Not My Match Page 3

  What’s his deal?

  The football guys joke around me all the time.

  Aiden watches me drain the glass. “I didn’t mean to hit you in the face. Sorry, Giselle. I didn’t even realize it was you until you landed on the floor.”

  I glance at Devon, who’s taken a couple of steps back to lean against the wall. He has his phone out, seeming to have forgotten about me. Good.

  “I didn’t know it was you either,” I murmur.

  He leans in closer. “Dude. Your date left with some brunette. Hope it wasn’t a love connection.”

  I laugh. “Guess he found a little filly to take home.”

  He guffaws.

  “He said he’d let me play with his bridles and spurs. I half expected him to whip out a . . . whip.”

  Aiden roars with laughter as I recount the date, reciting Rodeo’s words about his God-given talent and his angry-sex suggestion, all the way to his offer of putting organic blueberries on pancakes. When I finish, he wipes a tear from his eye. “What a douche.”

  “She met him on some app,” Devon growls, stuffing his phone in his jeans.

  “Perfectly acceptable,” I reply coolly.

  “You can do better.”

  “I’m not Nashville’s sexiest woman!”

  “You’re not unattractive!” He glares at me.

  Well. I blow out a breath.

  There’s several ticks of silence as Aiden looks at him, then back at me, a thoughtful expression on his face. He taps his fingers on the table, seeming to come to a decision. “So about these fireworks. How do you feel about—”

  Devon straightens up from the wall, moving faster than I anticipated, and slaps a heavy hand on Aiden’s broad shoulders. “Give it up, Alabama. She’s off limits.”

  My spine straightens. Off limits?

  Back in February when I was engaged, yes, but now that I’m single?

  Aiden brushes Devon’s hand off and flashes me a grin so big it looks like his cheeks might crack. When he speaks, his words are directed to Devon, but he’s looking at me like I’m a slice of pie. “If you think I give one rat’s ass what Jack Hawke thinks about who I talk to, then you need to check yourself. I was the Tigers’ first-round pick in the draft—”

  “You aren’t special, pup,” Devon growls.

  “And no one, even the team captain, tells me who I can chat up,” Aiden adds. “He isn’t even here. We’re in the middle of training camp, and he’s at the beach.”

  “He’ll be back, asshole, and he’ll punch you, injured arm or not,” Devon snaps. “Or I can do it now.”

  Competitive athletes. So. Much. Testosterone.

  They bicker, then toss back beers in the next heartbeat.

  “Tell me more about this off-limits decree from Jack?” I say in my calmest voice to Aiden, attempting to hide my building anger.

  He gives me a disarming smile. Underneath the country-boy charm, he’s smooth as silk. “Now, don’t be upset. Jack gave the team ‘the talk’ a while back. ‘Keep your meaty paws off Elena’s sister, or I will demolish you’ is pretty much how it went down.”

  I put two and two together fast. No doubt Elena told Jack I’m a virgin; then toss in the broken engagement, and Jack’s trying to protect me, and I appreciate the concern . . . but come on, am I that fragile?

  Jesus. What if he told the whole team I’m a virgin? No, no, he wouldn’t, right? If he did, I’m going to . . . my chest tightens with tension. Shaking my head, I shove the idea away. I’m jumping to conclusions.

  “I’m a big girl, Aiden. Trust your instincts. Isn’t that what big football players do?” I bat my lashes.

  Aiden gives me a surprised glance, one that turns heated, and I smile because yes, the geek knows how to flirt.

  “Aiden,” Devon warns.

  “What?” he replies, gazing at me.

  “Stop eye-fucking her.”

  “Shut it, Dev. This is my regular look. We’re having a moment here.”

  “Are we?” I ask, my tone dry.

  Aiden holds my gaze. “Oh, hell yeah.”

  Devon lets out a grunt just as his cell buzzes.

  I refuse to look at him. Part of me is enjoying pushing his buttons. I get that he’s Jack’s mouthpiece, but the mere idea of a group of men discussing my love life makes me want to throw a table—or a football player.

  Aiden grabs my phone, asks for my passcode, and, once he gets it, types in his number. “Those are my digits. Call me. We can recreate the Fourth of July”—he winks—“or we can watch some good horror movies. Lady’s choice.”

  “I love horror but prefer sci-fi.”

  His blue eyes gleam. “Hmm. Sci-fi and fireworks in a movie. You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  It takes me two seconds. “Independence Day with Will Smith?”

  “I like you.” He gives me a fist bump. “Love that movie. Let’s do it.”

  I let the hammer fall but soften it with a smile. “I see what you’re doing. You think messing with me would screw with Jack and his season as quarterback. You really would do anything for that first-string spot, wouldn’t you?”

  A slow blush crawls up his neck to his face as he grimaces. “I want that position, yes, and it will be mine someday—”

  “No time soon,” Devon growls. “Jack’s at the top of his game. His shoulder will be fine in a few weeks.”

  Aiden flips him off without even glancing at him. “I also think you’re fucking hot.”

  I arch my brow. I’m a tall skinny girl with no breasts, and my nose is a hair too long. Maybe I have good cheekbones and nice blue eyes, but I tend to dress like my mother. The sexiest clothing items I own are a pair of frayed denim shorts and a pink thong I bought on impulse. Neither are appropriate for a serious grad student.

  “Yeah, me and you,” Aiden says huskily and spears me with what I’m sure is his most intense, mesmerizing, come-to-me-baby-doll eyes.

  Devon throws up his hands. “The bullshit in here is deep.”

  “Go check on your waitstaff, Dev. You’re down a few servers tonight,” Aiden quips back.

  “What about those twins from the wedding? Won’t they get mad?” I ask Aiden. We’re both ignoring Devon.

  Aiden grabs my hand. “I barely remember their names.”

  I shake my head, laughing as I disentangle our clasp. “I adore you, but tell someone who believes that lie.”

  Aiden clutches his chest. “Come on; you’re not taking me seriously. You were engaged when we first met, and this is my chance. Consider this our meet-cute, and go from there.” He pauses, his tone serious. “I have this event at the mall next week. Something my agent set up. I really hate going alone. You wouldn’t believe the women who throw themselves at me.”

  “Sounds awful,” I deadpan.

  “You wanna go?”

  “Fight off your pantie-throwing fans in the middle of some smelly sports store in the mall?” I pause. “I could be persuaded with food and a good cabernet.”

  “Enough,” Devon calls and storms over, his eyes flitting between us, seeming to measure the distance between our faces.

  Aiden chuckles and leans back in his chair. “You’re a piece of work, man.”

  “What does that mean?” Devon grouses.

  Aiden narrows his eyes at him, pushing out his lips, and I can tell there’s something on the tip of his tongue.

  “Spit it out, Alabama,” Devon mutters.

  They seem to share a long look, one with meaning I have no clue about, but I imagine it has to do with the fact that even though the three of them are friends, Devon and Jack go way back, and Aiden is the new guy on the team and ambitious as heck. He wants to be the star quarterback, and Jack’s in his way.

  “Nothing, man, nothing,” is what Aiden settles on.

  Devon crosses his arms. “You said the party at your place starts at nine. You’re supposed to supply beer. I’m guessing you haven’t gotten it yet. Maybe you should.”

  Aiden huffs. “Plenty of time.
” He glances at me. “You had dinner yet?”

  “No.”

  “Want to grab something?”

  I am starving, but . . . “Ah, um . . . well, let me—”

  “She’s having dinner with me,” Devon says, and I can barely keep my mouth from dropping open.

  “Well, well,” Aiden murmurs as he takes in Devon. With a subtle shift of his shoulders, Aiden turns to me and shakes his head in disappointment. “Maybe next time, Giselle.”

  Devon pulls him up by his arm. “I want Guinness. You drink Bud Light. Hollis likes Fat Tire. Sounds like a lot of beer. Best go find it.”

  “Party?” I ask.

  Aiden rolls his shoulders. “We’re watching an MMA fight. Dudes only, I’m afraid, or you’d definitely be invited.”

  Then, he directs a long look at Devon, one that screams try and stop me and leans down to kiss my cheek. He brushes past Devon with a smirk and sends me a wave as he mouths call me before he exits.

  With a silly grin, I watch him go. Of course I won’t call him. He’s fun and sweet and a huge flirt, but there’s no tug toward Aiden, no push-and-pull connection—not like with someone I know. Who’s really pissing me off.

  A text from Topher pops up on my phone asking if I need anything and saying that he’s sorry he bailed on me at the bar, explaining he’s outside on a call with a coworker who’s having an emergency. I type out a reply, briefly explaining that the date was a bust.

  The entire time, silence rings loudly in the room, reverberating and growing. I feel Devon’s eyes on me even before I move.

  After tucking my phone back in my computer bag, I stand and face him, our gazes locking.

  One, two, three, four, five—and he breaks, dropping his focus to somewhere over my shoulder.

  “Dinner, huh? Don’t manipulate me like that again. I can handle Aiden. Topher’s outside waiting for me, and I’m leaving.”

  “Fine.”

  He wasn’t even serious about dinner! My fists curl.

  He sighs. “Giselle. If you need someone to talk to about dating . . .” The words are dragged out of him, and he grimaces, his muscular body striding to me, then halting, as if he doesn’t want to get too close. “Look, I don’t mean to butt in, but Aiden isn’t someone you should . . .” He scrubs the shadow on his jawline.

  If I weren’t annoyed, I’d feel sorry for him. It’s plain as day the man doesn’t know what to do with me.

  “He enjoys yanking Jack’s chain; I get it—but a girl has needs, Devon.”

  His lips part. “Giselle—”

  I cut him off. “Thank you for the ice pack and getting me away from Rodeo, but no more of this telling me who I can see or how I meet them. I’m a grown woman.”

  “Wait a minute, now,” he says as I make a move to sweep past him. He grabs my elbow, and I shiver at the licks of fire that trace up my limb. Stupid arm. I should chop it off. Why does it like him?

  “Giselle.” His eyes drop to my mouth.

  The way he says my name, raspy and low, gives me pause, and my breath snags in my throat.

  “I know you’re a woman . . .” He stops, seeming to search for words until he notices his hand on my arm and releases me. Then takes a full step back. A long exhalation comes from his chest. “Sorry.”

  He is acting so . . . strange. First the wedding, and now this.

  Nerves hit as I contemplate my next words. “When Jack said I was off limits, did he give a reason?”

  “Jack is your new brother-in-law, and he’s a protective guy. He doesn’t trust us.” He pauses. “Don’t be angry at him.”

  “That’s for me to decide. So he didn’t say anything else—about me personally?”

  Devon’s face shutters, his demeanor stiffening. He tucks his hands in his pockets.

  “Devon?”

  His green eyes lower, shielding his gaze. “Look, can we talk later? I’ve had a hell of a day and need to get going.”

  He’s brushing me off.

  My heart hammers, unease curling as thoughts tumble through my head. I shouldn’t be embarrassed to be a virgin. Plenty of people are. I am a sexual person. I can pen a scene between a tall sexy alien warrior and his earth girl that curls my toes, but still, the thought lingers that maybe I’m—

  “I’m not frigid,” I mutter.

  He freezes mid hair rake. “What does that have to do with anything? I didn’t mean what I said earlier. You misinterpreted—”

  “I’m a virgin!”

  Every second that goes by without him saying anything, just him staring at me as if I slapped him with a two-by-four, is drenched in tension. He inhales a sharp breath. Curses. Several times.

  “Everyone out!” Devon yells, pointing to the people at the back of the room. They take one look at his face, grab their drinks, and shuffle out of the room.

  I watch it all with bated breath. “He told you, didn’t he?” I whisper.

  “Giselle—”

  “I asked you a question. Courtesy demands you answer me.” My hands clench, waiting, waiting . . .

  He wipes at his mouth, then slides his hand down to rub the shadow on his chin. “Yes.”

  Chapter 3

  DEVON

  Giselle Riley has gone off the deep end.

  Ninety-nine percent of the time, the girl is straight-up prim and proper, all the way from her little topknot to her heels. Nothing ruffles her. After that asshole Preston cheated on her, she never uttered one unkind word about him. I’ve never heard her curse or seen her with her hair down.

  And there it is now, tawny-gold-and-white strands shining and cascading down her back like a blonde waterfall, the ends drifting below her slim shoulders. It’s the kind of hair a man wants to wrap around his hand.

  Is it any wonder I can’t stop staring?

  Who is this girl?

  Her cheeks are twin spots of color, her silvery-blue eyes snapping as she paces around on her bare feet. She shoves her glasses up to her head and pivots and comes back and stops in front of me. She’s breathing rapidly, and her damp shirt draws my eyes, the points of her nipples pushing through her lacy bra as her chest heaves. She’s got small tits, but enough for me to look at. I bite back a suggestion on the tip of my tongue that she put her jacket back on. At this rate, she’ll slap me.

  I almost want her to. It might make me stop staring at her like an idiot.

  Jack is going to flip when he knows I blabbed, but he can fuck right off. He’s on his honeymoon, and here I am doing damage control with his slightly insane family. Perfect.

  “I knew it!” she calls. “You’ve been acting off, and now you think I’m even more boring and weird than you did before. I’m going to strangle him when he gets back from Hawaii!” She mimics throttling someone. “I hope a shark takes his throwing arm right off.”

  Jesus.

  “I never thought you were weird!” Why am I yelling? “And you’re the least boring person I know!” I toss in.

  Her eyes sparkle like lightning in a storm. “Oh, I can picture it now, him in the locker room, giving you guys the lowdown, talking about poor innocent Giselle and how she’s never . . .” Her full bottom lip trembles for half a second before she sucks it in and straightens her spine. “It’s wrong. And personal.”

  I hold my hands out. “It wasn’t everyone, okay? It’s just me who knows that part.”

  She stops in her tracks. “Just you?”

  “Only me—”

  “Ah! He leaves it with you to make sure everyone falls in line. Do you always take orders from Jack?”

  I groan. “He trusts me, Giselle! I’m his best friend! Aiden doesn’t know, which is why you should beware around him. If he knew the truth”—I cringe, not really quite sure what the unpredictable ass might do—“I’m sure he would stay far away.” He better. “I may need to sit him down for a serious talk.” And box his ears.

  Red flames on her face. “You’d tell him? Just take out a banner in the paper, Devon; post it on Insta!” Lifting up on her toes,
she gets up in my face, which doesn’t take much. She’s tall and willowy. Little puffs of angry air come from her chest. Steely eyes glare at me, and her pouty mouth purses as she pushes a finger into my chest. She smells good—not that heavy flowery stuff, but light and sweet and fresh, like after a soft rain in the spring, and how could I have missed how creamy her skin is, that peaches-and-cream color, translucent—

  I shake myself as her words dawn in my thick skull.

  “I’d never tell him! Good God! It’s not my place. I just meant . . .” Why can’t I say the right thing around her? She’s always made me uneasy. Too smart. Too something.

  My phone goes off again, but I can’t move a muscle. It’s the crazy girl in front of me who has my attention. She pokes me in the chest again, and I grab her finger and tug her in closer.

  “You trying to tickle me?” I arch a brow, trying to defuse her anger.

  She blinks, as if just realizing how close she is, and licks her lips. “No.”

  Her chest presses me, those pert little boobs soft and—wait, what was I saying . . . ? “I’m not going to tell anyone, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s admirable that you’re saving yourself—”

  She cuts me off, but at least her voice has lowered, rather hiss-like. “Stop patronizing me. You know nothing about my reasons, Devon.”

  “I didn’t want to know,” I mutter as she finally pulls out of my grasp and flips around to start pacing again.

  “I wish he’d never told me,” I tell her rigid back.

  But boy, did the info cool my jets. When we first met, she was engaged, but since then, the thought of her spread out on my bed has crossed my dirty mind. I’m male. She has a way that gets under your skin, and before you know it, you’re in the shower, thinking about her in those big glasses, pearls, heels, and nothing else—

  I shake my head at the unreasonable image. Blasphemy. She’s like a pal. One I can’t touch. There’s a clear thick line drawn between us.

  She scoffs as she drifts back over to me, her lips still pursed, and the image is seared in my brain, her heaving chest, the heart-shaped face, the swish of her legs under the skirt. She’s graceful and smooth, as if she took one of those deportment classes on how to carry yourself. Etiquette, probably.