The Game Plan
Page 91

My throat works on a noisy swallow, and I have to blink away the rain drops that blind me.
“What’s really bothering you?” she asks when I don’t speak.
“I liked it,” I confess in a tight voice, my eyes finding hers. “Allowing myself to let go.” It had relieved a pressure I’d felt building for what seems like forever.
She gives me a small smile. “It’s okay to get angry or upset, you know. If all this has taught me anything, it’s that we can’t plan life. It just happens. If you hold on too tight, you might break. And I don’t ever want to see you broken, Ethan.”
I don’t have it in me to explain the stark, gray terror I felt when I realized she was gone. If losing my temper meant losing her, I’d hold onto it as tight as I could. Because without her, I’d be broken anyway. “Being with you. Loving you—You make me feel everything.”
Another step and she’s within touching distance. “And that’s a bad thing?”
“No. I was numb before you. I want to feel. I just… I don’t want to scare you. I got angry, and you left. I thought….” My breath hitches. “You left.”
Green eyes stare up at me through clumped, wet lashes. “I needed air. You needed to cool down.”
“You didn’t let me finish back there. If you leave, I’ll follow. I’ll always follow.”
“I know that. In fact, I’m counting on it. But I’m done running. You’re stuck with me, Big Guy.” She raises her hand a little, showing me the bag she’s holding. “I just thought I’d get you some gumbo. It’s cold and raining, and you love it—”
I grab hold of her and haul her close, wrapping her up in my arms. My lips find hers, cold and wet but perfect. I slip my tongue into her warm mouth where she tastes of rain and Fi. I cup her cheeks, try to warm her skin, and kiss her until I can’t breathe.
She leans into me, her raincoat squeaking, her soft breasts plump against my chest. Somehow we’re both apologizing in the kiss, breaking apart and coming back together again and again, soft, deep, finding new angles.
With every touch of her mouth to mine, the tight knot inside my chest eases. I’ve made a habit of locking up my emotions and hiding them from the world. But this girl—the one who inspired me to sing my ass off on a stage, who brings me gumbo when I’ve shown her my worst—she makes me whole. She helped me find myself.
Fi is done running, and I am over hiding. It’s as simple as that.
Our lips drift apart. Rain turns the world into a blur, but my mind is clear. “I love you. I don’t say that enough. Just know that whatever I do, wherever I am, it is a constant refrain in my heart. You color my world, Fi.”
She smiles up at me, her skin glistening and her eyes bright. Gently she touches my cheek with her free hand. “Ethan, I might not be perfect, but no one will ever love you more than I do.”
I don’t think I knew how much I needed to hear those words until she says them. I rest my forehead against hers. I’m freezing, but my heart is finally warm again. I snuggle her closer.
“You are perfect, Cherry. You’re my kind of perfect.”
“You’re my kind of perfect too, Ethan Dexter.”
That’s all I’ve ever needed.
Epilogue
One year later…
Fiona
The house looks perfect. Garlands of evergreen—entwined with twinkling white lights—grace the doorways, window frames, and the big fireplace mantel. Ivory pillar candles are set up in clusters, paired with clove-dotted oranges and sprigs of holly. In the corner by one of the big windows that overlooks the street stands a twelve-foot tree. I kind of love the fact that even Ethan has to pull out the stepladder to decorate the top of it.
But he does the job with a smile on his face. He hangs little football helmets covered in glitter, deep red crystal cherries, die-cast commercial jet planes, even a blown-glass ornament shaped like the Golden Gate Bridge.
“Fi sure likes her themes,” Gray observes, helping out too.
Ethan grins, his concentration on hanging a tiny mic. There’s a flush on his cheeks that I know is from happiness. This year, our tree tells the story of us, and he knows the significance of each and every item I’ve picked.
“What’s with this one?” Ivy asks, holding up an ornament shaped like a stack of pancakes.
Ethan glances at it and catches my eye. His brows rise with humor even as his gaze goes hot. My cheeks flush warm in response. We’ve had plenty of pancakes at midnight since our first attempt. After all, a girl needs to keep up her strength.
“Inside-joke ornament,” Anna guesses, her nose wrinkling. “Quick, put it on the tree and move on before they feel compelled to explain.”
At her side, Drew kisses the top of her head before saying, “I’m pretty sure Dex would have to be threatened with grievous bodily harm before he talked.”
I hand Drew a mug of hot cider before giving one to Anna. She isn’t drinking any alcohol: three guesses why. I give them both a big, sweet smile. “I’m happy to tell you all about those pancakes—”
“No!” the room shouts as a collective whole. Well, all but Ethan who snickers as he hops off the stepladder and comes to me.
He wraps me in his arms, bringing my back against his hard chest. His breath stirs my hair. “You’re so bad, Cherry.”
I relax against him. “Suckers. As if I would talk about our midnight lurve.”