Game On: The Friend Zone Part 15

I don't want to. My big mouth has gotten me in enough trouble. But mojitos have made me warm and loosened my tongue. "G.o.d, Fi, where to begin? I think about s.e.x. All the time now." About c.o.c.ks. Pus.h.i.+ng into me. Filling me up. Sliding into my mouth. h.e.l.l. "My b.r.e.a.s.t.s feel heavy, my nipples...let's not talk about those." It brings back the restlessness, makes them tingle, and I cuddle the throw pillow closer. It doesn't shut me up, though.

"I ache. So much that my lower belly hurts. h.e.l.l, my freaking thighs feel hot." Annoyed now, I slap a hand against the mattress. "I find myself dreaming of running my thumbs along those grooves on a guy's abdomen. The ones formed by those muscles right over their hips. You know the ones? That form a V." My mouth actually waters thinking about them now.

"Oh," says Fi in an expansive voice, "I know them well." She grins, all cheeky, her brows waggling. "They bracket Victory Lane on the road to c.o.c.ksville."

"Yesterday," I tell her on a sigh, "I ended up staring at a nipple for ten minutes."

Fi's chokes out laugh breaks out. "A nipple?"

"Yeah," I say, despondent. "There was this picture of a s.h.i.+rtless guy in Elle-"

"Oh, a guy's nipple."

"Of course a guy's nipple." I bite my lower lip. "Although I'd probably get turned on by the sight of a woman's nipple too. I mean, b.o.o.bs are s.e.xual and all that."

Fi mutters something under her breath before glancing at me. "Never figured you'd be the type to get enthralled by a dude's nipple."

"Apparently so." Frowning, I pick at the hem of my s.h.i.+rt. "You know, they're just so tiny and hard, like those rivets on jeans?" I ignore her snort. "And I wonder how one would feel against my tongue. Would the guy like it if I licked him there? Would he make a little groan-"

"All right there, Little Miss Spanish Fly, I get the picture."

Sighing, I turned to my side to face her. "Fi, this is serious! It's a problem. I'm hurting here!"

Her cheeks plump on a grin. "Oh, I hear you, Iv. Though I'd say this is more an issue of being unders.e.xed rather than overs.e.xed."

"Under, over, the point is I'm h.o.r.n.y."

"Then go out and have some s.e.x, already."

"I can't." It's a pathetic wail. "I'm not made that way, Fiona. I can't screw just anyone. I need..."

d.a.m.n it all, I don't want to talk about this anymore. My stomach turns with the thought of nameless s.e.x, even as my breath quickens with thought of a hard, male body pressing against me.

"I need to like the guy," I mumble. That's the s.h.i.+ttiest part about it. I want s.e.x so badly my teeth ache. And yet I don't have the guts to go out and get it.

"Hmm..." Ice clinks as Fi swirls her gla.s.s. "You know who you should talk to about this? Gray."

"What?" Heat rushes my face. "Please. No." I wave, my hand nearly slapping my nose in the process. "No way, Fi. Do you want me to die of embarra.s.sment?"

Gray would either smirk and give me the same s.h.i.+t as Fi, or he'd be horrified. Gray has a startling tendency to get prudish on me. G.o.d help me if Fi suggests what I think she will. I can't think about that. I won't.

"Why not? He knows all about s.e.x. He's hot as f.u.c.k. Maybe he could help you out, give you a little friends-with-benefits relief." So she went there.

"Fi! How can you say that?"

"Ow! Volume, Ivy. My d.a.m.n ears are ringing."

Grinding my teeth as my face bursts into flames, I manage to speak. "I cannot believe you said that." Did the heat come on or something? I'm going to burn up from embarra.s.sment. Maybe melt into the bed.

"Oh please. He'd do it, you know he would. Everyone knows the guy will do any hot girl that looks his way."

"Stop," I snap. "Gray isn't some cheap mans.l.u.t." Never again will I let myself or anyone else belittle him.

"He's not?" She doesn't even try to hide her sarcasm.

"No. He's my friend, and I'll thank you not to talk about him that way." I hug my pillow tight. "Never mind that friends-with-bennies has got to be one of the stupidest ideas in history. It never works. Not," I add, "that I'd even consider it. I don't..." A breath puffs out of me. "I'm not going there with Gray."

Just the thought of s.e.x with Gray... Nope, not going to even entertain the idea. s.e.x with him would only lead to trouble. I'm a relations.h.i.+p gal. And I know it would become too much for me, sharing that sort of intimacy and not having Gray as more than a friend. I cling to that fact like I would a life raft.

Her shrug is careless. "Well, then maybe he can hook you up with one of his hot friends."

"I'm not having s.e.x with one of Gray's friends." Everything within me revolts at the idea. It would ruin what I had with Gray. Wouldn't it? And besides, I don't want one of his friends.

"So you don't want a hookup, or to ask Gray to help you out or set you up." Fi glares at me. "What do you want?"

An answer pops into my head before my booze-addled brain can squash it down. But I bite my lips together and refuse to say it. Again, the horrible, squirmy, we-need-some-lovin' heat flares between my legs. "I just want to feel like myself again."

"Good luck with that. h.o.r.n.y doesn't just up and go because you ask it nicely."

"Great." I lift my hands in irritation. "So I what...?"

Fi laughs at me, the jerk. "Become real familiar with your hand."

"Pillow," I correct without thinking.

"What?" Her eyes are wide, her smile scandalized.

"Nothing. I said nothing." f.u.c.king booze. I'm never drinking again.

"Sure you didn't, Miss Hump-and-Pump."

The throw pillow flies out of my hand and whacks her face. "Eew," Fi shouts. "This had better not be the pillow!"

"Better smell it and see."

Fi's answer is to smother me with the pillow and the night devolves from there.

Gray

For the first time before a game, I'm nervous. Usually I'm pumped up, antic.i.p.ation and adrenaline surging through my body. I get off on it, like good s.e.x only with a fine edge of aggression to sharpen the feeling. Out on the field, I can let myself go. Let out all the anger, hurt, frustration of life. And yet it never really feels like rage. It's a battle, sure, but there's love too. I f.u.c.king love this game. The intensity. The pain. The mind games. Nowhere else do I feel more alive than when I'm playing, my body and mind working at full tilt to obtain my goals.

So I'm not gonna lie; I have a hard-on for football. I get totally jacked on game day.

Which is why I'm p.i.s.sed now. Because I'm not jacked. Excitement does not run through my veins. Instead there's a boulder in my stomach and invisible hands clutching my neck.

Though the crowd is roaring their excitement, and the air almost vibrates with their enthusiasm, everything feels off. My teammates aren't joking like they usually do. Rolondo is quiet and pacing the sidelines as they prepare to sing the National Anthem. The guys have tense faces. Cal Alder is sitting on a bench, his skin pasty and sweaty-though Coach doesn't seem too worried that our starting quarterback looks like death warmed over.

I swear the stink of defeat hangs over us, and we haven't even started the game.

My fingers are ice cold as the Anthem is sung. By the time a few of our defensive linemen trot out to do the coin toss, I'm ready to scream. From the corner of my eye, I see Alder scramble over the bench. He pukes into a half-filled ice bucket, and a few guys jump back.

Cursing, I jog over to him as he throws up again.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he glances up at me.

"You gonna make it?" I ask.

His expression is blank. "Yup."

"Here." I grab a Gatorade and hand it to him. "Refuel and wash your mouth. I'm not smelling that when you call plays."

He doesn't smile but takes the bottle and drinks deep. On the field, the kickoff is already underway. Our guy Taylor manages to catch the ball and run to the forty. It's almost time to go to work.

"What's the deal," I ask Cal. "You sick?"

Those frosty eyes of his don't blink. "You my nurse?"

"I'm your f.u.c.king teammate and tight end," I snap, annoyed as s.h.i.+t. "So answer the f.u.c.king question."

Cal's tight expression eases. He sets his bottle down and stands. "Right as rain, Grayson."

Well, f.u.c.king great. Sure, whatever. I'm about to yell at him to give me the truth, when Dex walks up. He's got his helmet in hand and his dark hair is already sticking up with sweat. He takes a long look at Cal then nods. "Stage fright."

Cal's eyes go a little wide, but he nods too. "Every time."

"You get over it?" Dex asks as though this is all just fine and dandy.

"Once I begin to play, yeah."

"Good enough for me." Dex puts on his helmet as Cal heads toward our offensive coach.

I just stare after him as I put my helmet on too. "It's a little freaky how well you read people, Big D."

Dex's eyes crinkle behind his face mask. "It's a gift. And a curse."

I can't say anything else because the whistle has blown.

"Gentlemen." Coach steps closer, his voice booming yet steady. "I've already said everything there is to say. Let's get 'er done!"

"Red Dogs!" we all shout as one. We always do. But this feels like rote instead of enthusiasm.

In the huddle we're subdued. f.u.c.king subdued. Intolerable.

"Hey," I shout over the noise of the crowd. "With sufficient thrust, even pigs fly."

They look at me like I'm crazy.

"What the f.u.c.k, G?" Diaz shouts back with a confused snort.

"We gonna make those pigs fly." I nod toward the defense taking their positions. "When we knock the s.h.i.+t out of them."

The guys start to smile but our old spirit isn't quite there.

Cal's head snaps up. There's a gleam in his icy eyes that none of us have seen before. It's like he's flicked an internal switch and it's lighting him up from the inside. "We're going to win. Because we f.u.c.king own this game."

He isn't Drew. Never will be. He doesn't have a s.h.i.+t-eating grin or a c.o.c.ky att.i.tude. But he has something else: a quiet authority that demands respect. We all seem to feel it in our bones. Because suddenly we're all grinning. Energy ripples over the huddle, making us squeeze closer together, rumble with agreement. My old friends, antic.i.p.ation and adrenaline, return with a vengeance, drawing my b.a.l.l.s up tight and lifting the hairs on the back of my neck.

Cal looks over us, his voice stronger than I've ever heard it as he calls the play. He finishes with a sharp, "Go Dogs!"

Which we echo. And then break. At the line, a defensive back snarls at me, trying to intimidate, talking s.h.i.+t I don't bother listening to. I just grin. Because I'm about to smoke his a.s.s. Game f.u.c.king on.

Twelve.

Gray

Despite the victory high that still rushes through my veins, I decide to go back to my room and order room service instead of going to a local club with the guys to party. The idea of being out holds little appeal. What would I do? Dance? Hook up with some girl?

I can't dance anymore without thinking about Ivy's horrific moves and wanting to see them again. And the thought of touching someone other than Ivy does absolutely nothing for me. Scratch that, the thought of touching someone else makes my d.i.c.k want to retreat like a turtle into its sh.e.l.l-an image that creeps the ever-loving h.e.l.l out of me, but there you go.

When I make my intentions known, Johnson tries to check my brow, convinced that I am coming down with something. I slap his hand away. Dex just turns his attention to picking out a place to go. Unfortunately Drew and Anna are with us. Their knowing looks chafe. I'd given Drew h.e.l.l when he'd started foregoing clubs because he was clearly gone on Anna. So I am not surprised when he leans close to Anna and says in a voice obviously meant to carry, "Fifty bucks says he calls her within the hour."

Anna's green eyes narrow as she slants a look at me. "Gray does like his food, though. I'm thinking he'll eat first, then call."