Not My Romeo (The Game Changers #1)(6)

“Are you okay?”

She nods, seeming to gather herself as she clears her throat and stares down at the table. “Thank you for running him off. I had no idea he’d be here.”

“No problem,” I say gruffly.

“You own this place?”

I shrug. “Just diversifying. I don’t want to be a chef or anything. It looked good on paper, and I bought it.”

“Why did he say you were trouble?” She slides butter on a piece of bread, eyes down.

I pause. “When you’re famous, people either love you or hate you.”

The waiter takes my plate and sets down another gin and tonic for her.

“Your ex, right?” I finally say. “And let me guess . . . you aren’t over him?”

“Long story.” She sighs, still not looking at me, and it’s driving me a little crazy, this need to have her eyes on me. People always stare at me. Why doesn’t she?

I picture her in my penthouse, her auburn hair down, her body spread out on my bed— Damn.

Where did that come from?

You don’t know her, Jack.

You just met her.

Ease up.





Chapter 3

ELENA

Well.

Well.

Well.

I keep sneaking little glances at my drop-dead-gorgeous blind date. Who knew weathermen were this hot? And that classically handsome face? He’s a Greek god on steroids. No wonder the TV loves him. He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Also, a bit of a badass. Giddiness races over me at how he handled Preston, towering over him, barely restrained anger held at bay. I don’t think two males have ever gotten into a disagreement over me. Especially when I’m wolfing down food like it’s my last meal.

I clear my throat. “Topher mentioned you’d broken up with someone. Have you tried those dating sites like Tinder? I haven’t been brave enough.”

He frowns. “Those sites make me wary. Don’t do Tinder unless you’re looking for sex, Elena. Even then, it’s dangerous.”

I’ve been blushing all night, but now my cheeks flush with heat even more, and I put a hand up to my cheeks. Yep. Hot. “Well, um, yeah . . . maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. ‘Be good and you’ll be lonely.’”

He arches a brow. “Mark Twain?”

Interest fires through me. “You read classics?”

“Try not to look so surprised.” His eyes lower, grazing over my face, lingering on my lips. “What kind of books do you enjoy, Elena?”

I pause. Not a good idea to mention all the steamy romance I consume, so I stick with the basics. “I’m a librarian. I read everything.”

“Shut up. An honest-to-God librarian.” He shakes his head. “Should have guessed it.”

But didn’t Topher tell him?

“Why are you smiling?” I ask instead.

He leans in over the table, and I get a whiff of his scent: male mixed with leather and fine scotch. “Because you fit every guy’s fantasy of a librarian: intelligent, studious, big glasses, tight pencil skirt.” He flashes a white smile.

Oh.

Oh!

My leg jiggles under the table, and I push my glasses up on my nose. They’ve been sliding down constantly, and I know it’s because the room seems warmer now, the tension in the air thicker.

“Guess I should have stuck a pencil in my hair tonight and carried a book in my hands to complete the look.”

“Hmm. Next time, maybe.”

My heart pounds at the way he’s looking at me, as if I’m a fine piece of Belgian chocolate. I look around the room. What universe is this where a guy like him has fantasies about girls like me? My nerves kick in even more.

Deflect, redirect. “Right. So what happened between you and your ex?”

His lips compress, his features hardening. “My ex left me for a professional hockey player, then wrote a tell-all book about me, right down to our sex life. She also said I was an abusive alcoholic.”

Crap. “Is it true?”

“No!”

“Why’d she do it?”

“People do crazy things for money, even people who say they care about you.”

He wears a distant, faraway look on his face. I understand gossip and the havoc it can cause. Preston and Giselle have kept everything that transpired between us quiet, but the entire town knows he dated me first. I’ve caught everyone’s pity-filled glances, and there’s no telling the stories they’ve concocted in their heads. Poor girl. Preston dumped her for her prettier, younger sister. Not quite the truth, but I shove those memories down.

“Want me to kick her ass? I can throat punch with the best of them.”

He laughs. “Nah.”

I take him in, letting my gaze linger on his powerful forearms, the light-brown hair there, the length of his fingers, the careful way he’s slowly rubbing his index finger over the top of his whiskey glass—his lingering glances. My buzz has definitely kicked in, because I say, “I’m just guessing here, but I bet the sexy bits were complimentary.” I take a sip of my drink. “You know, just trying to find the positive. What did she say, exactly?”

His finger stops, and those tawny-colored eyes spear mine. I blink. They’re not brown, not yellow, but somewhere in the middle, golden and piercing and intense, the color of a warm sunrise even in the dim lighting. A small grin starts slowly, easing up the chiseled lines of his face until it’s a full-blown smile. “Oh, Elena. She’ll never get over me.”