“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.