The Game Plan
Page 24

My fingers reach out, trace the corner of his mouth where his beard frames it, just like the first time I touched him. “I think, Ethan, I want you more now than before. But a relationship? I have to think about it. Okay?”
He blinks. Then the corner of his luscious mouth curls upward, his gaze going hot as melted chocolate. “Just say the word and you can have me, Fiona.”
Chapter Eleven
Dex
Patience. I have it in spades. I’ve trained myself to use patience as a tool, knowing that the right moment will come, and when it does, I’ll take it. But right now, patience is wearing thin. Because Fiona has yet to give me an answer.
Back at Point Reyes, she kissed my cheek and told me she’d have to think about being with me. Not because of my past, she was quick to reassure, but because she’s afraid to start something that has a clear expiration date.
Frustration rolls through me. I don’t see an end to us, just how good we could be together. I should have stated my case all those years ago, when I first wanted her. When we lived in the same damn town. Only she had a boyfriend then. And I was too wary to step in between that. Stupid of me.
Maybe we’ll always be off with our timing. But, fuck it, I’m not giving this up. No fucking way. Not when I’ve gotten a taste of her. Not when she’s heard my ugliest truths and accepted them without judgment. We can be real together, which is something rare and precious in my world. So I’m regrouping.
First step: we go out with Ivy and Gray. If I can’t get a date, a double date will do for now. One of Gray’s teammate’s nanny is watching Leo.
We go out for dinner first.
Ivy and Fi entertain us with stories of their childhood and how their dad brought home athletes who are now our heroes.
“Tell them how you won a bet with Jordan when you were six,” Ivy says to Fi.
My girl’s green eyes sparkle as she laughs. “Oh, God.” She takes a drink of her cocktail. “I bet him I could jump higher than he could.”
“No way did you beat Jordan,” Gray insists, shaking his head.
“I did so!” Her cheeks flush a pretty, soft pink. “The stakes were a dozen donuts. He went first. And man, he has ups.”
We all nod at that. Fi leans in closer, her voice dropping. “I acknowledged his awesome skills, then took my turn.”
Ivy cuts in. “The little stinker waltzed into our kitchen, so we all followed. And as bold as you please, Fi climbed on the counter, looked Jordan in the eye, and jumped.”
“What?” Gray exclaims. “That’s totally cheating.”
“That’s what Jordan said.” Fi shrugs. “I pointed out that we never said the jump had to start on the floor, and since I did technically jump to a higher point, I won.”
I laugh at that. “And you call me slick.”
She grins, unrepentant. “Hey, he conceded defeat and brought me donuts. Said he could respect my determination to win at all costs.”
And so it goes, talking and eating and having more fun than I’ve had in as long as I can remember. Whenever I grow too silent, Fi pulls me into the conversation, sometimes by touching my elbow and looking my way to ask my opinion. Sometimes by saying something so outrageous, I can’t help but comment.
And I have the strange sensation of something deep inside me clicking into place, as though I’m becoming the person I was meant to be. It’s both a relief and kind of unnerving.
Sitting next to Fi, close enough to catch the fragrant scent of her hair, feel the brush of her arm against mine whenever she turns to say something to Gray who’s on her other side, settles me and makes me crave more.
I want the right to put my arm across the back of her chair the way Gray does with his wife. To lean in and kiss her smiling lips whenever she says something cute, which is pretty much all the time.
We end up going to a bar, and it’s karaoke night. Which means it’s crammed full of slightly drunk and extremely exuberant off-key singers. We’ve managed to get a table up front and center. I’m thinking it’s because the owner is a huge football fan; I’m pretty sure the table was occupied when we walked in.
But the hostess insists we sit here and hurries off to get us drinks.
“Excellent,” says Gray, rubbing his hands together, a gleam in his eye. “The last person to sing gets to buy the drinks.”
Ivy grins wide. “You’re on, Cupcake. I’m going to sing the house down.”
We all pause, our gazes darting back and forth as a certain sense of terror falls over the table.
Ivy sees us and slaps her palm onto the table. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. I know what you twats are thinking! If I suck at dancing, I’ll suck at singing? Well, I don’t. I’m awesome.”
Awkward silence ensues, and she snorts.
“What? You think I don’t know I suck at dancing? I just don’t give a shit.” She glares at Gray, though there really isn’t any anger in the look. “So you can stop dancing like an ass now.”
A strangled sound leaves him. “You knew?”
“Of course.” She tosses a lock of her hair over her shoulder. “You’re too coordinated on the field, and you kind of forget to suck when you do those victory dances.”
He gapes at her for a long second, then gives a bark of laughter. “I fucking love you, Special Sauce.” With that, he hauls Ivy into his lap and kisses her.
Fi, however, finally snaps out of the trance she’s been in since Ivy confessed. “You sneaky shithead,” she shouts over the music. “All these years I’ve been covering for your craptacular dancing, and you knew!” She shakes a fist. “I swear to God, Ivy Weed…”