from his seat and takes the few steps over to us.

“Robert!” I call when it clicks and hop out of the seat. “How are you? How’s your dad? Everything okay?”

He smiles at me, a dimple in his right cheek winking at me. He looks different since the last time I saw him at the hospital with Myrtle and John. Or maybe it’s just because I was harried there, barely knowing what I was doing. That day, he’d been in slacks and a jacket, but tonight he’s wearing dark jeans and a blue dress shirt, the sleeves folded up. His sandy-brown hair is messy but stylish, and he’s got his glasses on. He’s taller than me, his build lean.

“Dad is fine. Talked to him tonight. I’m glad they found a place so soon.”

“I need to call Myrtle and check on her.”

He smiles. “We all had dinner together,” he says. “She met my sister.” He nudges his head back to his table, and I send her a wave. She looks like Robert, only the female version—tall with lighter hair and a sweet smile.

There’s a pause, and I start, realizing I need to introduce. “Robert, this is my friend Devon Walsh.” Devon stands and takes his hand in a grasp that looks a little hard to me, if the wince on Robert’s face is indicative. Robert doesn’t seem to know Devon is a football star, and I don’t offer.

We chitchat for another minute about his dad; then, after flicking his eyes at Devon, he says in a quiet tone, “Let’s have lunch soon. I’d love to talk to you more.”

Is he asking me out, or is this about something else . . . ?

I dart my gaze at Devon, who’s watching me, a taut expression on his face. He searches my face, then looks out the window.

Right, right. He doesn’t care who I date. He wants me to find someone.

I give Robert my cell, and he gives me his card, which I quickly stuff in my pocket. He tugs on one of the strings from my hoodie, grins, and says, “Looking forward to it.”

I’m still standing there watching him walk away, trying to decipher if there is any attraction there.

Robert flips around, a cocky smile on his face—okay, back up; when did he get cocky? “Oh, happy birthday!”

I smile.

He laughs. “Myrtle told us. Love the hair, by the way. Kate’s, right?”

Heat rises in my cheeks. Oh. Oh. Myrtle let him read my chapters? Going to murder her. “Um, thanks.”

I sit back down and stare at the table. It floors me that I managed to meet a guy I barely noticed, but he noticed me, and he just asked me out . . . maybe.

I look up at Devon, who’s leaving a heap of cash on the table.

“Let’s go.” His expression is unreadable.