Not My Match Read online

  I work on one, and she does the other. “If you think I’m going to let you kiss me now, you missed your chance.”

  “You’re right; I’m an ass. I don’t deserve to kiss you at all,” I murmur as she throws her rubber band on the ground, and I toss mine alongside it. “But we should get this . . .” Hot as fuck moment . . . “Experiment out of the way.” My hands wrap around her waist.

  She shakes out the braids with her fingers and glares at me. “You might discover, football player, that one kiss isn’t enough—”

  I kiss her, getting my first taste (and trying to go slow) by pressing soft brushes against the corners of her mouth before tugging on her bottom lip with my teeth, parting her lips, and swallowing her gasp, then swooping in to slant my lips against hers. We fit together as if we were made for each other, her head tilting in my palms as I slide my hands deep into her hair and clutch her skull. I give her everything she deserves, long and slow and languid, lazily sucking at her lips until she moans, her fingers scraping down my jaw, sliding across my shoulders, her nails digging into my shirt as she grips me.

  I’m in control, in control; this is not affecting me. I am cool . . . until her tongue meets mine and tangles. A rush of desire rolls in, obliterating any good sense, and we go from gentle to feral in a millisecond. Our lips merge and battle, one of those long searing kisses meant for people who can’t get enough with one taste and don’t want to stop.

  “Giselle . . .” Groaning, I pick her up, and her legs wrap around my waist like a vise. Somehow I’ve got her pressed against the barn, our mouths glued together in every possible position I can think of, my tongue dancing with hers, dueling and winning everything I want, taking and taking, then giving and giving. This is the longest kiss in history; it’s like we’re making out in high school, the best goddamn kiss, and everything I’ve wanted since the moment she walked into my penthouse. I can’t think, and what am I doing? Just shut up, brain. She cups my ass and grinds, the feel of her nipples against my chest maddening. Don’t touch, or you’ll be lost. Fuck, she smells like vanilla and flowers—vibrant, heady blooms on a summer day, the ones that make you dizzy and weak for another inhale.

  “Giselle,” I gasp out her name as I rotate my hard dick against her core. Her legs tighten as she whimpers, urging me on as she sucks my bottom lip, dragging it out. My hand is up her shirt, and I graze over her breast, tugging on the erect nipple through her lace bra . . .

  Something falls from above me, grazing my arm, and I flinch back, looking up and then down at the ground.

  “What the—”

  “Curse.” She sucks in a deep breath and looks up. “Piece of wood came off the window. Rotted and needs to be replaced.”

  I gaze back at her lowered lids, swollen mouth, and heaving chest.

  I’m in no better shape, and like a rubber band snapping against my wrist, I come to my senses and let her down, putting space between us.

  The silence of the night is deafening, and I’m scrambling around in my head, looking for a way to explain that I didn’t mean to take it that far, that we need to just take a second and breathe and pretend like this never happened. She searches my gaze, and maybe she sees it, maybe she does, because she straightens her spine and gives me a tight-lipped nod.

  “Giselle . . .” I still don’t know what’s going to come out of my stupid mouth, but she beats me to it.

  “No need to say what is on your face, Devon. That kiss was terrible, and we can never do it again.”

  My eyes shut. What a lie.

  But . . .

  We can’t. There’s Jack, but shit, mostly there’s me. I can’t hang on to girls like Giselle. I don’t want to.

  “Yeah.”

  She picks up a cup, slams it down on the stump, and smashes it to smithereens.

  Chapter 10

  GISELLE

  “Ever since you were little, you kept a secret journal. Always knew you’d pick up writing again, just didn’t think it would be about sexy aliens,” Aunt Clara says as she ushers me in the door of the Cut ’N’ Curl. Wearing a bright-red maxi dress and strappy sandals, she’s a ball of energy.

  I inhale the slight scent of ammonia mixed with fruity shampoo inside the salon. A block from the center of town in Daisy, everyone comes here to gossip and get their hair done. Even me.

  I kiss her cheek, waving the bag of lunch I grabbed for her. I can’t drive past a Chick-fil-A without getting her something. “Got their new mac and cheese. Figured you’d be too busy to get your own, with Mama running errands today.”

  “Bless your little heart,” she squeals and snatches up the bag, pulls out the mac and cheese, then holds it up like it’s the holy grail.

  I grin, then recall her comment and give her a steely look. “First Topher told Mama about Rodeo, and now he’s talking about my book. The man will suffer.”

  “Shush. Let me shove this in my mouth before you get huffy.” She’s already sitting in the chair, her feet up on her station as she takes a big bite and swoons.

  I blow out a breath, wound up, feeling tense and ready to do something—especially after my morning with Devon. He marched out of his bedroom, not meeting my eyes as he grumbled about a bad night. He ate his oatmeal and drank his protein shake, careful to step around me in the kitchen (as usual), but oh, you can bet he loved all over Pookie, who’d peed in his loafers. He told her, It’s okay, little doggie, you’ve been through a trauma, then grunted out a Later at me over his shoulder and left for the stadium.

  It was a bitter pill to swallow, sitting next to him on the ride back from the barn. He never said one word, unless you count May I turn the music up? He blasted it, and I clasped my hands and stared out the window. His face after we kissed had been just . . . granite hard and crawling with regret.

  Alone at the penthouse after he left, I forced myself to study until the words blurred on the page, so I pulled up Vureck and Kate and pounded out a chapter. It was a glorious fight scene, where Kate got to say everything I couldn’t last night—how frustrated she is because Vureck refuses to see what is right in front of him, and how dare he stay resolute in delivering her to his king. She’s not meant to be a harem girl; she is his.

  Ugh . . . Devon . . . he doesn’t want to get entangled, and it cuts deep, so sharp and visceral, that I don’t understand the heaviness in my body, the pain radiating in the center of my chest.

  Yes, he kissed me like a man drowning, but that was just a natural response to someone he admitted to being attracted to, his brain releasing dopamine, his serotonin levels increasing, thus producing oxytocin, the “love hormone.” He probably hasn’t gotten laid in a while. A man like him, well, he gets it on the regular, all those women kissing him on the neck. My hands curl.

  Besides all that, last night I saw the anguish on his face when he talked about his college sweetheart. He trusted me with deeply personal things, and if he wants to call me just a friend, then I will be just that. I don’t want to lose him as a person in my life. I don’t get close to a lot of people, and with him, there’s a beautiful connection I’m afraid of destroying. On the drive here, I made a pact with myself to be his ear if he needs one, but no more kissing. It’s not his fault that I’m the one with weird feelings. I will take all my frustrations out in my story.

  “You rascal,” I call out to Topher when I spot him leaning against the Sun Drop machine, thumbing through a magazine, pretending like he didn’t see me come in. I bet he walked over on his lunch break. He meets my eyes in the mirror and walks over and swings me around.

  “I’m supposed to be mad at you for gossiping about me,” I mutter, but it’s hard to stay annoyed when he plants a big kiss on my head.

  He’s in his midtwenties; his long blond hair is in a ponytail, and he’s wearing a shirt with little kittens on it. “Don’t be mad,” he teases. “You know I can’t resist the Daisy Lady Gang when they ask me questions. It’s like the Spanish Inquisition with them, and I didn’t spill about the book to your mama, just
Clara. She was reading Mated to the Alien when I came in, and your book just fell out of my mouth.”

  “Shameless,” I reply, shaking my head. “I’m never going to let you read it. That’s your punishment.”

  He laughs. “Forget that; I love to write myself, so I can be one of those early beta readers.” A serious look grows on his face. “I’ve been so worried about you since the fire. Have you seen this?” He pops open his phone and brings up a grainy video of a girl on a fire escape. “It was on Channel 5 News the morning after the fire. Some bystander took it. ‘Unnamed woman escapes apartment fire.’”

  I close my eyes. “Mama’s not here, right?”

  Aunt Clara puts down a nearly demolished bowl of mac and cheese and eases in, always ready for a conspiracy. “She’s at the Piggly Wiggly; then she’s getting her tires rotated and oil changed.” Her eyes flare as she watches the video. “What on earth were you thinking, Giselle!”

  Mama knows about the fire. I called her the next day, but she doesn’t know I went back for the pearls, and she doesn’t know I’m staying with Devon. I haven’t mentioned the guy from Walmart to her, because Devon is private and asked me not to.

  “You’re staying with Devon,” Topher announces, and I gape.

  “What? How did you—”

  He nudges his head toward the huge window in front of the salon. “For someone so smart, you forget I see all. Might start working at a psychic hotline.” He holds up a finger. “First, you drove Red here.” A second finger appears. “Second, and most telling, last night a black Hummer whizzed through town. There’s only one vehicle like that I know of and only one hot-as-heck wide receiver who drives it.” A third finger springs up. “Next, I saw you in the passenger seat. Windows down, music blaring as you swigged a beer.”

  I shake my head. We did have to drive past his new rental because there’s only one road into Daisy. “Geez, I really hate small towns. Why were you even awake?”

  “Out walking Romeo. He’d had too many cucumbers and had to go.”

  Romeo is Elena’s small pet pig, and Topher and Mama are alternating babysitting while she’s in Hawaii.

  I sigh. “My car is still in the shop from the busted window, and Devon was sweet enough to let me borrow his.”

  His eyes dance. “His superexpensive baby. Where did you say you were staying since the fire?”

  I forgave him too easily. “I didn’t.”

  “Giselle?” Aunt Clara asks, lips curled. “Are you shacking up with Devon?”

  Shifting my feet, I adjust my glasses.

  “Giselle?” Topher waggles his eyebrows. “Where are you sleeping at night?”

  I throw my hands up. “At the penthouse! But there’s nothing going on.” I cover my face. “Just let me be the one to tell Mama.”

  “Oh Lordy, Cynthia can take it. Jack is going to flip,” she says.

  I stiffen, recalling Jack’s warning to the players. “It’s my life. Jack just worries because of Preston.”

  Topher grimaces.

  “What?” I ask, sensing a shift in the air.

  He bites his lip. “Preston is dating Shelia Wheeler. I’ve seen them at the pizza place a few times.”

  “Oh.” Shelia was in Romeo and Juliet with me. Gorgeous girl.

  He flicks his gaze to Aunt Clara, and they share a look.

  “And?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “Her aunt Birdie says it’s serious between them. She comes in every week with the lowdown.”

  A sting hits me, yet there’s something flat around the edges. “Well, we all know he moves fast. He jumped from Elena to me in a heartbeat.” I plop down in the seat Aunt Clara vacated and stare at myself in the mirror.

  “The usual today?” she says, and I grimace. I come in every third Friday for a trim, predictable and boring as usual.

  My mind churns as I glare at myself. “Not cutting an inch today, Aunt Clara. We’re gonna do something crazy.”

  Her eyebrows arch. “Spiral perm with loose curls? Lots of volume . . . yes, yes, yes . . .”

  I roll my eyes. “I don’t want to revisit the nineties.”

  Topher jumps in. “I’m thinking red. Dark and mysterious, à la Devil’s Angels.”

  “That’s Elena’s color.”

  “We can add some depth with some lowlights?” Aunt Clara says, lifting a blonde lock and twirling it around. She’s disappointed about the perm.

  If I’m going to be cliché and change my hair after a breakup, I’m going to make it worth it. A curl of excitement makes me smile.

  “Giselle. I don’t know if I can!” Aunt Clara says after I describe the vision I have, bringing up a few pics from my Pinterest board to show her Kate.

  “You are amazing, the best stylist in town—”

  “I’m the only one in town besides your mama,” she replies. “You have your birthday coming up and—”

  Emotion clogs my throat, feelings I think I’m in control of, yet apparently not. “I want to be different.” A badass who knows how to drive a spaceship. “Just do it. Before Mama gets back.”

  A long sigh comes from her. “Never change for anyone except yourself.”

  “It’s not for anyone. It’s for me.” I’ve decided it really is.

  “You’re sure?”

  A while later, she’s rinsing the color from my hair as we discuss my book, when Topher brings my cell over. “It’s been going off straight for the past five minutes. Someone named ‘Corey From Class.’ Thought you might need to get it.”

  After sitting up, I wrap my hair in a towel and call him back.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  Corey breathes heavily, his voice low. “Ms. Riley, I really hate to bug you. I know you study all the time.”

  I look around at the Cut ’N’ Curl. “Um, yeah. It’s cool. Just wrapped up some research.” On my romance book.

  “Class was bad. Me and . . . say hi, Addison!”

  I hear her voice in the background. “Hey, Ms. Riley!”

  “We had a terrible fu—freaking teacher today, one of those TAs, only we didn’t understand a word he said. Talked in fu—freaking circles about relativity and black holes for an hour, and now he wants a summary of what we learned emailed to him by tonight. I can copy straight out of Wikipedia, but you know I really want to understand.” He huffs. “The jerk ruined one of the coolest things in space.”

  “Black holes are still awesome,” I assure him.

  Aunt Clara pops an eyebrow. “Are they?”

  I shoo her.

  Another huff from Corey. “To me, black holes are the vacuum cleaners of the universe, and when I said that, he nearly flipped a table. He also said they’re invisible and don’t even suck everything!” He exhales. “In Zanthia, it’s a swirling black spiral that you can clearly see, and it destroys a whole fleet! All the good space movies are ruined. It’s okay when you do it, but not him.”

  Annoyance at my cohort makes me frown. Why stifle a kid’s imagination and dismiss a somewhat fair analogy? It’s not really a vacuum, but it’s a common misconception. “What he meant is that black holes don’t really suck; they have a gravitational pull, just like everything does, plus an event horizon, and once matter passes that point, it will be pulled in. Also, event horizons appear to emit a light when accelerating matter passes the boundary, so invisible is not quite accurate. What was his name?” I usually pay attention only to my teaching schedule and not everyone else’s.

  “See!” he calls to Addison. “Dude was a dick. I don’t know his name. He never told us.”

  I close my eyes. Why couldn’t he try to be personable with these kids? “Back to the vacuum and the idea that it sucks everything—you ever watch Sesame Street and see Cookie Monster devour cookies?”

  “I have a Cookie Monster shirt. It says ‘Eat Me,’” he chirps. “Girls love it.”

  “Of course they do. Think of black holes as Cookie Monster eating anything that gets close, munching and spitting, some of the bigger crumbs fallin
g out. Some of the matter that’s pulled in is large, but once it hits the event horizon, particles fly everywhere—some in, some out.”

  “I like my vision better. Giant Dyson. Black spiral. Maybe a wormhole to another dimension.”

  “No. An invisible Cookie Monster with a flash of light when matter approaches.”

  He sighs. “He was just up there spouting off facts and pissing me off when he didn’t explain them—like I’m supposed to just get those words he used.” He groans. “I shouldn’t have called you. You’re busy—”

  “Where are you now?”

  “The library. I’ve got a stack of books in front of me, and frankly, I’m ready to rip them apart with my teeth. Dude. I usually only rip off beer tops with my teeth.”

  I bite back a smile at the image of him and Addison disgruntled in the library. “Books are expensive, and it’s not their fault. Take a breath. Wait for me.” Auditorily is not the way Corey learns. He needs to see my face, and I can draw some diagrams . . .

  “Would you really come?”

  “I can’t have your black holes dream dashed, so yes.”

  He yells, “I told you she would, Addison!”

  She squeals in the background, and I hear him rustling back to me. “I . . . shit, Ms. Riley . . . thank you, thank you. I swear I won’t drink this weekend just for you, just in case you ever need a kidney,” he says.

  After getting off the call with him, I grab my purse, then pull out several twenties and leave them on Aunt Clara’s counter.

  Her mouth twitches. “Hate to miss whatever color your hair turns out, but go and save little Corey.”

  I run a quick brush through my hair.

  “Can I come?” Topher calls out as I head to the exit. “I want to watch you in action, and I really want to ride in Red.”

  “Don’t you have to work?”

  He grins. “The Daisy Library is closed today after lunch. Let me be your ride-or-die bitch. I don’t know much about black holes, but I can google on the way there. We can stop and grab some cookies and use my sock as a puppet.”

  Elation swells. Topher is Elena’s BFF, and him wanting to hang out with me makes me giddy. I smile so big it hurts and nudge my head to the car. “Nobody drives her but me,” I say as we walk out.