Not My Match (The Game Changers, #2)(67)

“Still a bit odd, aren’t you?” Cami says as I turn back to her.

“Yes. I’m awesome.”

“Weird. You’re weird.” Her gaze roams the people around us, snagging on someone behind me, a look of avarice growing on her face. Holy hot guys, I’ll take that one, her eyes say.

“When you get a chance, send me and Elena the money for the Pappy you stole.”

She laughs, the sound tinkling, eyeballs still on her target. “Keep dreaming, little cousin. Right now, there’s a sexy man looking at me.” She flicks a strand of bright-red hair over her shoulder and pushes her breasts out.

A prickling sensation dances over my skin, and only one person makes me feel that way. Stiffening, I gaze over the crowd, searching—

“And she remembers you too,” Mama’s voice comes from next to me, and I stop and look at her. “You wouldn’t believe how smart she is, a doctorate program at Vandy . . .”

“Giselle,” Mama says firmly and manhandles (womanhandles?) me in front of Mike. “Meet Mike. I think it’s been years since you’ve seen him.”

The boyish boy is gone, replaced by a devastatingly handsome man, his face leaner, harder, and chiseled, his hair swept back, deep-brown eyes peering at me over a glass of champagne.

I’m aware of Mama steering an unwilling, muttering Cami to the buffet table, and Mike smiles, a flash of white, perfect teeth. “Giselle, all grown up. The last time I saw you, you had braces, glasses, and hideous bangs.”

“You gave me those bangs after you tricked me and handcuffed me to the tree. Last time I saw you, there was a girl climbing out your bedroom window onto that tree.” I point to the huge elm that sits between his house and Mama’s. “She was pissed and yelling. You followed her out and kissed her, and then she went right back in your room.”

He laughs.

I nod. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

“Cynthia has been a godsend. Brings meals over and plays with my daughter. She talks about you constantly—and about having her own grandkids.”

His shirtsleeves are rolled up, the sparse hair dark on muscled forearms. His shirt hugs the muscles of his chest, and he’s at least six-one, his stance easy and relaxed, an aura of confidence exuding from him. I recall him in school, a slew of girls hanging off his letterman jacket, a charming smile as he fought them off, never giving too much attention to one or the other. Dammit. Mama can pick them. He is sexy.

“Don’t encourage her. She’ll have us married by Christmas. Unless Cami beats her to it.” I smile.

He throws his head back and laughs, low and deep. “I’m not interested in getting married.”

“Hard divorce?”

His smile vanishes. “Worst mistake I ever made. Right after our daughter was born, Leigh, my wife, ran out on us. Said she missed being single. That was three years ago.” He tells me about the move from New Orleans after his parents passed, deciding on a fresh start. We chat about what I’m doing at Vandy, and he talks about his position as the principal and assistant baseball coach at the high school. He takes his phone out and shows me a few pictures of his dark-haired daughter and her new kitten. She’s adorable with dimples and a big smile.

“She looks like you,” I say wistfully.

“You want kids?”

I nod. “I want it all—career, kids, a big house in the country. You want more kids?”

“I love Caroline and can’t imagine my life without her, but not really.”

A waiter walks past with drinks, and I grab two—one for me and one for him—after setting our empties on the tray. He takes it with a smile, his gaze glancing over my shoulder before coming back to my face. “So who’s the big guy giving me dirty looks?”

I freeze, and he puts his hand on my shoulder. “No, don’t look. He’s behind you, blue suit, dark hair with blue glints, diamond ear studs, built like he can bench-press a few hundred pounds.”

“Devon Walsh,” I say, butterflies going crazy, recalling those last words to me.

“I thought your ex was the lawyer . . . oh, wait, that Devon Walsh?”

“Yep.” I suck down a sip of my drink, a hot feeling starting at my toes and rushing to my face.

“Something there?” He eyes me carefully, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

I exhale, thinking over the past week. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. We’re living together.”

His eyes widen. “You’re dating him? Holy shit. Is Cynthia trying to get me killed?”

“Not dating.” I bring him up to speed on the fire and my new roommate status, and before I realize it, I’m telling him about seeing Devon on TV in college, then Elena and Jack introducing me to him, then Cindy the spider, and the “fuck and walk away” conversation. I stare at my drink. Too much alcohol. “I can’t believe I just told you all that.”

“Ah, we’re old friends. Let it out.” Mike takes a covert glance behind me. “You said he gave you his Maserati?”

“Borrowed. Why does everyone make a big deal about that? It’s a car.” Okay, a very expensive car.

He laughs, watching a scene behind me. “He just told Cami to get out of his face. I read lips well. All teachers do.”

“You should call her, you know.”