The Friend Zone
Page 67

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 fucking 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 relationship 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 windshield 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 shit 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 sexting 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 sex. Play Pattern 1 (Shenanigans): fuck as often as my dick and your pussy 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 pussy 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 pussy? It’s so crude.” She sounds annoyed, but those gorgeous dark eyes of hers glaze over with want. It makes my hard dick throb.
“Vagina 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 muff? 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 pussy. 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 butt flexes and the muscles along his back and shoulders ripple. Gray completely owns his body and always moves with assured 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 sex. 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.