Game On: The Friend Zone Part 39

And I love having a home with Gray. While it isn't exactly close to the stadium, we settled on a renovated Victorian townhouse in the Pacific Heights section of San Francisco. We love the place. To my surprise, it was Gray who had the most fun combing through flea markets and antique shops to find vintage furniture for our home. Fi helped decorate, and after listening to the two of them squabble over Eames verses Knoll, I bowed out of the project and kept my sanity.

I turn my attention back to the domestic arrivals gate. In the distance, one golden head bobs over all others. My cheeks pull tight with a grin. Slowly, Gray comes into view. His gaze meets mine. As always, I'm suddenly breathless, joy and antic.i.p.ation fizzing like champagne through my veins.

I'm practically dancing in place, watching him walk to me, his smile as big as mine. He quickens his pace until he's almost jogging. Those long legs of his eat up the distance between us.

Then his hand is wrapping around my neck, drawing me as close as I can get-which isn't very.

"Ivy Mac," he whispers a second before he kisses me. And I'm lost. Heat surges along my skin and my heart races with glee. I sink into his kiss then take over, tasting him, sucking his plump lower lip. His scent, his heat, the strength of his big body, all of him, flips a switch within me, like I'm not fully living unless he's near.

"Cupcake," I say when we part. "I've missed you."

We've only been apart for a long weekend, but I always miss Gray when he isn't near. I would have gone with him, but I'm not up for flying right now.

The corners of his eyes crinkle as he looks down at me. "Missed you too, Mrs. Grayson."

"How are Anna and Drew?" I ask between the little kisses he keeps giving me. Last night, Gray called to talk about the fact that Drew had just played the best game of his career. Since I was his co-agent, I'd been on a conference call with Drew's GM before the game had even ended. The media was going crazy over his performance, dubbing him the Comeback Kid. Now that his leg had fully healed, he was once again in top form.

"So f.u.c.king proud of him," Gray says into the crook of my neck. He breathes in deep. "Mmm, you smell fantastic, Mac. You been baking?"

"A tray full of warm Sacked Gray donuts are waiting for you at home."

"Love when you talk dirty to me." He gives me a grin. "How'd it go with Mitch.e.l.l?" Brian Mitch.e.l.l was a hot young quarterback out of Stanford who was going pro this year. I'd met with him to discuss his future in the NFL. And while it wasn't the easiest thing being female and a sports agent, I've been making headway, learning from my dad and forging contacts as I go. I love the h.e.l.l out of my job.

"He seemed interested," I say. "Well, he liked the plans I mapped out, anyway."

"As he should," Gray says with his unfailing confidence in me.

"I a.s.sured him that Dad was on board." When Gray frowns, I give him a look. "Dad and I are partners, after all."

Surprisingly, we're a pretty awesome team. Dad does the majority of recruitment and contract negotiation, while I mostly deal with career planning and player maintenance-which really means I soothe ruffled feathers and try to keep athletes' heads on straight.

"Still," Gray mutters. "You shouldn't have to a.s.sure the little s.h.i.+t. You're the bomb, Mrs. Grayson."

Smiling, I shake my head. "You can't blame him for worrying right now. And it was my concession. One I'm happy to make."

Gray's scowl fades as he glances down. Not caring of the people walking past, he drops to his knees before me to cup my belly. Though I vaguely resemble a wind-filled sail, his big hands make me look small. A gentle smile graces his face as he leans forward to kiss my stomach.

"And how's my Baby G? You being good for Mommy?"

A dull thud vibrates my insides as Baby G kicks. Gray chuckles and gives the spot another kiss. "Yep, Daddy's home. All is right with the world once more."

I run a soothing hand over my side. At eight-and-a-half months pregnant, I'm ready for the little guy to come out. Fi called us crazy when we decided to have a baby so soon. But something had happened to us after the miscarriage. A seed of want had been planted. So, yes, we're both just starting out in our careers, but we also want to start a family. And because we've decided to live life how we want, when we want it, we decided not to wait any longer.

It might be difficult. But we'll manage.

"You don't find it ominous that Little Dude here kicks your face every time you put it near me?" I ask, smiling down at Gray, who continues to baby talk against my belly.

"You're just jealous that he responds to my voice," Gray says happily.

"He responds because your voice is so loud," I retort, teasing him.

"I'm not the one who's loud. Have you heard yourself when you-"

I end that line of conversation with a hand to his mouth. Grinning like a fiend, Gray jumps to his feet. People are starting to notice him, or rather who he is. I'm pretty sure a few camera phones went off when he was kissing The Belly. It's the price of fame. But Gray doesn't let it bother him. He simply grabs his duffle and takes my hand in his.

"Uncle Drew gave us a little hat for Baby G." Gray directs this toward my belly as we walk along. "I told him we'd use it for target practice come toilet training."

"You do realize that I practically grew up in New York, and that's like my home team?"

He halts and gives me an outraged look. "Hush your mouth, Mac. Little Dude might hear you."

I roll my eyes. "Won't matter if he did. Because our favorite team will always be the one you're on."

Gray's eyes light up, but his smile is soft. His bag lands on the linoleum floor with a thud. A little s.h.i.+ver goes through me as he cups my cheeks. His mouth meets mine, the kiss so tender it makes my chest clench, but there's heat behind it. A promise for later. When he draws away, his voice is husky. "Take me home, Mac. We've got shenanigans to get to."

Thank You!

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Author Note

Devotion to a team can be absolute. To that end, I deliberately did not name a college or a team, preferring to leave that to the reader's imagination.

The 2014 NCAA football season marks the beginning of a four-team playoff. However, in order to tell Ivy and Gray's story the way I needed to, I had to take a bit of artistic license with the dates of the post-season game schedule.

The Hook Up -Book One in the Game On series

The rules: no kissing on the mouth, no staying the night, no telling anyone, and above all... No falling in love Anna Jones just wants to finish college and figure out her life. Falling for star quarterback Drew Baylor is certainly not on her to do list. Confident and charming, he lives in the limelight and is way too gorgeous for his own good. If only she could ignore his heated stares and stop thinking about doing hot and dirty things with him. Easy right?

Too bad he's committed to making her break every rule...

Football has been good to Drew. It's given him recognition, two National Champions.h.i.+ps, and the Heisman. But what he really craves is s.e.xy yet p.r.i.c.kly Anna Jones. Her cutting humor and blatant disregard for his fame turns him on like nothing else. But there's one problem: she's shut him down. Completely.

That is until a chance encounter leads to the hottest s.e.x of their lives, along with the possibility of something great. Unfortunately, Anna wants it to remain a hook up. Now it's up to Drew to tempt her with more: more s.e.x, more satisfaction, more time with him. Until she's truly hooked. It's a good thing Drew knows all about winning.

All's fair in love and football...Game on.

Excerpt

Thankfully a small bath near the end of the hall is unoccupied. Once inside, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. It's blessedly quiet here, the blaring ba.s.s of the music a muted thud. My skin is flush, and my heart is still beating too hard. It's like I've run a mile in a minute. Worse, part of me wants to go back downstairs where he is.

Cursing, I run cold water over my hands and splash some on the back of my neck. In the reflection of the mirror, my cheeks are pink and my eyes are s.h.i.+ning. I look excited.

"h.e.l.l."

I pat myself dry and, taking another calming breath, leave the bathroom. And practically run into someone. My shoulder hits the cool wall behind me as I step back to get away. Baylor stands there, his expression bemused as if he hadn't expected me to pop out at him. Then he moves closer, taking my air, and my thoughts scatter. His eyes, intense and determined, are all I see.

And all I can think of is that we are alone together. Utterly. Finally. I can't look at him then. Not directly. He is the sun, burning bright.

"Why are you here?" My voice is a wisp of sound in the small s.p.a.ce.

So is his. "I want you."

The floor dips beneath me, his confession taking up too much air. Baylor seems just as shocked by his words, his eyes going wide and his lips parting. But he commits to them with a squaring of his broad shoulders. "Tell me you don't want me too, and I'll go."

My mouth opens, a denial on my lips, then he reaches for me. It's barely a touch, just the tips of his fingers on my elbow, as if he's planning to guide me back downstairs. It's the smallest of contact. Nothing really. And yet it's everything. The small contact burns, ripples outward along my skin with lightning fast intensity, and my breath hitches.

His does too. A quick glance up, and he searches my face as though seeking an affirmation. Whatever he sees must tell him that he's not alone in this because he doesn't let go.

Neither of us says another word. Blood rushes hot and thick through my veins, as the backs of his fingers skim slowly, oh so slowly, up my arm. His pulse thrums, quick and visible just beneath the golden skin of his throat. I want to lick that spot, put my mouth there and suck. I want him. I want him so badly that I'm going up in flames.

A quiet, pained sound escapes me as his knuckles drift toward my inner arm, just to the side of my breast. I'm shaking deep within myself, an increasing tremor that spreads outward, until my breath comes in choppy pants that I fight to control.

What am I doing? This is Drew Baylor. Nothing good can come of this. I need to be strong. I need to stop this. To walk away.

I twitch, leaning into his touch, wanting, needing him more.

His lips part with a sigh, as if touching me is both a relief and a source of pain. Somehow my hand settles on his hip, the bone solid beneath his skin. He tenses, a visible clench that has his biceps bunching. The next instant, my fingers steal under his s.h.i.+rt.

His skin is hot, as if he's burning up from within. My palm glides along rippling muscle, smooth and toned, the cotton of his s.h.i.+rt tickling the back of my hand as I go. He holds so still, when he s.h.i.+vers it's an earthquake. My questing thumb finds his nipple, and he stops breathing altogether. The little nub of his nipple beneath my thumb turns me on so much, I bite my lip to keep from moaning. Oh, but it's getting to him too. He swallows audibly, those little tremors within him growing stronger.

I press down hard.

With a choked cry, he stumbles forward, his forearm hitting the wall beside my head as he braces himself. Warm breath caresses my cheek, the sound of his panting filling my ears.

Shaking, Baylor stands there, so close that his heady scent and vivid heat envelop me. I draw that crisp, clean scent in, and grow lightheaded. Unable to resist, I flick my thumbnail over his nipple. He grunts, his hips jerking as if pulled on a string. And then he retaliates.

His long index finger curls around the strap of my top. For a moment, he simply runs his finger up and down the strap, toying with it, each pa.s.s drawing closer to my breast. Then he tugs, sliding the strap over my shoulder by agonizing degrees.

Oh, G.o.d. My lids flutter. I want to close my eyes but can't. I'm stuck staring at his rapidly beating pulse, all of my awareness centered on the progress of my strap as it sc.r.a.pes down my arm, peeling the top over the curve of my breast, which has grown heavy, aching. I don't think I've ever been more conscious of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, of my body.

The top slips further, exposing more skin.

Hurry, I want to cry. I'm shaking by the time the edge of my top catches on the hard bead of my nipple. Stuck.

We both seem to hold our breaths. Beneath my palm, his heart beats fierce and strong. I can feel his stare, covetous and hot. I want him to see me. I want to be exposed to him.

The sound of laughter drifts up, and the deep ba.s.s of music has the walls buzzing. Anyone could find us here, see him pulling down my top. As if he's thinking the same thing, Baylor s.h.i.+fts his weight, sheltering my body from view with his own. That small gesture, his consideration, breaks my resistance. Biting my lip, I arch my back at the very second he tugs again....

Discover it HERE!

To find out more about the Game On series visit my website: http://www.thehookup.kristencallihan.com.

Acknowledgments.

Thanks to Elyssa Patrick for beta reading and being the best go-write-that-book cheerleader ever. Jen Frederick for beta reading, football tips, and all-around awesome help. Beta readers Carrie Bertz, Sahara Hos.h.i.+, and Rhiannon Smith. Copy editor Edie Danford. Edie Harris for reading, proofing, and being a great friend. Sarah Hanson at Okay Creations. Teddy and Meljean for all-around moral support. And, most importantly, to all the readers and reviewers who have made this series what it is. I am so very grateful to you.

And a special shout-out to the ball girls of The Locker Room; your posts and enthusiasm for all things NA/sports/romance is a constant joy. If you're reading this and would like to join The Locker Room, we'd love to have you. Just click HERE.

About the Author.

Kristen Callihan is an author because there is nothing else she'd rather be. She is a three-time RITA nominee, and winner of two RT Reviewer's Choice awards. Her novels have garnered starred reviews from Publisher's Weekly and the Library Journal, as well as being awarded top picks by many reviewers. Her debut book FIRELIGHT received RT Magazine's Seal of Excellence, was named a best book of the year by Library Journal, best book of Spring 2012 by Publisher's Weekly, and was named the best romance book of 2012 by ALA RUSA.