The Friend Zone
Page 34

I feel ’Londo nod but it’s abrupt as if he’s still fighting his feelings.
I want to help, but what can I tell him that won’t sound trite? He’s in a shitty position and we both know it. I pinch the bridge of my nose and think of Ivy. She’d know what to say to make it right.
“I get being afraid to take a stand, change things,” I say. “I think… No, shit, I know that I’m falling for my best friend.”
“Tell me something we all don’t know, G.” For the first time tonight, Rolondo sounds like his old self.
I fight a smile. “Yeah, well, she pretty much thinks I’m a manslut so…”
“Again, tell me something we don’t all know.”
I glare at him, and he laughs. I deserve it, though. I have been hiding behind a party-guy persona for so long, everyone in my life thinks it’s who I really am. And it doesn’t sit right with me anymore. Sure, that guy has gotten me laid countless times. But I am tired of being shallow.
Shaking my head, I lean forward and rest my arms on my knees. “It’s probably for the best. What the fuck do I know of relationships anyway?”
Rolondo snorts. “You’re asking me?”
“I’m saying we’re both screwed.”
“Yeah,” he says slowly, almost smiling. “Yeah, I guess we are. I’ll tell you this. You better figure out how to deal with her dad if you do make your move. Mackenzie will kick your ass, for sure.”
It might be worth it. Sighing, I straighten and roll my tense shoulders. “I’m gonna head out. Just… You’re my friend and my teammate. Whatever you do, I’m with you. One hundred percent.”
“Thanks, man.” It’s barely a whisper. But I hear it.
My face feels hot from too much emotion flowing through me for one day. I stand, give him a brief tap on the shoulder, and walk away. Despite what I said, my stomach is queasy with uncertainty. Everything is changing around me, so quickly it feels as if a rug has been pulled from under my feet.
* * *
Ivy
Gray lives with a bunch of his teammates in a house near campus. Normally, I’d look forward to visiting his home. I’ve tried to picture it several times. Gray at his desk doing assignments, or in bed, doing… So, yeah, I want to see where he lives. But now with our fight still fresh in my mind, I hesitate to get out of my car.
We haven’t seen each other in days, not since that night. Gray has been practicing and then watching game footage like a fiend, learning his competition’s strengths, weakness, and playing style.
A few texts are all we’ve exchanged. But now he’s heading out of town for his conference championship game, the first stop on the road to the National Championship. I promised to come by before he goes.
With a deep breath, I leave the quiet confines of my little car—it still carries Gray’s scent.
The house is a white, center-hall colonial, the type which could be stately and welcoming, but with its peeling paint and barren lawn, just looks kind of forlorn. The four recycle bins, filled with empty soda, Gatorade, and beer bottles, fairly screams “group house.”
The sound of explosions and gunfire echo from behind the door, and a bunch of guys shout and laugh. I bang on the door hard, hoping someone will hear me over the blasting video game.
Gray opens on the second knock. I don’t think I’ll ever truly get over how big he is. He dwarfs the doorway, his broad, defined shoulders visible beneath the threadbare team T-shirt he wears. Sweats hang low on his hips, and his toes peek out from a pair of sports flip-flops. I don’t know why I fixate on his toes and the fact that they seem strangely vulnerable, all bare to the elements.
But I can’t avoid looking him in the eye forever. Especially when he utters a husky, “Hey.”
He’s giving me a small, hesitant smile. As always, when I meet Gray’s eyes, I’m hit with warmth and a fuzzy happiness that pushes past any other thoughts.
“Hey. I’m here!” God. Smooth. Real smooth.
Gray’s face lights with a full grin. “Yes, you are. Come on.” He gestures with a jerk of his head. “Get out of that cold.”
Instantly, I’m greeted with the overwhelming scent of funk, like gym socks and men’s deodorant and old house. The floorboards are scuffed and stained. And I have to smile because there’s a broom in the corner of the hall with a sticky note that says, Use me, dickwads, before I paddle your ass!
Gray notices and rolls his eyes. “Dex’s sad attempt to domesticate us.”
We walk past a pyramid of duffle bags tucked against the hallway wall. To our left, the living room opens up. Two mismatched couches that look in danger of snapping under the weight of six massive guys are positioned around a giant TV. Some war-zone video game is playing, but the guys all turn as one when I walk in.
“Ivy!” they shout in unison, their deep voices bouncing over me.
“Boys,” I shout back. I get a few head nods, a couple of smiles, then they’re back to their game. The sounds of war blare throughout the room.
At my side, Gray takes my elbow. “Let’s go to my room.”
The stairs squeak beneath our feet. Gray’s room is a welcome surprise. At the back of the house, it’s simple but clean. Orderly. His desk is spotless, as is the floor. A king bed takes up most of the space. A chest of drawers by the door and a worn blue IKEA armchair in the corner make up the rest of his furniture.
I peer up at the only artwork in the room. “Wow. Where did you get that?”