Devon lets out a long sigh, his gaze following mine. “Trust me; he’s watching now that he knows you’re here. Jack never misses anything.”

I signal for another water, taking a long sip on the straw. Topher and company are still dancing, the song “Greased Lightning,” and I’m betting Topher talked the DJ into it. Topher sees Devon next to me, his grinning face telling me he knows who Devon is. I grimace and hold my hands up. What are the odds? my face says. He blows me a kiss.

“Your bestie?” Devon asks.

I nod.

“Jack’s my best friend, has been since college days; plus we live together. We’re brothers in a sense, I guess. I’d do anything for him.”

“Escorting women out of the VIP?”

He grimaces. “It wasn’t like that. He was protecting you. If reporters knew he was seeing you, trust me, they might not leave you alone.”

“Were reporters in there?”

“No, but people in there might talk. He doesn’t trust easy, especially Aiden.”

I order another water and sigh, feeling let down about Jack—about how different he was tonight.

He settles in next to me, concentration on his face, as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “Also, he did not give me details about last night. He just wanted to know who you really were. In fact, I’ve never seen him—”

“I’m no one.” I shrug.

Devon nods. “Tell me—did Jack leave you his cell number?”

“Yes.” I guess he did.

“He never does that. I bet five people have that number.” He waggles his brows.

“Well, I’m not calling him.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I won’t.”

“Sure, sure.”

“I’ll thump you again.”

He grins and checks his watch.

“You late for somewhere?”

“No. Just waiting.”

“For Jack?”

He gives me a hesitant nod. “Yeah, he wants to talk to you. He told me to get you out of there. He doesn’t like Aiden talking to you. Thin ice there.”

“Oh.”

He nods. “Think about it. Football players at the top get there because number one, we’re talented as hell; number two, we’re highly competitive; and number three, we all want that glory and the money. It’s a team sport, but you’re always looking out for yourself. Alabama wants to bring Jack down hard and take his spot.” He clinks his beer with my water glass and leans down. “Dance with me. I love this song.”

“Really? Who sings it?” It’s Sam Smith’s “I’m Not the Only One.”

He rolls his eyes and takes my hand. “Who cares? Let’s just dance.”

He tugs on my hand until I agree—he’s like a sweet puppy—and leads me out to the dance floor.

Devon takes me in his arms, his hands on my waist, mine on his shoulders, and we sway to the slow song. He keeps a respectable distance and stares down at me, a look of bemusement on his face.

“What?” I ask.

He just smiles, his teeth a flash of white on his tanned face, and like Jack, I guess he’s outdoors a lot. “I see why he likes you. You’re really an open book, you know. Your face says exactly what you’re thinking. No guile. No subterfuge. When you were, um, asking for your panties, it was refreshing . . . to see him flummoxed. Women flock to him, and all they say is ‘Yes, Jack, whatever you want, Jack.’” He chuckles. “After you’ve been around as many women as we have, you figure out the real ones.”

His large hands drift to my lower back, close to my ass. I give him side-eye. “Watch it there, Mohawk.”

He laughs. “Also, I give him sixty seconds before he’s down here.”

I blow at a piece of my hair. “You’re convinced that he cares that I’m dancing with you? Please. Let’s make a bet. A buck he doesn’t show.”

“Damn, I like you. Okay, you’re on.”

I count to sixty in my head, and the song changes to another slow one. “He isn’t here. Not that I wanted him to be. You owe me.”

Devon thinks, his gaze going back to that window. “Right. Okay, let’s play it a little meaner. Double or nothing?”

I nod. Why not? For one thing, I do want to see Jack—because hello, panties. I need them back.

Devon arches a brow. “I’m going to play dirty; you feel me?”

Play dirty?

And before I can respond to that, Devon stops our dance, putting my back to the window. Wrapping an arm tight around my waist, he steps in closer. His hand moves my hair, and he kisses my cheek, much like Topher would, yet his lips skate over to my ear. He nips my lobe, and I giggle because it tickles but mostly because the entire time he’s murmuring, counting the seconds. To anyone else, I imagine it appears as if we’re in an embrace and he’s sucking my neck area. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten—”

“Devon!” Jack says from next to us, a good two inches taller than Devon. He scowls as he puts his hand on Devon’s shoulder. “What the hell? I said keep her company, not make out.” His voice is all growly.

Devon lets me go, holding his hands up in a placating manner. “Sorry, man. You said to get her out of there, and a good song came on. Couldn’t stop myself.” He winks at me, sticks his hands in his jeans, and waltzes off the floor. I hear him whistling.

“You can pay me later, Elena,” he calls from the edge of the dance floor as he gives me a jaunty wave. He strolls up to the brunette at the bar and leans his head in. No doubt calling her pretty girl.

Jack looks back at me, his gaze indecipherable as it drifts over me. “Pay you for what?” He shakes his head. “Never mind. Come with me. Let’s find a private room.”

He holds out his hand for me to take, and I stare at it. His tone screams alpha, and every atom inside me vibrates from being near him.

Couples move around us, the beat of the song playing getting faster, matching the pounding of my heart.

“Elena. Come with me. Please,” he adds softly when the tempo of the music grows. “We can’t talk out here. It’s too loud.”

At least I got a please.

“No.” I brush past him and head for the exit of the club. En route, I pull my phone out of my crossbody and type out a text to Topher that I’m heading home. No one expected me to stay as long as they’d planned, so I drove myself. They’ll close this bar and hit a few others.

“Elena, wait,” Jack calls behind me as I weave through the crowd and reach the exit. I feel him behind me, the heat of his skin, the smell of him, spicy with hints of pine and male.

I don’t turn around, but I do see a few girls whipping out their phones ahead of me, snapping pics and probably videoing. I dip my head and stare at the ground. If he’s as hot with the media as everyone says, I don’t want to be part of that, especially when it’s obvious I don’t fit in with his crowd. I recall those “Yes, whatever you want, Jack” willowy creatures in the VIP room.

Yeah, Jack and I don’t go together. That is crystal clear.

Chapter 12

JACK

Fuck.

Why can’t I take my eyes off her heart-shaped ass in those pants as she weaves through the crowd to get away from me?

Away from me.

How long has it been since a woman didn’t want anything to do with me? I can’t remember. I guess middle school, when I was a skinny runt. It wasn’t until I played football that women flocked to me.

She breezes past the crowd and exits, slamming the door behind her, but I’m right behind her. Relief settles over me as I take in the night. Finally, I’m out of that club. I rarely go there anymore, but with Devon’s birthday, I knew it was important I do the mix-and-mingle thing. It’s hard, pushing myself to be “on,” especially with all this other shit going on.

She turns a corner, and I jog. I can’t let her get away from me this time. But I knew I had to get her out of that VIP room, because rumors can start from the smallest thing.

There’s a cold drizzle when I catch up with her on the sidewalk. She doesn’t care, not even whipping out an umbrella as she stalks. She strikes me as the type who doesn’t care that she’s getting wet. I wish I had one for her as I try to keep pace with her, sticking my hands in my pockets.

What do I say?

Shit.

I don’t even know how to talk to a girl these days.

“Where you going?” I start with.

“My car. Home. Away.”

My lips twitch, and I see her throw me a glance.

“What’s so funny? And why are you following me? I have pepper spray, you know.”

I nod. “Good. You shouldn’t be walking to your car alone. I’ll make sure you get there.”

She presses those full lips together. They’re a hot pink tonight, and my eyes invariably go to the upper part, a deep V there, noticing how it gives her a just-kissed look.

“Stop staring at me. I’m a stalker, remember? I followed you to Milano’s and the club.”

I grab her hand, and she stops and looks down at it. I let her go, but at least she’s not walking away from me anymore. “Elena. I’m sorry I said that.”

“Then why did you say those things?”