Not My Romeo (The Game Changers #1)(28)

He’s getting rid of me.

“So ready,” I mutter.

Alabama gives me a disappointed look, but I don’t think it’s so much about him finding me attractive but more along the lines of who I am to Jack. “Hey, it was nice to meet you. Maybe I’ll see you again.”

I nod.

Devon hooks my hand through his bent arm, and we leave the VIP room. He is oddly quiet, his brow pulled down as we go back to the bar.

I plop down on the barstool and send a glance up at the huge glass window where the VIP room is.

Is he watching us right now?

Or is he already squished between three models?

Who cares?

Devon lets out a long sigh, his gaze following mine. “Trust me; he’s watching now that he knows you’re here. Jack never misses anything.”

I signal for another water, taking a long sip on the straw. Topher and company are still dancing, the song “Greased Lightning,” and I’m betting Topher talked the DJ into it. Topher sees Devon next to me, his grinning face telling me he knows who Devon is. I grimace and hold my hands up. What are the odds? my face says. He blows me a kiss.

“Your bestie?” Devon asks.

I nod.

“Jack’s my best friend, has been since college days; plus we live together. We’re brothers in a sense, I guess. I’d do anything for him.”

“Escorting women out of the VIP?”

He grimaces. “It wasn’t like that. He was protecting you. If reporters knew he was seeing you, trust me, they might not leave you alone.”

“Were reporters in there?”

“No, but people in there might talk. He doesn’t trust easy, especially Aiden.”

I order another water and sigh, feeling let down about Jack—about how different he was tonight.

He settles in next to me, concentration on his face, as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “Also, he did not give me details about last night. He just wanted to know who you really were. In fact, I’ve never seen him—”

“I’m no one.” I shrug.

Devon nods. “Tell me—did Jack leave you his cell number?”

“Yes.” I guess he did.

“He never does that. I bet five people have that number.” He waggles his brows.

“Well, I’m not calling him.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I won’t.”

“Sure, sure.”

“I’ll thump you again.”

He grins and checks his watch.

“You late for somewhere?”

“No. Just waiting.”

“For Jack?”

He gives me a hesitant nod. “Yeah, he wants to talk to you. He told me to get you out of there. He doesn’t like Aiden talking to you. Thin ice there.”

“Oh.”

He nods. “Think about it. Football players at the top get there because number one, we’re talented as hell; number two, we’re highly competitive; and number three, we all want that glory and the money. It’s a team sport, but you’re always looking out for yourself. Alabama wants to bring Jack down hard and take his spot.” He clinks his beer with my water glass and leans down. “Dance with me. I love this song.”

“Really? Who sings it?” It’s Sam Smith’s “I’m Not the Only One.”

He rolls his eyes and takes my hand. “Who cares? Let’s just dance.”

He tugs on my hand until I agree—he’s like a sweet puppy—and leads me out to the dance floor.

Devon takes me in his arms, his hands on my waist, mine on his shoulders, and we sway to the slow song. He keeps a respectable distance and stares down at me, a look of bemusement on his face.

“What?” I ask.

He just smiles, his teeth a flash of white on his tanned face, and like Jack, I guess he’s outdoors a lot. “I see why he likes you. You’re really an open book, you know. Your face says exactly what you’re thinking. No guile. No subterfuge. When you were, um, asking for your panties, it was refreshing . . . to see him flummoxed. Women flock to him, and all they say is ‘Yes, Jack, whatever you want, Jack.’” He chuckles. “After you’ve been around as many women as we have, you figure out the real ones.”

His large hands drift to my lower back, close to my ass. I give him side-eye. “Watch it there, Mohawk.”

He laughs. “Also, I give him sixty seconds before he’s down here.”

I blow at a piece of my hair. “You’re convinced that he cares that I’m dancing with you? Please. Let’s make a bet. A buck he doesn’t show.”

“Damn, I like you. Okay, you’re on.”

I count to sixty in my head, and the song changes to another slow one. “He isn’t here. Not that I wanted him to be. You owe me.”

Devon thinks, his gaze going back to that window. “Right. Okay, let’s play it a little meaner. Double or nothing?”

I nod. Why not? For one thing, I do want to see Jack—because hello, panties. I need them back.

Devon arches a brow. “I’m going to play dirty; you feel me?”

Play dirty?

And before I can respond to that, Devon stops our dance, putting my back to the window. Wrapping an arm tight around my waist, he steps in closer. His hand moves my hair, and he kisses my cheek, much like Topher would, yet his lips skate over to my ear. He nips my lobe, and I giggle because it tickles but mostly because the entire time he’s murmuring, counting the seconds. To anyone else, I imagine it appears as if we’re in an embrace and he’s sucking my neck area. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten—”