Game On: The Friend Zone Part 12

"And a girlfriend?" I can't help but ask. "You ever have one of those?"

"Nah. I've never had the inclination."

"Never?" The word rings hollow in my chest. "That's a tragedy. You'd make someone a great boyfriend."

His cheeks darken, but he shakes his head as if I'm missing the point. "Pretty sure monogamy is a key factor in a relations.h.i.+p."

My spoon clatters to the table. "You'd cheat?"

Gray frowns. "No. Never. But that's kind of the point. I've never wanted to stay with just one girl, so why put myself in that situation?"

"I guess that makes sense." The hollowness grows. Which is ridiculous. Gray's an awesome friend, and that's all I need.

"What about you?" he asks far too casually, as if this conversation has grown uncomfortable for him too, but he can no more stop than I can. "I'm guessing you're pro-boyfriend."

"That such a bad thing? I'm not into hookups."

He flashes a quick, tight smile. "I can see you, Miss Monogamous, going through a string of boyfriends."

I roll my eyes. "I've had one boyfriend, smart a.s.s. Senior year of high school."

Gray's brows lift. "One boyfriend? That's it?"

"Yep." I steal his beer and take a long sip. He watches me do it, amus.e.m.e.nt dancing in his eyes. It hits me anew, the way he makes me feel utterly at home, yet excited. Which is strange; we're just sitting here, talking and eating. And all I want to do is drink in the sight of him, the way the corners of his mouth curve upward in a perpetual little smile, the strong cords of his neck, or how his evening beard dusts his jaw like raw sugar glinting in the lamplight. My tongue can almost imagine how it would feel to lick that stubble-rough, delicious.

Wait. What? No. There will be no licking of Gray's jaw. As if he notices my sudden flush, he peers at me, inspecting my face. "What?" I ask in a sad attempt to escape my inappropriate thoughts.

"Nothing." Gray gives the back of his neck a scratch, and I ignore his flexing muscles. "I just find it hard to believe you've been single all this time. You're...well... You're great."

"Thanks, Cupcake," I say in the face of his blush. It's cute. And because he's Gray, I feel comfortable enough to tell him the truth. "I've had guys interested. But it soon becomes apparent that they were just as interested in my dad, or rather, who he knew. It would always come up. Could I get them tickets to such-and-such sporting event? Did I know Peyton Manning? Or Eli? Was that really my dad in a picture with LeBron James? Had I met him? And when I answer yes, it's all they can think about." I shrug. "I know, I know, hard problems to have."

"That's not what I'm thinking," Gray says softly, his expression somber. "I was thinking that those f.u.c.kers missed out."

Again I shrug and pick at my food, unable to face Gray just then.

"So," Gray says, "this high school boyfriend not into sports?"

"He was. But his father was a record producer so he had his share of fame."

Gray's brows rise and I feel the need to explain further. "We lived in Manhattan at the time. Life is kind of different there."

"I bet."

Not wanting to go on with my tired, poor-little-rich-girl tale, I hurry to finish it. "My boyfriend was fine. We hung out. He took my virginity. The act sucked enough that I didn't ask for a repeat. I left for college. End of story."

"Sounds awesome," Gray deadpans.

I leave that one alone.

"No one in college or London, either?" Gray presses, looking shocked.

I resist the urge to toss my spoon. "I met guys, sure. But no one that I wanted to start a relations.h.i.+p with, okay?"

"Okay." He says it as though he's placating me. Which makes me want to snarl more. But I don't.

So we eat. Until Gray starts s.h.i.+fting in his seat, getting antsy, his thumb tapping out an agitated rhythm on the table.

"What now?" I ask him.

Gray bites down on his lush bottom lip then blurts out, "If you're not into hook ups, and you haven't had a boyfriend in five years..."

I snort. "Are you trying to ask about my s.e.x life, Cupcake?"

It's cute the way his nose wrinkles. "Please tell me I'm wrong in thinking you haven't had s.e.x in all this time."

"You're not wrong, Gray."

The room goes silent as he gapes at me.

Annoyance crawls along my skin. "G.o.d. Your expression. You look like I'm in danger of damaging my v.a.g.i.n.a."

"Not damaging it, but maybe depressing it. This revelation sure as h.e.l.l is depressing my d.i.c.k." He visibly shudders.

I throw a napkin at him and it skims his head, making his hair stick up. "For Pete's sake, Gray, it's no big deal. I'm not suffering. Or," I talk over him because his mouth opens to make another protest, "abstaining because of some greater purpose. I'm not waiting for a husband, or afraid of d.i.c.k, or whatever. It just is what it is. I've been busy with school and-"

"No one is too busy for s.e.x, Mac."

"Oh, please, I'm only twenty-two. I've fooled around with guys, done plenty of things to satisfy me just fine. I just haven't got to the point of having s.e.x again. And, anyway, five years isn't that long..."

"It's long enough. What are you waiting for? Your lady-parts to go on strike and completely shut down? I've heard it happens."

His scoffing hurts. Everything hurts suddenly, as if he's ripped off a bandage and taken a good chunk of skin with it.

"So you're saying I ought to go out there"-I wave a hand toward the door-"right now and find a guy to f.u.c.k before my lady-parts stop working? You know, you're right. That's a brilliant idea."

At this, Gray's brows rise as his lips part. "What? No, I'm not telling you to go f.u.c.k someone right now." He actually looks appalled. "Just that-"

"That what?" I snap, leaning forward. "You've made it abundantly clear that I'm a sorry sack for not having had endless s.e.x all this time."

Gray's ma.s.sive hands slap the table between us. "I'm just saying that s.e.x is awesome, so excuse me if I'm shocked that you're going without it. If it were up to me, I'd do it ten times a day."

And I can picture it, Gray s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g an endless parade of girls. "Tell me something this entire town doesn't know, Gray." As soon as the words lash out of my mouth, horror floods me. The feeling grows when Gray's head snaps back as if I've slapped him, his skin leaching of color.

"What the h.e.l.l is that supposed to mean?" he whispers.

But we both know. A sick lurch goes through my stomach, and I stand, my chair sc.r.a.ping across the floor. "I shouldn't have said that." I run my hand over my eyes as I back away. "I have to go."

Gray stands as well, his face a mask of outrage and hurt. "Go? It's your f.u.c.king house. Where the f.u.c.k are you going?"

I'm already halfway out of the kitchen, headed for the hall. "I've got to get some air, okay?" I'm losing control, a rarity. And one I avoid because I usually say something I later regret.

"Ivy," Gray shouts.

"Just lock up behind you."

"f.u.c.k this." Gray's snarl is the only warning I get before his hand wraps around my arm. He's angry. Clearly hurt too. Yet when he spins me around, his touch is careful, as if he absolutely knows his own strength and will never use it against me.

"What the f.u.c.k, Ivy?" His blue eyes are denim dark beneath the slashes of his brows. "You just say that s.h.i.+t and then walk out on me?"

"I'm sorry," I blurt out, the back of my throat p.r.i.c.kling. "I have to... s.h.i.+t. I'm judging you, Gray. And I don't want to do that."

His grip tightens. "So don't."

"I can't help it. And what the h.e.l.l? You're judging too."

His lips purse but he doesn't let go. "Because it's stupid, you not having s.e.x. Stupid to make it more than it needs to be."

"I can't be like you, like my dad. I can't treat s.e.x like it's nothing-"

"Not nothing," he interjects, his brows still furrowed. "Just not some holy event that you need to send out invitations to. It can be simple, you know. Dirty, hot f.u.c.king."

Hearing Gray's deep, creamy voice say those words is not what I need right now. Not when they lick along the back of my neck and cause a hot little s.h.i.+ver to break out over my skin. I ignore the sensation in favor of anger. It's easier than useless longing.

"It's always 'f.u.c.king' to you. A basic act, like getting a bite to eat or playing football-"

"Now, that I resent," he says with a bit of levity. "Football is a holy act."

"Right." I wrench out of his grip. "Football means more to you than being intimate with someone." He snorts, his eyes rolling at the term intimate as if it's a joke, and I poke his rock-hard chest with my finger. "Right there. That disdain. What's wrong with intimacy? What's wrong with treating the act as something more? You're taking all the beauty out of it. All the meaning."

"And right there is your problem," Gray snaps, his own long finger poking back at my shoulder. "You're building it up so high in your mind that any guy who dares try with you is doomed to fail under the weight of your expectations."

"Of all the asinine, ridiculous..." I lean in, my breath coming in hard pants as I struggle not to wring his thick neck. "You dare to lecture me on wanting more? Why should I listen to you, of all people?" A dark flush works over his face, and I know I should stop, I know I'm being unfair, but I've snapped. "You, who lets a s.k.a.n.ky stripper suck you off while your friends watch, and then laughs about it afterward. Ever heard of VD? You can get that from oral, you know."

"Stop," he whispers, his eyes going gla.s.sy.

But I can't. Ugliness is a river pouring out of me. I think of my dad cheating on my mom, of how I felt tonight, watching those girls hang on Gray. "Maybe you don't care who it is you f.u.c.k. But I'm not like that. I need more. And if you can't understand that, well...tough s.h.i.+t!"

He lashes out, grabbing my upper arms and hauling me into his chest. Strong arms wrap around me, as my nose crushes into the hard swell of his pecs. He squeezes me as if he needs to contain my words, my judgment.

"Stop it, Ivy," he says, loud, desperate. "Please. Please, I can't fight with you." His voice is broken now. "Not you."

The full impact of what I've said to him hits me. Horror, thick and dark, rushes up my throat on a strangled cry. "Oh G.o.d, Gray." I wrap my arms around his waist and hold onto to him. "I'm so sorry. I'm so f.u.c.king sorry."

He's stroking my head, as though I deserve comfort. I want to crawl into a hole and stay there.

"I didn't mean it, Gray." I s.h.i.+ver, burrowing closer, my fingers digging into the loose fall of his T-s.h.i.+rt. "I hate myself."

"Yeah, well, I'm not too happy with you, or me, right now either." Gray sighs, his hold becoming more secure. A soft touch on the top of my head, a gentle kiss. "But it's okay. It's okay."

"It's not." I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe in the clean, comforting scent of Gray. "You're my friend, and I hurt you. I never want to do that."

Standing as we are, not an inch of s.p.a.ce between us, I notice the warmth of his body, the utter strength of it. When he holds me, I'm safe, enveloped.

"It's over." His lips press into my temple. "And I'm sorry too. I was being an a.s.shole, getting on you for stupid s.h.i.+t."

We're quiet then until Gray sighs, easing impossibly closer, his big hand slowly stroking up and down my spine. Comfort. That's what he's seeking. But I'm no longer thinking of comfort because awareness has set in, of his tight abdomen against mine, the bulge of his c.o.c.k nestled against my s.e.x. He isn't hard, but it's there, obvious and substantial, causing me to think about things that should never enter my head.

Deep within my belly, I clench, heat whispering over my skin. I want to melt into him, stay there all day. I want to open my legs, have him fill that lonely s.p.a.ce in between them. If I tilt my chin, my lips will brush the satiny curve where his neck meets his shoulder. I want to lick that spot, taste it and bite it. I don't want to think of other girls doing the same.

My heart stops. All my anger-the vicious words I'd said-is fueled by jealousy. I am jealous of those faceless, nameless women.

Shame is a lump in my throat, the p.r.i.c.king burn behind my lids. I lashed out because of jealousy, and it's so wrong of me. I'm so f.u.c.king screwed, and I don't know what to say to make it right. "Gray..."

"I don't want you to have s.e.x like I've been doing it, Ivy," he says with sudden heat. "It ought to mean something. For you. It ought to be good like that."

My heart hurts at the hollowness in his voice, and I spread my hand against his lower ribs, holding him. "Why can't it be like that for you too? Why the endless hook ups?"

Because we're so close, I feel the tension snake up his back. "It just..." He swallows hard. "I guess I keep waiting for the one who will make me want to stop."

"Stop having s.e.x?" I'm chilled to the bone, my heart thudding against my ribs. And I'm such a hypocrite because the thought of him not wanting to have s.e.x again is horrific.

My hair musses as he shakes his head. "Stop moving on to the next girl." His chest expands on a breath. "Ivy, I love women, and I love s.e.x. But you're right. It doesn't mean anything to me other than quick pleasure. I don't care who it is. I don't remember their names. s.h.i.+t, I am as bad as you said."

He sounds so despondent that I give him a squeeze. "No, Gray. Please don't say that. Can we just... I wish I could take back our fight."

Slowly, he eases away from me, though his arms remain loosely wrapped around my shoulders. It takes us both a moment to meet each other's eyes. It's awkward, and his expression is twisted as though he's tasted something foul. My fault. But he forces a smile. "Hey, we're good." He pats my hair with a clumsiness unlike him, his thumb hitting my cheekbone and nearly poking me in the eye. "It wouldn't be normal if we never fought."

Wincing a bit, I grasp his forearms and hold on. Because I can't keep my hands off him, apparently. "This is true."

Gray studies me, his blue gaze unnerving. The air between us is too thick, and I can't breathe properly. A crease grows between his brows, as if he can see my guilt and the fact that I am fighting not to rise up on my toes and press my mouth to his soft lips. f.u.c.k. A. Duck.

G.o.d help me if he really knew what I was thinking. He'd probably run out the door. But he doesn't move. Not yet. No, he presses his forehead to mine, cupping my cheeks in his ma.s.sive palms. It warms me all over.

"I'm going to go now," he tells me after a moment. "Gotta get up early for a h.e.l.l practice."

"Okay."

But he doesn't go. He seems closer, his breath mingling with mine, brus.h.i.+ng over my parted lips. It's too quiet. His fingers twitch, gripping me harder. And then he lets go so abruptly that I almost stumble. Gray's smile is wide, maybe too wide. He's backing up, maneuvering around a chair.

"Night, Special Sauce."

I give him a smile back. False. Strained. f.u.c.ked up. That's me, f.u.c.ked-up Ivy. "Night, Cupcake."

Ten.