Not My Romeo (The Game Changers #1)(63)

“He’s on vacation! And no one’s as good as you.”

I smile. “I know.”

He sits down on the couch. “Come on, Hawke, don’t make me beg. Let’s watch some tape.”

“You just missed it. He was just watching the last game,” Lawrence adds, eyeing us both. Probably figuring out how he can get Aiden for PR. “Did Adidas sign you?”

Aiden’s teeth grind. “No. I’m not big enough for them, apparently. Word is they’re going with the Pittsburgh quarterback.”

“Damn,” I mutter. “Assholes.”

“I know, right!” Aiden sits up straighter. “Look, turn that TV back on, and put it on where I was on the field. I’m serious, Jack. I’ve watched the tape a thousand times, and to me, I look spot on, but shit, maybe I’m missing something.”

He scrubs his face. I take in the sweat on his face, the workout gear. I grin because I got in his head, and he’s worried. Damn. He reminds me of me at his age, eager and dumb . . .

“You partying all the time, Aiden?”

“No, sir!”

“Good.”

He nods eagerly. “Right. Won’t make your early mistakes.”

“Watch it, Alabama.”

He holds his hands up. “Right, right. You’re cool now. Cold as ice. And I don’t believe anything that girl said about you.”

Hmm. I study his face.

I shrug, thinking back to how he throws. “Look, it’s just instinct—that you get from experience. You have to learn to read the players, know where the lines are going to break apart, and react. Takes a hundred professional games to get there, Alabama. This isn’t college anymore.”

He gets up and paces around. “Right. I know you like being number one, and that’s cool—I can accept it—but you know my time is coming. You’ll be gone someday, and what if I still don’t have it?”

“I am not going anywhere.” My voice is hard and firm. Not until I get that trophy in my goddamn hands. I refuse to think about my surgery.

He levels me with a hard look, scrutinizing me from head to toe. “Missed you at the gym today, and that is weird. Busy working on those lines for the play? Been seeing that girl from the VIP room, the one you followed out of the club? Gotta tell ya, that isn’t like you. She’s giving you a run for your money, I bet. I like girls like that. Make you work for it.”

I put a bored expression on my face, not rising to his bait. “I can do all those things and still never hesitate.”

He blows out a breath. “Dude. I’m begging you! Come on—just a few pointers.”

I ease back in my chair, enjoying the hell out of this. An idea looms. “You got a girlfriend, Alabama?”

“Who has time?”

I nod. “Right. But I need some help, you see, and you just might be able to help.”

“Tell me.”

“Sophia Blaine. Seems as if she’s free and looking for a hot footballer on her arm at a gala.”

“Jack, she wants you—” Lawrence starts.

I hold my hand up. “Not really. She wants a superstar—doesn’t really matter who it is.”

Aiden has paled. “That chick who wrote that stupid book about you?”

His street cred just went up a notch in my book. “Yep.”

He runs both hands through his hair. “All I need to do is take her out?”

I nod. “And convince her not to write some stupid article. Get it in writing.”

Lawrence snorts. “Dude, that will not work . . .”

“No, Lawrence. Look at him,” I say. “He’s young and handsome, and she doesn’t know he didn’t get the Adidas deal. Play that up, Alabama. Show her a good time, and get her to agree that you don’t want anything written about your hero, Jack Hawke. Can you do that?”

“Hero? Ah, shit.” He grimaces.

I laugh. “Your hero. You adore me. You love me so much.”

“I feel sick,” he mutters.

Lawrence brings up a photo of Sophia on Instagram, although I’m sure Aiden remembers her at parties with me. I lean over and check out a selfie of her at the beach, pouting at the camera with pink glossy lips as she lounges back on a chair wearing a bright-yellow bikini. I feel nothing when I see her—not even an inkling of missing her.

Aiden shoots me a look, clear interest in his eyes. “You gonna be pissed if I fuck her?”

“Your life, not mine.”

He mulls it over. “She’s gorgeous.”

“Warning. She bites.”

He lets out a long sigh. “Okay.” He glances at Lawrence. “How do we do this?”

Lawrence shakes his head. “Son, I hope you know what you’re signing up for. She’s a snake.”

Alabama grins. “I’ll wear some big boots.” He plops back on the couch. “Now turn on the TV, and tell me what the fuck I’m doing wrong.”





Chapter 22

ELENA

Around four in the afternoon, I drive over to the Cut ’N’ Curl and dash inside.

Mama has her hands in Birdie Walker’s hair, touching up her roots. She was here last week, and I swear these ladies just come in for the company. I say my hellos and dart to Aunt Clara’s chair. “I need an updo. Something classy, maybe a pretty french twist. You got time?”