Not My Romeo (The Game Changers #1)(16)

“Good for her!”

He blinks. “Ma’am. I just wanted to check on you. Jack gave me this job out of the goodness of his heart, and I don’t want to mess up.” He pauses. “He said to tell you he’s sorry.”

“He’s sorry? Oh my God! The nerve of him to send you to apologize.”

Young James Bond fidgets. “Most girls Jack dates are happy—”

My anger races up. “You aren’t helping the situation here.”

He dips his head, lowering his eyes. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I shouldn’t have said that about other girls. Hasn’t been one here in a very long time.”

Jeez. I need a better look at this guy so I can read his face. I hobble over to my purse and pull out my glasses and slide them on, turning back to check out the young man. All at once, I’m relieved. He looks antsy and uncomfortable.

He clears his throat, keeping those arms crossed in front of him like a soldier.

“You’re security for Jack?”

He gives me a tight nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Please stop calling me that. You can’t be much younger than me.”

“Yes, ma’am—sorry. Southern boy. Can’t help it. May I run out and grab you something? Or call you in breakfast downstairs? The staff here is phenomenal.” He keeps those eyes off me, and I feel at ease.

My stomach rumbles, growling, and I sigh. This is not the time to be hungry. “I’m sorry; I missed your name?”

He sticks his hand out. “Quinn. I’m here for whatever you need.”

I give him a firm handshake. “And Jack? Where did he run off to?”

He gives me an odd look, as if I should know. “Uh, he’s at the stadium. Big press conference today and all.”

“I see.” My mind churns, recalling his powerful body, those tightly roped muscles. Stadium means either hockey or football in Nashville, and since Jack said his girlfriend dumped him for a hockey player . . .

“I guess football keeps early hours.”

He gives me a big smile. “He’s the hardest-working quarterback in the league. A real legend. Brought Nashville four AFC championships since he was drafted. He finished the regular season with four thousand one hundred and four yards passing, five hundred and fifty-one yards rushing, and thirty-one touchdowns. I know we haven’t won a Super Bowl yet, but that isn’t all on him. This next season is the one. I can feel it.” He blushes.

“Uh-huh.” Sounds Greek to me. “Go on. I love football stats. What else has Jack done?”

He gives me an odd look, but you can tell he wants to talk about Jack. “Well, people are still sore about our loss to Pittsburgh this year, but it takes a team to win. We need better guys on defense. He just gets a bad rap because of his past.”

“I know. His past. Man, it follows him everywhere. Such a shame.” I look expectantly at Quinn, who’s nodding along with me.

“Right! So what if he got a DUI once and was benched. That was years ago. I mean, come on; at twenty-two he got a twenty-four-million signing bonus, fifteen more million than the quarterback that played before him. He made some mistakes. That kind of money can mess with a kid who never had a pot to piss in.” He grimaces, as if he’s said too much.

Indeed.

“I see. When was the Super Bowl?”

He starts. “Last month, ma’am. You didn’t watch?”

“Missed it.”

He gives me a disappointed look, as if I’ve failed horribly. “That’s a shame.”

I keep the dawning realization of who Jack is off my face. A jock. A freaking athlete! A famous one who makes millions!

It’s so ridiculous that it must be on my face, because Quinn frowns.

“You okay, Miss?”

“Call me Elena, please. I insist,” I say absently, trying to come up with how to glean more info from Quinn.

“So back to Jack. How did he seem when he left this morning?”

Quinn hesitates. “A little tired, maybe. He’s got a lot on his mind. You know what he’s dealing with. The media hates him and for no good reason. He’s one of the kindest people I know. He took care of that kid that got hurt and even paid all his medical expenses, although he’d never tell anyone.”

Kind? He lied to me and took my underpants!

Kid? What kid?

I straighten my shoulders. I’m not leaving this place until I figure out exactly who Jack is and why he . . . why he . . . I bite my lip . . . he made me feel so . . . beautiful.

Whatever. He deceived me, and that trumps everything.

My stomach rumbles. “When’s he coming back?”

“Not sure he will. He usually stays at his other place. You can hang out here as long as you like.”

Oh, I see. This is the fuck palace. I do my best to hide my simmering emotions.

“Well, Quinn, does Jack keep his fridge stocked?” I’m already marching into the space, flinging open the French-style stainless steel fridge.

He tags along behind me. “I keep it up for him. If you’re okay, I’ll just go.”

My eyes glaze over when I see eggs, green peppers, and a drawer full of premium cheese.

“Oh, Quinn,” I sigh. “There’s gouda here. And dang . . . fresh spinach.” I squeal. It feels like centuries since dinner. Plus, I’ve practically run a marathon since then. “You hungry?”