Not My Romeo (The Game Changers #1)(27)

“You picked me up,” Jack mutters, easing in closer until we’re almost chest to chest. “You sat down with me, and now that I think about it, how do I know if that whole ‘Oh, you have a blue shirt on, so you must be my date’ was legit? You didn’t even sign your real name on the NDA.”

What? His words give me pause, and I frown, trying to process. He did say how private he was, and I get that, but to be this paranoid . . .

Devon rubs his chin as he takes us in. “I just met her at the bar, and I picked her up—”

I snap my fingers at Devon. “You did not pick me up. I only came to find Jack.”

“Ouch,” Devon replies with a smirk.

“And you just happened to be here tonight?” Jack asks.

“Yes,” I say.

“I see.”

Some of that tightness leaves his face, and we stare at each other, both of us breathing harder than is necessary. He’s just so . . . full of himself!

“I am not.”

I must have said it aloud.

I shake my head. “I don’t watch TV. I don’t know football. Even if I did, I’d avoid you both like the plague. I like my dates to be sweet. Also not liars.”

Jack winces. “Elena . . .” But he doesn’t finish it, and Devon takes over.

“I’m sweet,” Devon says with a pout.

But I’m barely listening.

I study the planes of Jack’s face, trying to understand him. He’s not . . . he’s not the same man from last night. That person was into me, his kisses deep, like red wine, dark and rich and intoxicating—

Forget that.

“I just came back here to get my underwear.”

Jack scrubs his face, his tone softening. “Elena, please, this isn’t the place. People listen to every conversation I have. Can we just talk somewhere more private?”

Like his penthouse? Ha.

I shake my head. I get that he’s famous. He was on a billboard in New York, but . . .

“Was nothing real with you?” I ask.

Devon looks away from us, fidgeting, and I guess I’m saying too much, and it draws me up. Ugh. This isn’t me. I don’t walk into VIP rooms and approach superstar athletes. I lick my wounds and move on.

My anger deflates, and a long exhalation leaves me. Fine, fine.

I’ve had my say. I should go. I eye the exit.

“Elena, wait . . .” He shoves a hand through his hair, the golden highlights glinting. “Look, it’s just . . . this is such a coincidence, and a VIP party is the last place I’d thought you’d appear.” He pauses. “This isn’t how I wanted to see you again.”

Yeah, because he had three girls with him.

“Hey. I don’t think we’ve met,” comes a male voice who’s joined our little circle. “Aiden Woods, quarterback. Saw you walk in. Love the pants.”

Damn these pants. I take my eyes off Jack to see the guy who has slid up next to us. He’s young, a classic boy-next-door type, his chin square, dimples in his cheeks. He takes my hand and shakes it.

“Alabama, chill. She’s with Jack and me,” Devon says in exasperation.

Aiden—or Alabama—gives me a wide smile. “You open for a foursome too?”

“She doesn’t do that,” Jack growls. “She’s not a jersey chaser.”

I don’t even know what a jersey chaser is.

“Huh. I haven’t seen you around. You got a name?” Alabama asks me, ignoring them. He hits me with light-blue eyes and an award-winning smile.

Jack bumps his shoulder with his. “No, she doesn’t have a name for you. She’s with me. She’s a lady.”

Well.

Well.

First I picked him up, and now I’m a lady? Does he have emotional whiplash?

Jack’s got his focus on Alabama, who seems cool as a cucumber, even after the shoulder bump. I sense backstory.

“I like ladies,” Alabama murmurs, giving me a cocky grin. “I take it you’re friends with Jack. How did you two meet?”

I lick my lips, choosing my words carefully. I may be angry with Jack, but I don’t want to cause any problems for him. “We just met,” I tell him.

“Really?” he replies. “Because he’s barely taken his eyes off you since you walked up. Did you call him ‘weatherman’? Is that a cute nickname you two have?”

Alabama is pushy—but charming with that southern accent.

“No,” I reply. Short. Succinct.

Jack’s nose flares as he watches us. He leans down and whispers something in Devon’s ear, too low for me to hear. Devon watches my face, listening to Jack and nodding.

“I bet they’re plotting to get you away from me,” Alabama murmurs as he leans his head down to me. “Jack’s a bit territorial. You sure you guys aren’t dating?”

“Nope.” We just had sex.

“Which means you’re available?”

Good Lord. I stare at him. “Do all football players just assume every woman in the place wants them?”

He lifts his hands. “Yeah.”

Jack and Devon finish their conversation, and Devon sends me a big smile. “Um, you ready to get out of here?”

Jack’s eyes cling to mine, searching before looking away. “I’m sure she is,” he says tightly.