Текст книги "The Game Plan"

Автор книги: Kristen Callihan

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Fiona

I meet my dad at our favorite Chinese restaurant on Mott Street. He and I have almost nothing in common, but we do share a deep and abiding love for soup dumplings and have thus hunted down the best of the best. Despite my fluttering nerves, I slide into the cracked red pleather booth with a hum of anticipation.

“What’s doing, kid?” Dad asks as he sets down his phone. He already has a bottle of Tsingtao beside him and the menu filled out.

I don’t protest because he knows what I like here.

Proof of that, the waitress sets down a Tsingtao for me too. She grabs our order and leaves without a word.

“Lots and lots,” I answer before taking a long pull of the beer. It’s bordering on lukewarm, but then we don’t come here for service.

Dad grunts, focuses on his drink. He’s a big guy. Not in the muscular way of Dex, but all long limbs and towering height.

I don’t know how long he’s been in the city. I never ask. Dad’s sort of transient, seems to like it that way. When he’s here, he stays at some swanky, members-only hotel downtown. Which is fine by me.

I love my dad. I really do. Only, aside from a mutual love of dim sum, we have always been painfully awkward in each other’s presence. I don’t even know why, but it hangs over us like a cloud of bad gas no one wants to mention. And there is the fact that he’s never approved of me.

To that end, I brace my palms on the worn wooden table and take a breath. “I quit my job today.”

Dad sets down his beer. “Why?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it does. If you were sexually harassed, I’ll get up and hunt the bastard down, make him sorry he ever lived. If you were bored, I’ll tell you to get over it, pick a better job next time.” He shrugs. “The reason makes all the difference.”

I am warmed by the idea of my dad kicking someone’s ass for me. “I guess you’re right.” I tell him why I quit, the whole time shaking deep within the pit of my stomach. I hate admitting failure. But I hated my situation more.

While I talk, the waitress sets down a steaming basket of fresh soup dumplings. Dad picks up a delicate, pale little rose of a dumpling. The fragrance of chicken broth and ginger fills the air as he bites and sucks down the soup hidden within.

“So,” he says, “lesson learned. Don’t trust sudden friends who are after the same position as you.”

I have a mouthful of dumpling, so it takes me a moment to swallow and gape up at him. “You’re not going to give me shit?”

“Why would I do that?” His brow scrunches up, making the wrinkles in his face deeper.

“Uhm, because you always give me shit about my…” I hold up my fingers to air quote. “‘Flighty nature’.”

He frowns as if he can’t make out what I’ve just said.

“Oh, come on, Dad,” I say, impatient now. “You’ve called me Flighty Fi since I was a kid.”

“Hey, now. It was a nickname. A term of endearment.”

“Your terms of endearment suck, Dad.”

His frown grows to a scowl. “Okay, fine. I’m sorry you don’t like the term. but…” He shrugs. “You are kind of flighty.”

Shit. That shouldn’t hurt, but it does. Enough that I have to blink to clear my vision.

I push back my plate. “Do you have any clue what it’s done to me to know you think that?”

Dad pauses, dumpling halfway to his mouth. Slowly he lets it settle on his plate. “Honey…” He pauses, his mouth twisting as if he’s groping for some platitude to placate me.

I want to get out of here, but I can’t run away from this.

“It hurts, Dad. You and Mom, you’re both so proud of Ivy. But me? I’m the sad case that keeps letting you down.”

For a sick moment, I really do empathize with fuck-face Elena. Which makes my feelings sting that much more. I sure as shit do not want to find common ground with her.

Dad tosses his chopsticks onto the table where they rattle around. “You do not let us down. You’re just… You have so much potential. We want to see it come to fruition.” He leans forward, the old leather booth creaking beneath him. “Fiona, you’re my kid. Every father wants to see his kid settled. Or he ought to, anyway.”

A shaking breath gurgles in my throat. “Wanting to see me settled and being dubious of my ability to lead my life are two separate things. I know I’m not like Ivy—”

“No,” he cuts in. “You’re like me.”

“You?”

“Don’t look so horrified,” he says dryly.

“It’s just… You’re successful, Dad. People aspire to be like you.”

I swear he flushes. He doesn’t meet my eye as he rubs the back of his head. “I’m a lucky bastard who happened to be tall and coordinated enough to play the game. The agent gig, well…” He shrugs again, grabbing his chopsticks to poke at a dumpling. “I knew the business by then so I took an opportunity.”

I can’t believe he’s downplaying what he is.

“You are, though,” he goes on quietly. “Like me. I too was always searching for something to inspire me, something to get excited about.”

I gape. I know I do. Because how the fuck did he know that about me? How, when I thought he never paid any attention. My dad keeps talking.

“My problem is, I did that by screwing around on your mom. By drinking and partying too much. You?” He meets my eyes, though I can tell it’s hard for him by the way he winces. “You’re more constructive. You’re looking for meaning in life. I’m proud of you for that, Fi. Always have been.”

“Dad…” A watery laugh escapes me. “Shit, you’re going to make me choke up over dumplings.”

“Never waste good dumplings, Fiona.”

I laugh again, and he gives me a tight smile. Being easy and joking with my dad is a new thing. It occurs to me that maybe he’s shy too. I reach over and nudge his bony wrist with my fist. “I’m proud of you too, Dad.”

“Remember the dumpling,” he says, though he’s flushed again. “And never forget this. As much as I want your respect, you never, ever live your life to make someone else happy. You got me?”

He stares me down, he expression as earnest as I’ve seen it. Lump in my throat, I nod. He nods too.

We eat in silence for a while, ordering a plate of steamed pork buns. Around us, Chinese New Yorkers chatter and slurp up dumplings with a deftness that makes me and Dad look like bumbling amateurs. At the front-window counter, an old guy makes stunning little bundles of food art, occasionally yelling in Mandarin to the hostess by the register.

I soak it in, relish my meal. Four years I spent in the South, playing the part of college party girl. It was fun, but here in New York? I feel at home. I love this city. It hums through my veins and makes my heart beat. And I’m going to leave it. Because I want something more.

I’m about to tell my dad this when he speaks again.

“I’m…ah…seeing someone.” Okay, he’s definitely pink now. “Genevieve. She does PR for the Hawks.”

Just like that, I’m grinning. “It must be serious.”

Dad tilts his head in acknowledgement before slurping down a soup dumpling. “She moved into the house,” he says after a moment.

“Good. I don’t like the idea of you rattling around in that big place alone. Just, please tell me she isn’t my age.”

Dad rolls his eyes. “Nice, Fi. And you accuse me of giving you shit.”

“Sorry.” It was a low blow.

“She’s only five years younger than me. Is that acceptable?” He’s not smiling, but I can tell he wants to.

“Yeah. Of course. I was being a shit.”

“Wouldn’t be my daughter if you weren’t.”

It’s my turn to duck my head in embarrassment.

“So what are you going to do next?” Dad asks.

“Dex.”

Dad rears back. “What?”

“Shit. No. I mean…” I bite on my lower lip before getting it over with. “I’m seeing someone too. Ethan Dexter.” Worst segue ever, even if it was probably correct. I really can’t wait to do him again. And again. Shit. I’m blushing now.

Dad stares at me for a long moment, his nostrils slightly pinched, then grunts. “Dexter, eh? I kind of thought you’d fall for a chef or some sort of arty type—“

“Thanks, Dad,” I say, not bothering to clarify that Dex actually is arty.

Dad doesn’t pause. “But he’s a good choice.”

I blink. “Really? You think so?”

“Why not? You like him, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“He’s steady, quiet, honest.” Dad rubs a hand over his face. “Not too thrilled about the idea of you ‘doing’ him, but we’ll just pretend that was never mentioned.”

I bury my head in my hands. “I know. God, I suck at basic conversation with you.”

Dad laughs. “No shit.”

“Can we move along now?” I ask from the safety of my hands.

“Sure.” He falls silent, and I lift my head to find him studying me. “So is he the real deal?”

I’m the one who feels shy now. “Yeah, dad. He really is. So much so that I’m going to claim him.”

I cringe again. I meant it figuratively, but it probably isn’t something my dad wants to hear. I’m better off stuffing my mouth with dumplings and not talking again.

Fortunately Dad just nods. “One less thing.”

I don’t know if he’s right, because the fact is, there are things I need to tell Dex too, and I have no idea how he’s going to take them.

Chapter Thirty-Three

FearTheBeard: Can we Skype?

CherryBomb: On it like a bonnet.

FearTheBeard: Gonna take that as a yes.

CherryBomb: :-*

I confess, I fix my hair and put on some lip gloss and mascara before I Skype with Dex. Okay, I change my top too. No way am I wearing my frumpy, knee-length t-shirt with Princess on the Streets, Ogre in the Sheets across the front. Thank you, Gray, for yet another Fiona-themed birthday gift.

Instead, I wear a casual white tank and leave the bra off. If I can’t see Dex every day, I have to make the times we do connect count.

A flutter of anticipation goes through me as I settle down on my bed, my laptop propped on a pillow. Seeing him this way is a treat and a torture. No matter how good it is to talk to Dex, when it’s all done, I close my laptop alone.

Even so, I grin like a loon as soon as his face comes into view. Damn, he’s fine. Tanned from practicing in the Southern sun, gold highlights streaked through his brown hair. Dex will never be a pretty boy; his features are too strong, his body too big and built. His eyes, however, are devastating and beautiful—and as always, they shine when he sees me. The way he looks at me is addicting. It’s everything.

My voice is breathless. “Hey, Big Guy.”

The corner of his lush mouth lifts. “Hey, Cherry.” His voice is tired and strained, and it hurts not to be with him.

“How are things?” I know full well he’s being hounded by the press, stalked by women—the idea of which I hate enough to gnash my teeth. I ask because I want him to unload his problems on me.

He swallows visibly, and his entire body seems to deflate. “Not great, Fi.” Slowly he lifts his head, as if it weighs a ton. “My privacy is nil at the moment.”

“Baby.” I can’t help but reach out and touch the edge of my screen, wanting to stroke the soft-rough edge of his jaw instead. “It’ll get better.”

His nod is vague, his gaze sliding away.

“Hey,” I lean in. “I’ve got loads to tell you.”

Again he nods, but it’s clear he isn’t listening. Then he takes a breath and his shoulders draw back, when he looks directly at the screen, his eyes are wide open and anguished. “Fi…I don’t…” His breath hitches. “I don’t think we should see each other for a while.”

My ears begin to ring as the blood drains from my face, leaving it numb. “What?”

Dex leans forward, his eyes rimmed in red. “They’re on me all the time.”

“So let’s just tell them!” My voice is too high, too frantic. But then again, so is my heart. I can’t breathe properly. “Tell them about me and be done with it.”

“No.” His chin rises. “No, Fi. I told you before, that’s not going to happen.”

“Why? Because you’re protecting me? That’s bullshit, Ethan.”

A red flush washes over his cheeks. “Look me in the eye and tell me they won’t rip you apart. Tell me, Fi, because I know for a fact they will. And so do you.”

“So maybe they will.” God, my chest hurts. I can’t find my breath. “I’ll get over it.”

But Dex is shaking his head. “I won’t. I promised you normalcy. Or as close as I could make it. I won’t pull you into this mess.”

“So…” I choke back a sob. “So you’d rather dump me?”

He leans close enough that I see his eyes glaze over. “No. Cherry… I just figure we let this settle down for a while, not visit each other until—”

“We barely see each other as it is. What’s the point, if we have even less than this?” I have to blink to keep from tearing up. I won’t. I will not beg. “Please, Ethan. Don’t do this.”

“I have to,” he rasps. “It’s so fucking ugly here, Fi.”

My breath hitches. “So that’s it? You’re just going to push me aside?”

He blanches. “Please don’t think of it like that. I’m trying to protect you, Cherry. Even if that means from myself.”

“I don’t need you to protect me, Ethan. I need you to want me.”

“I do want you. You’re the most important person in my life.”

An ugly sound leaves me. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it, Dexter.”

“You are,” he says with feeling, his cheeks flushing dark. “You are everything to me.”

“Then don’t push me away!”

He sits back in his chair with an audible thud. When his gaze comes back to me, it’s filled with pain. “I know you don’t believe me, Fiona. But there is no one, no one, I care about more than you. I cannot let these fucking vultures go at you. Do you get that? I. Can’t. Do. It.”

A single tear breaks free from his eye. He doesn’t wipe it away but looks at me, pleading.

And suddenly, I’m so angry I can’t speak. My nails dig into my thighs as I breathe through my rage.

“Fi.” Dex’s voice comes from a distance. “Fi?”

My lips press together as I swallow down a scream. Finally I look at him, but all I see is the red haze of my own frustration. “I can’t talk to you right now.”

Dully he nods. “Okay. I understand. I’ll call you later.”

And my rage grows.

“Don’t…” I suck in a scream. “Don’t call me. Don’t text. Just…don’t.”

I slam the lid on my computer and shut off my phone. For a long time, I lie on my bed, stare blindly up at the ceiling, and think.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Dex

Another day. Another practice. I don’t give a shit about anything. And it shows. My offensive line coach hands me my ass after my shitty footwork and slow reaction time letting yet another defensive end get to my QB.

If it was a game, I’d be riding the bench. As it is, I’m relegated to the sidelines to run ladder drills. I’m thankful for it. Practicing complicated footwork keeps my mind occupied, my body moving. I keep at it until I’m the only one left on the field. Push myself until my body feels like warm Jell-O.

Because there’s a void threatening to open up and consume me if I stop to think.

Fi.

I fucked up. I shouldn’t have told her all that on Skype like some dumb asshole. I hurt her instead of convincing her it was the safest thing to do for now. I should’ve waited, told her in person when I could hold her, show her I was only thinking about her happiness.

Only that’s all bullshit. I smashed her happiness just as effectively as if I’d taken a fist to her face. I saw her smiling face crumple with pain. I did that. To her. To my girl.

And it guts me. I have to make it right. Only I’m afraid I’ve done permanent damage.

A groan leaves me as I lean against the shower stall after practice, the water pummeling my skull. I’ve always wanted a girlfriend. Someone who was mine and mine alone. But the truth is, I have no fucking clue what to do when it comes to relationships.

When I finally trudge out of the showers, the locker room is almost empty, just a few guys left getting dressed, and none of them paying attention to me. Devon, a safety, is bitching about losing his favorite Grinch socks and how it’s affecting his mojo. Ryder is explaining to Morgan how to make a proper bread pudding, which apparently involves a dozen eggs and a shitload of cream.

I step away when he starts waxing poetic about types of bread to use.

I don’t notice Finn until he gives me a slap on the shoulder. “What’s doin’, Big D? You played like shit today.”

“Master at stating the obvious, aren’t you?”

He just grins like a smarmy dick. “So it was obvious to you too? Good. For a second there, I wondered if you had your head totally up your ass.”

I rub a towel over my hair and toss it down. I’m tempted to tell him to fuck off, but he’s stating the truth, and something worse comes out instead. “Are all men clueless when it comes to handling women? Or am I just gifted at being a spectacular fuckup?”

Finn blinks as if I’ve told him I have VD. I think I might be wincing too; I do not need the entire locker room knowing my business.

“Well, hell,” he says finally. “I don’t know. Isn’t it our job to fuck up?”

From across the way, Ryder snorts. “First of all, you never ‘handle’ a woman. She handles you. Your job—” He points at the both of us. “—is to hold on tight, go along for the ride, and pray you don’t fuck it up.”

“What makes you an expert?” Finn asks. “Last time I checked, you haven’t been with the same girl for more than one night for like…ever.”

“Four sisters, asshole,” Ryder answers as he looks in the little mirror he has attached to his cubby. He runs his hand through his damp hair. “And raised by my mom. I know women.” He catches my eye in the mirror. “What did you do?”

Running my fingers through my beard, I debate telling him, but I’ve already said too much to back out now. “I told Fi we should keep things on the down-low until all of this bullshit blows over.”

Every guy in the locker room groans as one. Fuck, I should’ve known they’d be eavesdropping. Nosy bastards.

“Dude,” says Ryder. “Were you aiming for the most bonehead thing to say? Because you fucking nailed it.”

“Yeah,” says Jones, a defensive end who’s pulling on his sweats. “The only thing worse would be if you pulled out the ‘it’s not you’ line.”

“I told her it wasn’t—”

Another round of groans, even more pained, rumbles though the locker room.

“Bad play, man.”

“Way to go, knucklehead.”

“Send her flowers.”

“Hell, no. That’s fucking cliché. Stand outside her window and hold up one of those old time boom boxes.”

“As she calls the cops on your ass.”

I roll my eyes at them. “Next thing you’ll tell me is that you’re all single by choice.”

I don’t know if they get the movie reference, but someone chucks a sweaty sock at me. I think it’s Ryder but can’t be sure. I glare around the room, as the horrible sinking feeling within grows worse.

“Dex,” Finn drawls with a shake of his head. “You’re the guy we expect to have all the answers. What the fuck, man?”

With a grunt, I let my forehead slam against the edge of my locker. The pain feels good. “I don’t know.” He’s right, I’m the one they come to for advice, not some moron who gets it all wrong.

Life lesson that sucks? Giving advice is way easier than living your own life.

Life lesson that sucks worse? Realizing this after you’ve severely fucked up.

“I just want to protect her.” It comes out as feeble as it sounds. And I’m really not talking to the guys anyway. I was protecting Fi, but I was also protecting myself. Because I’m embarrassed. This whole situation makes me feel like I’m the butt of a joke, something I’ve tried to avoid my whole life. And I don’t want Fi to see that up close and personal. I don’t want her to see me as something less than.

But now I’ve gone and hurt her.

A nudge at my shoulder has me lifting my head. Finn’s expression is neutral. “Ry and I are going out for crawfish and oysters by the lakefront. Come on out with us. Have a beer and forget all this media shit for a while.”

Rubbing the back of my neck, I try to perk up, at least give the semblance of a guy who isn’t losing it. “Thanks. Maybe next time.”

Right now, I’ve got an airline ticket to buy and a shit-ton of groveling to plan.

It’s dark by the time I get home.

I haul my ass upstairs. My left knee throbs and my back feels like a hot iron rod has been shoved up my spine. That’s just the top of my list of various aches and pains. I’m twenty-four years old and am hobbling like a senior citizen on his way to a four o’clock dinner. Old before my time, I think as I open my front door, toss my keys on the side table, and step into an empty house.

For one dark second, loneliness swamps me and I can’t breathe. It takes my air and weighs down my chest. I stare at the floor as my hand fumbles to find my phone in my pocket.

I need to hear Fi’s voice. Now. God, I need to see and touch her so badly I grind my teeth with want. But her voice will have to do.

Then it hits me, a certain warmth, the scent of coffee, and the underlying fragrance of fresh flowers. I feel her. Here.

Fi is here.

My bag hits the floor with a thud, and I practically run into the main room. She’s pouring herself a cup of coffee, her hair gleaming pale gold under the kitchen light. She looks up at my arrival, a nervous smile drawing tight over her delicate features. “Hey.”

I stop on the other side of the massive marble-covered island, pressing my hands against the cold slab to ground me. “Tell me you’re really here.”

Her smile grows warmer, more real. “You think you’re hallucinating, Big Guy?”

“Could be. I dream about this a lot.” Every fucking day.

She sets the cup down with a clink of porcelain and rounds the island. I watch her approach, her hips swaying beneath one of those flirty little skirts she favors. My chest contracts when her slim hands slide up, drawing little shivers in her wake. Her thumbs run over the edge of my beard, then along my lower lip. It’s all I can do not to bite that thumb, suck it into my mouth.

“Feel real enough to you?” Her voice is husky.

I breathe in the scent of Fi, lean into her. “Not sure. I think I need more.” I need everything. All of her.

She knows this. With a gentle tug, she pulls me down to her. I go willingly. Her sweet, soft mouth finds mine, and everything within me sighs with relief.

I don’t know how long I kiss her, but it isn’t long enough. Too soon, she’s pulling back, but she keeps her arms around my neck, and I hold her close. It’s only then that I realize her body is tense, her gaze hesitant.

“I’ve decided,” she says. “You don’t get to choose our fate without consulting me.”

“Agreed.”

My instant answer seems to give her pause, her head cocking back as if she doesn’t understand. Her voice comes out unsteady but strong. “Good. You pissed me off, Ethan.”

“I know.” I should be more contrite, but I’m so fucking happy she’s here. I can’t keep back my smile, can’t stop from touching her cheek.

She bats my hand away. “I’m serious. You…you hurt me. If you don’t want me, just say it now. Don’t hide behind some ridiculous claim of trying to protect me, because—”

I cup her smooth cheek and kiss her. Fi’s mouth moves against mine, shaping words—probably trying to tell me off. I keep kissing her soft and slow until she relaxes with a sigh. My fingers thread through her hair as I look down at her.

“You’re right. I was a dumbass. I’m sorry.” I nuzzle her cheek. “I was on my way to see you. To apologize.” To beg for another chance.

Her nose wrinkles in a dubious look. I kiss the tip of it, but she doesn’t relent. “I mean, how could you do that? And over Skype, Ethan!”

“I’m an asshole.” I keep my eyes steady on hers. “I was embarrassed, Fi. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Her voice is soft. “Like what?”

My skin goes uncomfortably tight, and my insides roll like there’s a lead weight falling through me. But I owe her the words. “All these women coming after me for the money. With pity in their eyes and dollar signs dancing in their heads.”

She’s quiet for a second. “I’m glad they don’t know what they’re missing,” she says low and fierce. “It means I have you all to myself.”

Closing my eyes, I press my forehead against the top of her head. “No one else ever stood a chance against you, Cherry.” Holding her close eases all the tight spaces inside me. “I panicked, and it hurt you. You have no idea how sorry I am for that.”

“Okay, then.” Her hand smoothes down my shirt. “I’m glad we had this talk.”

I can’t help giving her another quick kiss. It feels too good, even if I’m in the doghouse. “Can we get to the make-up sex now?” I ask, wanting to make her laugh. “I’ve heard good things.”

Thankfully, Fi laughs and gives my pec a little punch. “Yeah, I bet.” Her smile falls fast. “I need to tell you something first.”

Honestly, she could tell me she robbed a bank, and I’d say fine by me. But I keep my expression neutral, trying manfully not to grin like a fool. She’s here. She’s still mine. That’s all that matters.

“All right. Tell me what you did, Cherry.”

As soon as she gets whatever it is off her chest, I’m going to fuck her until my dick gives out on me.