Game On: The Friend Zone Part 21

Flus.h.i.+ng, she shrugs. "Got rid of her, didn't it?"

The little s.h.i.+t. I bark out a laugh. Whatever has happened between us, she's still my best friend. The one person I want to be with most in the world. And I adore her. I'm so gone on her, I don't know my left from my right anymore. She's my center line. All thoughts run through Ivy Mackenzie.

I reach out for her, ready to tell her just that. Tell her that I want everything with her. That she is my everything.

But she speaks first, her words coming out fast and tight. "Things got out of hand. It happens. We've been in each other's pockets, seeing each other all the time. And if we just stepped back and took a break from that, not hang out so much..." She spreads her hands as if to say, problem solved, no big deal.

Take a break. Not be together so much.

Hurt slams through me so hard that my knee jerks, hitting the underside of the table and almost knocking it over.

"Sorry," I mutter, as she scrambles to keep her cup from falling.

I want to shout at her that this is the worst f.u.c.king idea she's ever come up with. That taking a break sounds like torture. But she's not finished ripping my heart out.

"And if you're not always with me, you can...you know... go out. With girls. Hook up or whatever."

I'd like to think her expression conveys the same misery as I feel. But I can't be sure. I can no longer think straight. "Kind of hard to do that," I snap. "When the entire campus will soon think I have a flatulence problem."

She cringes. "Right. Sorry. But I doubt anyone will believe it. Or even care. Most women obviously would overlook anything to get to you."

Oh. Joy. I don't give a ripe f.u.c.k what other women believe. I don't want to be with anyone other than Ivy. Her helpful comment makes me want to scream. And then another horrible thought hits me.

"Wait, why are we talking about hook ups?" My voice is rising, along with my panic.

Her gaze slides away from mine. "Well... We're both clearly in need of some s.e.xual relief. Why shouldn't we find it-"

"Am I cramping your style? Blocking you from all these potential dates you have lined up?" I don't even know what I'm saying. Panic has me by the b.a.l.l.s. She's slipping away from me, and I can't seem to hold on.

Her eyes narrow. "You think I can't get a date?"

"Hey, I did not say that."

The tension leaves her with a sad sigh, and she slumps a little. "This is getting off track, and we're sniping at each other, which is not what I wanted."

I rake a hand through my hair and blow out a long breath through my nose. "Are you..." I take another breath. "Do you want to go out on dates?" I'm going to be sick. I'm going to f.u.c.king throw up. All over f.u.c.king Java Cup.

Her lips pinch. "I don't know. Maybe it's time that I do."

Mac. On a date.

The cup in my hand crumples, sending hot coffee splattering every which way.

"s.h.i.+t." I jump up, shaking coffee off my hand.

Mac jumps up as well, grabbing napkins to mop the mess, until she sees my hand. "Did you burn yourself?"

She touches my reddened hand, but I s.n.a.t.c.h it away. "I'm good." My throat is closing in on me. I can't be here. I back away, tripping over the leg of a chair before righting myself.

"Gray," she says in a soft plea. "I'm just trying to fix things."

"Use me," I blurt out.

Ivy stills, the s.p.a.ce between her brows furrowing. "What?"

"You want to f.u.c.k someone. f.u.c.k me."

She rears as though I've spit on her face. "Are you kidding me?"

"No," I snap, a little desperate now. "You want to have s.e.x. Have s.e.x with me."

"We. Are. Friends." She enunciates every word through her clenched teeth as color rises over her face.

"Oh, please, Ivy. You came on my fingers. I think we're way past just friends."

Bad route to go. Bad f.u.c.king route.

Her face flames red, her nostrils flaring. "You a.s.shole. You think because you got an o.r.g.a.s.m out of me that I'm now some sort of easy lay-"

"No, Ivy. No." Fisting my hands at my sides, I lean in, lowering my voice. "That is not what I meant, okay? Just that we're obviously attracted to each other. And there's this tension. So why not alleviate it by-"

"No," she hisses. "s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around will ruin everything. Not to mention that you're one of my dad's potential clients."

A sharp breath shoots through my lungs, as if she sucker-punched the air out of me. "Your dad? You're worried about my relations.h.i.+p with your dad?"

I let out a strangled curse, and rake my hand through my hair, the urge to rip it out making my hand clench. The guys had warned me about this, but I never imagined she'd think the same.

Gaze sliding away, her chin firms. "It would make things awkward, complicated between you two."

"Then let's make this simple. I won't pick him as my agent."

Ivy's hair swings over her shoulders as she whips around to glare at me. "No. You can't do that. I won't be responsible for him losing you as a client. Do you have any idea how s.h.i.+tty that would make me feel?"

"And what about us? Am I that expendable to you?" f.u.c.k if my voice doesn't crack.

"Of course not." She wraps her arms around her middle, taking a step back. "But it's foolish to enter into a relations.h.i.+p with you if he's going to be your agent."

"We're already in a relations.h.i.+p, Ivy." My voice bounces over the walls, turning heads, drawing stares. I put my back between the room and Ivy. "And it's the most important one of my life."

The words barely leave my mouth when it hits me just how much I want a relations.h.i.+p with her. Ivy has been my girl all along, the One. I've just been too scared, too cautious to fully admit it to myself.

She blinks, her face pale, a bead of sweat breaking out on her upper lip. "I meant a s.e.xual relations.h.i.+p."

"s.e.x doesn't have to mean the end of-"

"But it does! It always f.u.c.ks things up." Her wide brown eyes stare up at me. "Please. I don't want to ruin everything with s.e.x. We just need to cool things down. And it will be the same again. We've been in each other's pockets..."

"Yeah. You've said that already." And it's the only place I want to be. But Mac obviously needs someone else. Jesus, does that make my ribs ache and my insides constrict. I swallow convulsively. Holy h.e.l.l, but there's a hot p.r.i.c.kle behind my eyes. "Right. Well, I'm going now."

Before I totally lose my s.h.i.+t. She doesn't stop me. I walk out of the coffee shop, each step leaving me colder and colder, until the dark night swallows me up.

Eighteen.

IvyMac: I created a new donut. It's called the Bad Sack: salted caramel with a chocolate ganache center that gushes when you bite into it. Personally, I refer to it as Sacked Gray. But I won't tell anyone but you its true name. ;-) GrayG: Sounds delicious. I'll have to try it sometime. Got practice all day. See you later.

IvyMac: Okay. See you.

IvyMac: Haven't seen you in a while.

GrayG: Haven't been able to do anything but train. I can't feel my legs anymore.

IvyMac: I'm sorry.

IvyMac: I don't like thinking of you in pain.

GrayG: Don't worry, Mac. All pain eventually goes away.

IvyMac: You going out to Palmers tonight? Fi and I are going to dance. You should come with us.

GrayG: Can't. Booster party in honor of the playoffs at some fancy country club. Whole team has to go. Suits required. Cue my a.s.s being pinched by cougars.

IvyMac: So not all bad then? ;-) GrayG: Yeah, there's that.

GrayG: Night, Mac. And be careful out there.

IvyMac: Night, Gray.

Gray

I hate booster parties. Hot, stuffy, too many people watching your every move. Too many fake smiles, fake laughs, slaps on the shoulders by rich dudes who call you "son." Too many rich women pressing their gym-toned bodies up against you, while you try not to react because they're old enough to legitimately call you "son." Mind your Ps and Qs because you can't embarra.s.s Coach, the athletic director, the dean, and the dozens of other campus bigwigs circling the room, pressing palms.

A f.u.c.king circus.

I tug at my collar, sweat damping my s.h.i.+rt that's buried beneath layers of suit jacket and vest. Around me guys are doing the same, or trying not to. Most freshmen and soph.o.m.ores are stuck in ill-fitting suits bought off the rack at some big-and-tall store. Their biceps stretch their coat sleeves, the overlarge size sagging at the shoulders.

At the very least, I can say I look all right in comparison. Last year's champions.h.i.+p swag featured vouchers for free tailored suits at a national luxury retailer. I'd taken them up on the offer, standing stock still, side by side with Drew, joking about which side we dressed on as two annoyed-looking tailors measured us up.

So yeah, I look sharp as new cleats standing here and sweating my b.a.l.l.s off. Awesome. A waiter pa.s.ses, and I nab a gla.s.s of beer from his tray. It's lukewarm, because really beer shouldn't be slowly pa.s.sed around a hot room, but I take a long sip anyway.

Inside my pants pocket, my phone vibrates with a text. Instantly, my heart rate kicks up. I want it to be Mac. I don't want it to be Mac. My chest literally hurts every time I get a text from her. Every time I have to play it cool, like some distant, half-a.s.sed friend.

Gripping my gla.s.s too hard, I weave through the room, stopping every few feet to accept congratulations or someone wanting to talk.

"Excuse me," I tell each person. "Nature calls."

Best excuse I got, but it still doesn't prevent people from trying to chat me up. By the time I make it to the terrace doors, I'm ready to lose it. G.o.d, this PR bulls.h.i.+t is only going to get worse in the NFL.

Frowning, I slip out into the cool night air and take a deep breath to clear my head. But my pulse doesn't slow as I pull out my phone. I sag against the wall. The text isn't from Mac. Disappointment and relief churn around in my gut, as I peer at the unknown number, ready to delete the text.

Unknown: Hey there, s.e.xy mountain of man-flesh. Having fun at your suit parade?

s.e.xy mountain of man-flesh? Why does that ridiculous name sound familiar? I rub a hand over my face and then it hits me. Fiona calls me that. What the h.e.l.l is Fiona doing texting me?

GrayG: Yeah, it's awesome. What's up, Fi?

As I wait for her to answer, I stare out across the dark sweep of trimmed lawn. Everything is blue and gray, the moon hanging low along the horizon as wispy clouds drift past. The scent of snow is in the air. My hand vibrates.

LittleFi: Just wanted to let you know that I'm watching out for our girl tonight. Don't worry, she's having fun. Catch ya' later, s.e.xy.

A picture pops up, and it's a f.u.c.king punch to my throat. Mac's on the dance floor, her long arms waving awkwardly in the air and gleaming with sweat, her dark hair plastered to her face as she smiles-f.u.c.king glows-with happiness. And some a.s.s-f.u.c.k frat boy has his hands all over her. I zero in on his big, dumb-f.u.c.k palm pressing against her belly, his hips grinding into her a.s.s as he clutches her thigh, holding her against his- My shout echoes over the terrace, followed by the sharp crack of gla.s.s impacting against stone. Panting, I glance down at my empty hand and then at the carnage that used to be my phone, lying some twenty feet away. I hadn't even known I'd thrown it.

And I don't care. Every inch of me hurts, a dull, pulling pain, as if I'm slowly being torn apart from the inside out. My throat seems to swell, closing down, convulsing. And I blink down at my s.h.i.+ny wingtips as if trying to make sense of how they got on my feet. But all I can see is that picture, hear Ivy's voice in my head, telling me that she needs s.p.a.ce, that she doesn't want me.

The m.u.f.fled sound of laughter from inside grows loud and clear, and a blast of warmth hits the side of my face. I turn. A girl stands framed in the doorway, her body slim and tight, her smile welcoming.

"Hey," she says, strolling over, each step sending her hips swaying. "What are you doing out here all alone?"

Everything in me recoils at the thought of talking to this girl. I want to go home and crawl into bed. Maybe sleep for a week. But I push deep down inside myself, remember the Gray I used to be. The one who had fun and never thought about anything real. The Gray who never felt pain.

I pull out a smile. "Doesn't look I'm alone anymore."

That's all she needs to hear.