Game On: The Friend Zone Part 26

"I don't think Dad really knew though. That Jonas and Leif liked to pummel me off the field too. Or maybe he did." He shakes his head. "Who the f.u.c.k knows? When I complained, I was lectured. 'Football isn't for whiners or quitters. Buckle up, b.u.t.tercup. Back to work.' And so on."

"How can you love the game?" I whisper.

His hand clenches mine. "I don't know. But I do. Because when I'm out there doing my thing, I forget all about them. It's my game, and I own it. I don't know... It's the control amidst the chaos. Same with math. There are rules, boundaries, numbers. Patterns run. Victories won by inches. It gives me joy. That's f.u.c.ked up, isn't it?"

He looks at me then, his eyes haunted.

"No. I get it. I ought to resent sports like Fi does. It took our dad from us. Ruined my parents' marriage. But I love it."

He nods but lets my hand go to grip the steering wheel. "I hate my brothers. Always have. Hate my father too for letting them do that to me, either by direction or ignoring it."

"And your mom?" I shouldn't ask but can't help it. "Did she know?"

His face goes utterly blank, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "I never told her." A ragged breath leaves him. "Because what if I did, and she..." He glares out the window.

"What if she didn't stop them?"

A bare nod is his answer.

G.o.d, I want to hug him. But I don't move, not knowing if he can handle it right now.

"I feel like s.h.i.+t for thinking that. Because my mom was awesome to me. Kind, caring, patient." He snorts. "I have no f.u.c.king clue what she saw in my dad. They met at some college staff mixer. He was a visiting head coach, and she was a Norwegian exchange student finis.h.i.+ng up her post-graduate degree. Mom always claimed that Dad charmed her into following him anywhere."

Gray shakes his head as if disgusted. "When she got sick, though, it was my job to look after her. Dad couldn't handle it. My brothers didn't want to. My brothers hated me for Mom too," he whispers. "I was her favorite. Her baby."

I think of a teenage Gray forced to watch his mom slowly die and not have any help from the rest of his family. "I bet you were an awesome caregiver," I tell him softly.

He snorts again and leans back against the seat, blinking up at the ceiling. "I left her alone to die."

The rain patters against the hood of the truck, and the radio softly plays on.

"What do you mean?" I finally ask.

"She died alone." He closes his eyes. "I left her."

"You mean she died when you weren't there? Gray, that happens sometimes-"

"No, I did it on purpose." His eyes squeeze tight. "My mom... We both knew it was coming. That she was near the end. The state champions.h.i.+p game was that Sat.u.r.day. I wasn't going, no way. But she took my hand and said I had to go. For her. The thing is..." He swallows hard, his throat visibly convulsing. "I knew what she was saying. I knew she didn't want me to see her die. That it would be too hard for her if I was watching. And I..."

He presses a hand over his eyes. "I couldn't do it, Mac. I ran from that room like a coward. Went to that game like a coward. Because I couldn't watch her go."

I can't hold back anymore. I slide over and put my arms around him, drawing his big body close. Woodenly, he leans into me, trembling. His face burrows against my hair, and he takes shaking breaths. "My dad f.u.c.king hated me for that. I was supposed to watch over her."

"He should have been there," I say, barely containing my anger. "She was his wife."

Gray shakes his head. "I was supposed to be stronger than them."

"You are the strongest man I know." I kiss the top of his head, his cheeks, anywhere I can reach without letting him go. "And you did what she wanted. Don't you ever think less of yourself for that."

But Gray just trembles like he can't get past it. I move back to my side of the truck, pulling him down, so that he's lying across the bench.

He's too large to be doing this. But he settles his head in my lap with a sigh as if it's the most comfortable thing in the world. Smiling slightly, I run my fingers through his hair. It's surprisingly thick, the strands like silk.

"G.o.d, that feels good." Gray settles down with a sigh. On the next breath, his arm steals beneath my knees, wrapping around my legs and hugging tight. "Ivy, I'm sorry to dump on you like this."

"Stop." I cup his cheek, letting my palm warm him. "I asked you to tell me. I'm your girl, right?"

"f.u.c.k yeah, you are." His hold grows more secure, as if I might pull away. "And don't you forget it."

"Never. This is what girlfriends do, you know."

Beneath my hand, his cheek rises as he smiles softly, and little crinkles form at the corners of his denim blue eyes. His lashes are unfairly long and lush, coming in gold then darkening toward the tips. "I'm not letting you go, Ivy Mac. In case I wasn't clear before."

Warmth blooms inside my chest.

When he closes his eyes with a contented-yet-still-sad sigh, I reach up and turn off the overhead light. The interior of his truck turns shady, and Gray relaxes a bit more.

I go back to stroking his hair. He grows heavier, warmer. "My mom used to do that. Run her fingers through my hair when I was upset." He shudders, takes an unsteady breath. "I miss her, Mac." His voice is broken, and it breaks a little of me, as well.

Lightly, I run my thumb along his temple. "I know, Cupcake. I'm sorry."

He doesn't say anything, just keeps his eyes closed and holds on to me. And I stroke his hair as my free hand rests on the hard swell of his biceps.

"Mac?"

"Yeah?" The sound of the rain and the press of Gray's body has lulled me into a state of warm relaxation, and my head rests heavily against the window. My fingers don't stop running through his hair.

"I'm so f.u.c.king glad I borrowed your car," he chokes out, his hand gripping my calf, rubbing it as if I'm precious. "The thought of you not being in my life tears me up. I... You are the happiness I never realized I needed."

His words wrap around my chest and squeeze it tight. I know exactly what he means, because it is the same for me. I've made plenty of friends throughout my life, but no relations.h.i.+p has happened so swiftly or meant as much to me as what I have with Gray. My attachment to him almost frightens me, the emotion threatening to overwhelm.

I find myself blinking rapidly, my vision as blurry as the winds.h.i.+eld before me. Feeling far too tender, I curl over him and place a kiss at the crest of his cheek. He smells so good, like citrus and baking bread and pure Gray, and I pepper his face with soft kisses. He turns slightly, slings his heavy arm over my neck to hold me close as his mouth finds mine.

That emotion inside me bubbles over and rushes through my veins with absolute surety. I love him. I love Gray Grayson more than I ever thought possible. I'm through being afraid of this. I'm all in now. I'm his girl for as long as I can be.

Gray

Some people grow up gradually, the foundations of their childhood steadily sinking into the earth so slowly they barely notice the change. Until one day they're simply standing on their own two feet with little idea how they got there.

Then there are people whose childhoods are smashed to bits in one blow. They topple into adulthood, flailing about for something to hold onto, and the terror of falling leaves a permanent scar on their psyche. Do those people ever end up feeling safe? I wonder about that, because I fell hard. For so long there were days when it seemed as though I was still falling, when I couldn't find a single good thing to hold onto, when nothing felt safe or secure.

Then I met Ivy. Somehow, she caught me. Ivy is peace and warmth and hope, and I find myself holding on tight, afraid that if she lets me go I'll be in a free fall once again.

The fact that one person has so much power over my happiness scares the s.h.i.+t out of me. I know how fragile life is. Here today, dust tomorrow. But only a fool cuts his one lifeline.

I'm no fool even if I act as though I am to the outside world. So I'll do whatever it takes to keep Ivy.

Twenty-Two.

Gray

GrayG: I think we need to put a s.e.xting rule into our playbook.

IvyMac: There's playbook? When did we get a playbook?

GrayG: We've always had one. The Book of Ivy and Gray. It's epic. I've added a large addendum to cover s.e.x. Play Pattern 1 (Shenanigans): f.u.c.k as often as my d.i.c.k and your p.u.s.s.y hold out.

IvyMac: Lovely. You are truly gifted with words. Is there a reason you're texting me when we're in the same bed?

GrayG: To test out my new phone. And so I can see that little smile you make when you read them. Have you always smiled like that over my texts?

IvyMac: Always, Cupcake.

GrayG: Lie back now, honey. I'm going to lick that sweet p.u.s.s.y and see you smile some more.

"Gray!"

Ivy turns to glare at me from over her bare shoulder. Her cheeks pink. "Do you have to use p.u.s.s.y? It's so crude." She sounds annoyed, but those gorgeous dark eyes of hers glaze over with want. It makes my hard d.i.c.k throb.

"v.a.g.i.n.a then?" I give her a leer.

Her nose wrinkles. "Er...no."

"Lady lips?"

She's laughing now. "I'll never live that down."

Grinning, I toss my phone aside and reach for her. She's all warmth and long limbs and smooth skin. "Love pot?" I murmur, skimming my lips down her long torso. "Honey m.u.f.f? Secret garden of delight?"

"Crazy nut," she calls me.

"Now, Mac, we're going to have problems if you can't tell the difference between a nut and a p.u.s.s.y. Here..." I ease her thighs apart. "Let me educate you."

Her phone falls from her hand, the sound of her squawking protests and laughter drifting off into a gurgle as I bury my head between her legs, kiss her softly. Again. And again. Until I finally take a long, savoring lick and lose myself, drunk off the honey-sweet slickness that is Ivy.

Ivy

Gray decides to convert my bed into a tent, hanging all my available sheets over the canopy until not a bit of the room peeks through. That he's naked as he does this serves as my entertainment. I bite the edge of my lower lip as his pale, taut b.u.t.t flexes and the muscles along his back and shoulders ripple. Gray completely owns his body and always moves with a.s.sured grace. Though I suppose if I were as fit and firm as he is, I'd flaunt myself that way too.

Right now, I can't think about moving. I'm sore all over, a delicious kind of ache achieved by a night of marathon s.e.x. I smile into my pillow. Last night, we'd gone at it with single-minded devotion, stopping only to doze or talk. In the middle of telling a joke or simply talking, we'd remember that, yes, we can touch. And that would be it, mouths caressing, hands touching, Gray moving inside me.

When the sun came up, Gray hunted down the leftover pain aux raisins, which he declared the best thing he'd ever had in his mouth. Well, aside from my "sweet-as-f.u.c.k p.u.s.s.y." And I had to give him points for being both complimentary and crude.

Standing above me now, Gray catches my smile and grins back. Everything we've done-every dirty, sweet, raunchy thing-pa.s.ses between us like a shared secret. Heat swells within me, but I don't move.

Finished with his task, he scrambles under the covers and pulls me close. His skin is cool, and I wrap myself around his big body to warm him. Gray exhales in a sigh before slowly peppering my face with soft kisses. "Call me crazy," he says as he kisses along my cheek, "but ever since I was a kid and saw A Christmas Carol, I've wanted to sleep in an enclosed canopy."

I run my hands over his shoulder. Warm satin and carved granite. I love touching him. "Hmmm. This feels more like we're in one of those old-fas.h.i.+oned canvas tents."

He glances at the white sheets surrounding us. With the sunlight filling the room, the enclosed little s.p.a.ce glows golden. But it is cozy and quiet, and ours. I burrow closer to Gray, touch his jaw, the plump curve of his lower lip. He nips my fingers. "Yeah, it really needs dark sheets for the full Victorian effect."

"That's okay, I've always had an Out of Africa safari fantasy." Smiling, I run my fingers along his temple. "You can be my Robert Redford and wash my hair later."

"Isn't he a little old for you, Mac?" He wrinkles his nose is mock horror.

"s.e.xy doesn't have an expiration date, Cupcake."

"Well, at least I know you're into blond dudes." Gray hunkers down further into the pillows. Against our nest of white sheets his skin is like amber honey, his eyes lapis blue. He's so freaking gorgeous, he takes my breath.