Not My Romeo (The Game Changers #1)(68)

“Yeah? How did it go?”

I pause, feeling confused, not at the question per se, but just at the fact that being here with him is easier than I thought, seeing him outside play practice, with none of the tension that’s been between us since the blow job.

Don’t think about that right now.

“You okay?” He frowns, easing in closer. “You have a weird look on your face.”

“Fine. It was fine. They want an intern. I’ll have to pass.”

“I see. Sticking with the library?”

I nod, trying to keep the disappointment off my face.

He tosses an arm around my shoulders, tugging me close as we walk past the counter to the door. I look up at him, arching my brow.

He shrugs. “What? Just playing it up till we get out of here. Maybe we should kiss since that one girl is still watching?”

“No. I think I handled it.”

He grins. “Your loss.”

We reach the door right as the light rain outside turns to a full-on downpour.

He sighs. “I guess you don’t have an umbrella?”

“Nope.”

“Great. You came to Nashville knowing it was going to rain all day and didn’t bring a coat or an umbrella.”

“I didn’t know it was going to rain all day, weatherman!”

He laughs and takes off his knit hat, his hair falling like silk around his chiseled cheekbones.

He pauses. “And now you’re frowning.”

I huff. “Why do you always look so pretty!”

“Woman, I am a grown-ass man. I am not pretty.”

“You are, and it’s so annoying.”

He rumbles out a laugh and sticks the hat on my head, tucking the loose strands into the knit so they’re covered. “There. At least your uptight hair won’t get wet.”

“It’s not uptight. It’s chic.”

“I like it down.”

“Fine.” I whip the hat off and pull at my hair, tugging at the pins until my tresses are falling around my shoulders. I tug the hat back on. “Happy?”

“Not yet.” He lifts up the neck of his long-sleeved shirt, pulling it over his neck. I flare my eyes. “Jack! You can’t go shirtless. Women will maul you.”

He laughs, and I see he has on another one underneath, short sleeved. “I came prepared for a cold run. You did not.” He reaches over and slides the shirt over my head. “This is supposed to stay dry even when it gets wet.”

“Oh.” I gaze down at the shirt. It fit tight across his chest but flows around me loosely.

I look up at him. “You’re going to get cold. All I needed was the money for the pie. You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I don’t want you to be cold, Elena.”

My breath hitches as we stare at each other. A few moments tick by as we take the other in. He breaks our gaze. “Where did you park? It’s dark, and I’ll walk you.”

I nod, feeling disappointed for some reason. “Right. About two blocks from here, right off Second Avenue near the Marks Building. Maybe you should just go, and I can wait for the rain to let up.”

He nudges his head at the checkout girl, who is probably taking pics of Jack Hawke with a poorly dressed woman. “Leave you with her? Don’t think so.”

He takes my hand. “Ready to run?”

I nod, and he flings the door open to a curtain of rain. We take off down the street, flying past storefronts and people who were smart enough to bring umbrellas.

I never see it coming when it happens, although I shouldn’t be surprised. Here I am, sprinting in stilettos in a too-snug skirt, alongside a man whose gait is three times the length of mine. So yeah, when my heel gets stuck in a grate and I topple down knees first on the concrete, it pretty much seems like the final straw in a very long day.





Chapter 24

JACK

“Elena!” I bend down to her body and pull her up. “Shit! I’m sorry. I didn’t even see that grate. Are you okay?”

Rain pelts us as she huddles against me. “I think so. My knees hurt, but I can walk.” She squints through the water as it falls on her face. “How far did we get?” She starts off again, and I pull her back and under an awning. Lightning strikes in the distance, making her flinch.

I glance down, eyes widening. “You’ve skinned them both. Blood is running down your legs. Dammit. I’m sorry I ran too fast.”

“Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault. My skirt is too tight, and these heels . . .” She grimaces, bending down to get a look at her legs. “They’re fine. Nothing a little soap and water won’t fix when I get home.”

Nope. She is not driving like that. I guess I muttered it, because she cocks her hip, then winces. “I can drive.”

“No, you can’t. Plus it’s a monsoon out here.” I look up at the sky as the wind picks up.

“Hang on,” I say and bend over and sweep her up in my arms.

“Jack Hawke, you can’t carry me all the way to my car!”

I duck out from under the awning and take off at a sprint. “I know. But my place is closer. Put your head down in my shoulder, and hang on to your stuff.”

She opens her mouth to say something—knowing her, it’s to protest—but another bolt of lightning flashes off in the distance.