The Friend Zone
Page 31
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And I can picture it, Gray screwing 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 hell is that supposed to mean?” he whispers.
But we both know. A sick lurch goes through my stomach, and I stand, my chair scraping 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 fucking house. Where the fuck 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.”
“Fuck 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 fuck, Ivy?” His blue eyes are denim dark beneath the slashes of his brows. “You just say that shit and then walk out on me?”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, the back of my throat prickling. “I have to… Shit. 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 hell? You’re judging too.”
His lips purse but he doesn’t let go. “Because it’s stupid, you not having sex. Stupid to make it more than it needs to be.”
“I can’t be like you, like my dad. I can’t treat sex 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 fucking.”
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 shiver to break out over my skin. I ignore the sensation in favor of anger. It’s easier than useless longing.
“It’s always ‘fucking’ 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 skanky 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 glassy.
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 fuck. But I’m not like that. I need more. And if you can’t understand that, well…tough shit!”
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 God, Gray.” I wrap my arms around his waist and hold onto to him. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking 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 shiver, burrowing closer, my fingers digging into the loose fall of his T-shirt. “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 space between us, I notice the warmth of his body, the utter strength of it. When he holds me, I’m safe, enveloped.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he whispers.
But we both know. A sick lurch goes through my stomach, and I stand, my chair scraping 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 fucking house. Where the fuck 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.”
“Fuck 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 fuck, Ivy?” His blue eyes are denim dark beneath the slashes of his brows. “You just say that shit and then walk out on me?”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, the back of my throat prickling. “I have to… Shit. 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 hell? You’re judging too.”
His lips purse but he doesn’t let go. “Because it’s stupid, you not having sex. Stupid to make it more than it needs to be.”
“I can’t be like you, like my dad. I can’t treat sex 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 fucking.”
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 shiver to break out over my skin. I ignore the sensation in favor of anger. It’s easier than useless longing.
“It’s always ‘fucking’ 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 skanky 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 glassy.
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 fuck. But I’m not like that. I need more. And if you can’t understand that, well…tough shit!”
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 God, Gray.” I wrap my arms around his waist and hold onto to him. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking 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 shiver, burrowing closer, my fingers digging into the loose fall of his T-shirt. “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 space between us, I notice the warmth of his body, the utter strength of it. When he holds me, I’m safe, enveloped.
