The Game Plan
Page 36

For a hot second I actually want to hit him. Did he think it didn’t kill me to watch her walk away? I pull in a calming breath. Calm. I’m always calm. “She threw down an argument I had no solution for.”
Short of quitting my job, there is nothing I can do to solve the problem of me always leaving Fi.
The dull pain in my chest spreads down my arms. All I can do is run, listen to the sound of my feet hitting the pavement, the rasp of my breath going in and out.
“Man,” Gray finally says. “I’m sorry. I thought she’d be different with you. That she wouldn’t flake—”
“Grayson,” I cut in, because I really can’t handle pity right now. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You might be a parent, but you’re not mine or Fi’s. I knew what I was risking.”
He manages to keep quiet for a few beats, but Gray’s a talker, incapable of prolonged silence. “Still,” he mutters, “fucking sucks balls.”
I couldn’t agree more.
He gives me a sidelong look. “So what are you going to do about it?” He knows me too well.
I fight to keep my face neutral. “What I do best. Assess the defense, find another angle.” Because I’ve had a taste of Fiona, and I can’t give her up without a fight. Unfortunately, until inspiration strikes, I have to retreat, give her space, or risk acting like a stalker, which no guy in his right mind should do.
Gray gives my arm a nudge. “Hey. Last one to Fisherman’s Wharf buys breakfast.”
Little fucker. We both are good for quick bursts of speed. But Gray is better at longer distances. So I do what any self-respecting competitor would. I shove him into the grass and take off.
Fiona
Airports suck. As soon as I step into one, I get tense. Someone is always watching you somewhere. You’re treated as cattle. Annoying cattle at that. And all you have to look forward to is a cramped seat and paying for a crap meal wrapped in plastic. Yay-hay.
My eyes are gritty, and I have a sore throat. Maybe I’m coming down with something. Because I’m finding it really hard to breathe too.
I’ve been this way pretty much since I left Ivy’s house. Ivy who looked at me with such disappointment, I felt lower than shit on a shoe. Gray didn’t even bother to look my way. He shut down completely and muttered something about taking a run.
The ticket agent informs me that I have a seat on the last row of the plane. Another bonus: all the people waiting to use the bathroom will stand there, shoving their asses in my face.
If you weren’t such a chickenshit, you’d still be in bed with Dex. Which is now officially the best place in the entire world.
I tell myself to shut up.
Boarding pass in hand, I turn, pulling my carryon bag behind me, and nearly smack into a couple kissing.
Fuck a duck.
They’re going at it. Not in a gross, slobbering way, but…shit, in a romantic, you’re-my-air way. Dude holds his girl’s cheeks with care as he tilts his head and goes in deeper. She clutches his back as if she’ll never let him go.
And here I am, staring like a perv. I can’t help it. I now know how it feels to kiss like that. The consuming fire of it, the way your entire body sways into your lover’s with the need to sink into his flesh and bones and become part of him.
The pain in my throat swells outward, lodging hard in my chest. I stalk around the couple and blindly race for the TSA line.
But it’s no use. I can’t stop my thoughts. Or the pain.
Like a zombie, I wait at the gate. Like a zombie, I board the plane, find my seat. It isn’t until yet another couple settles into the row in front of me—the guy helping his girl put her bag in the overhead before giving her cheek a kiss—that I break.
Biting back a sob, I fumble for my bag and search for my phone.
I call up the wrong number twice, my finger shakes so badly. Stupid. I was so stupid. The thought that I’ve ruined everything has my entire chest clenching tight. Around me passengers are finding their seats, a toddler is whining for Cheerios.
And the phone keeps ringing. Dex’s gruff message starts up. I have to blink hard. Just hearing his voice gets to me. But is it a bad sign that I’ve gone straight to voice mail? Is he avoiding my call? I wouldn’t blame him.
I hate leaving a message. But part of me is relieved that I can say what I have to say and then hang up, without the threat of him telling me he’s done.
Please don’t be done with me
“Hey, it’s me. Fi. Shit, that rhymes. I hate it when I inadvertently rhyme. I mean, if you’re going to do a rhyme, own it, right?” Shut up, Fi. I take a breath, my palm slipping on the case of my phone. “I…ah…There was this couple kissing. By the ticket counter. I don’t know if they were leaving each other or reconnecting. But they were so into each other, you know? And it hit me. I’ll never kiss you again. Never feel your arms holding me close. And…”
Shit, I’m about to blubber. My hand wipes so hard at my eyes it hurts. I swallow hard. “It hurt, Ethan. Too much. How can that be? How can it be that you already feel like a part of me? But I guess you are because the idea of never being with you again… Fuck. I’m babbling. Again. But Ethan—”
The loudspeaker blares, announcing that it’s time to cut off all electronics.
I hunch over, turning my body toward the window. “Ethan, forget what I said, okay? I’m sorry. I was being a coward. I want you. Just you. I don’t care about the rest. Please say it isn’t too late. That I didn’t fuck us up before we really began.”