Текст книги "The Game Plan"
Автор книги: Kristen Callihan
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
Chapter Four
Fiona
“I wonder what it is that you’re thinking,” Dex says from his casual slouch on the bench across from me. He’s taken me to the Japanese Tea Garden, a place so utterly beautiful and tranquil I blinked back tears as soon as we’d entered.
Now we’re sitting in the Tea House, me at the railing, idly gazing at the glass-like reflecting pool that surrounds us, and Dex with sketch pad and pencil in hand. His expression is relaxed, a smile in his hazel eyes.
I can’t help but smile back. “I was thinking you’re a brave man, Ethan Dexter.”
His chuckle is low and easy. “Now why would you say that?” He doesn’t look down at the tiny baby nestled in the carrier against his chest.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” I drawl.
I admit, when he met me in the front hall earlier, carrying Leo in his car seat, I was shocked. I love my nephew. Fiercely. But I don’t know anything about babies. I’ve never done a babysitting gig, didn’t have friends who did. So the idea of taking care of Leo is daunting.
But Dex? I know he wouldn’t have offered if he wasn’t confident he could do the job. Not many men would be willing give up an afternoon to look after a one-month-old baby. It gave me the instant warm-fuzzies.
And my ovaries damn near burst into song when Dex pulled out one of those baby swaddlers and tucked my nephew into it to carry him against his massive chest.
I wasn’t the only one. We couldn’t go more than a few steps through the garden without some woman commenting, how sweet, oh, such a lovely baby! Such a dear man—that from an octogenarian who gave Dex a sly pat on his ass, causing him to blush beet red.
Now he’s sketching me as I drink my green tea and Leo snoozes on.
“I swear, you’ve got this whole seduction thing down pat,” I tell him, fighting the urge to fidget. I hadn’t realized he was drawing me until he’d already started. I feel exposed. Naked. And slightly turned on by the way his gorgeous eyes study every inch of me.
Dex’s lips twitch, but his pencil doesn’t stop making those little scratching noises across the pad. “Seduction thing?”
“You know, the baby, beautiful garden, drawing me. Are you going to pull out a guitar next and serenade me?”
He laughs at that. “No guitar. I may or may not have a harmonica in my pocket to use for later. But I prefer to keep you in suspense.”
“So you aren’t just happy to see me. Good to know.”
“Cute.”
“It was terrible and cheesy.” I lean forward. “Are you really drawing me? You aren’t, are you? There’s really just a stick figure giving me an obscene gesture on that page, isn’t there?”
His low bass rumble makes something in my lower belly just hum with pleasure. I love that I can make him laugh. I don’t think he does it often, so each time feels like a reward.
He turns the pad to show me his efforts. And my breath catches.
What he’s drawn isn’t sweet or sentimental. He’s done a close up of my face, my head tilted, my smile almost secretive.
He didn’t sugarcoat me. My chin-length blond hair shoots out in all directions. He’s drawn the small bump on the bridge of my nose—a female replica of my dad’s nose, unfortunately—and the tiny crescent-shaped scar on my jawline from when Ivy and I were jumping on my parents bed when we were eight and six, and I crashed into a dresser.
My attention goes back to my expression. It’s seductive and covetous, as if I’m hungry. Heat fills my cheeks. God, have I been looking at Dex like that?
I glance back at him. He’s patiently waiting.
“Okay,” I say, my voice a little husky. “So you actually can draw.”
He runs a hand over his beard as he regards me, then flips the sketch book back onto his bent knee and starts up again. “I told you I could.” His gaze flicks up to mine. “Do you find it hard to trust men?”
“Do you often hide behind exposing other people’s insecurities?”
He freezes. A frown pulls at his mouth. I don’t want to look at his mouth. It gets to me every time.
For a moment we’re silent, and then Leo makes a small snirddling sound. Dex goes back to drawing. “Touché,” he says in a low voice, his body tense in his seat.
I take a sip of my now-cold tea. “I don’t trust men in general.”
His hand makes a short stroke across the page, but his shoulders visibly relax. “When I analyze others, I find it easier to figure out my own bullshit as well.”
“So you’re sitting there figuring out my weaknesses while simultaneously thinking about your own?”
“Something like that.”
Finishing my tea, I stand. “Come on, Ethan. Let’s walk.”
Chapter Five
Dex
What is it about Fiona Mackenzie that makes me say things I shouldn’t? Do things I wouldn’t? She sees right through me with her grass-green eyes.
Five-foot-three and the tiny terror intimidates the hell out of me. That it’s also a turn on is kind of disturbing.
We’re walking through maple trees, now scarlet and carnelian with their fall foliage. Fi’s head barely reaches my shoulder. I’m a giant next to her, my feet hitting the walkway with dull thuds. Against my chest, Leo snuggles, a warm but light weight. I rest a hand against his little butt as we walk over a footbridge.
“Why do you play football?” Fi asks, her voice soft in the quiet of the garden.
“The pain,” I answer without thinking, and then wince. Shit. Again, she has me confessing.
Her doe eyes peer up at me as her lips twist in a frown.
“Aggression, release¸” I feel compelled to add, somehow struck with verbal diarrhea after one glance from Fi. “It’s a way to go outside of my usual self. To perform on a physical level.”
I hold a hand out to guide her over the stepping stones dotting a pond. She takes my hand—though I know she doesn’t need the help—and I don’t let it go once we’re back on the path.
“A center doesn’t just cover the quarterback and create lanes. A good one reads the game, what each player, both offensive and defensive, is planning. He anticipates, adapts, protects.”
“Perfect for you,” she murmurs.
New warmth floods my chest. “Yeah.”
Most girls I’ve been around are divided into two camps: those who want me because I’m a football player. I could be ugly as a mole and a total asshole, and they’d still want to fuck me. Then there are ones I’m interested in who, ironically, don’t get what I do and don’t really want to.
Amy was like that. A fellow fine arts major, I’d fallen hard for her during the beginning of my junior year. She hadn’t reciprocated. To her, I was a big oaf obsessed with a violent sport.
Fi has outright told me she doesn’t date athletes. But she’s here now. And she gets me. I like her. Always have. She’s honest in a way that’s never cruel, only pure and unfiltered. It’s so refreshing. I find I can truly breathe easy around her.
Her hand in mine is slim, the bones delicate and so easily breakable. I hold onto her carefully, let my thumb stroke her wrist. And though I’m the one stroking her, a shiver of awareness runs along my arm and straight down into my cock. Because I’m touching her. She’s letting me.
I want to run my fingers all over her small, curvy body. My gut tightens with that need, my heart pounding against my chest, because I’m royally fucked up. I don’t know what the fuck to do with women—I’ve avoided getting close to them for years.
Which flat-out sucks for me now.
Fi notices I’ve gone quiet, and glances up at me. “Get out of your head, Ethan.”
“I live there,” I say, trying for lightness. “Not that easy to escape.”
She gets me enough to understand that about me, but I’m happy she doesn’t know why I’m stuck in my head.
“Last night,” she says in a conversational tone, “I went to sleep wondering how your beard would feel between my legs.”
I stumble over a paver. The baby snorts, but I right quickly.
Fi isn’t even looking. She’s walking a few steps in front of me, her voice light and unaffected. “I wondered, would I feel its tickle if you sucked on my nipples?”
Heat floods my lungs. I can’t breathe. My cock is a throbbing shaft in my jeans. Maybe I make a sound because she turns, glances at me over her shoulder. Whatever she sees in my expression has her smile fading and pink washing over her cheeks.
Her steps slow, but mine don’t. I stalk forward, keeping my eyes pinned to hers. Still flushing, she backs up. I think I grin. I’m not sure. My goal is clear.
I shepherd her toward the bench set beneath the curtain of a weeping willow. My hands easily span her waist, and it’s nothing to lift her up. She stands before me on the seat. Her breath comes in soft, audible pants, her pert breasts at my eye level.
She doesn’t say a word as my hand slips beneath her sweater. Satin-smooth skin greets my palm. I slide it up, over her flat belly, past her ribs—watching her eyes the whole time. I love the way those eyes grow wide, the shock and the heat that glow in them.
She doesn’t say a word when I run my fingers over the swell of her breast and catch hold of her lace bra, tugging it down. A small sound escapes her, though, as I slowly lift one side of her top.
“The baby—”
“Is asleep. Don’t wake him.” I’m so close that I can see the flutter of her pulse against her neck. Her warm scent floods my nostrils, woman and sweet, green tea.
The soft cashmere slips over her breast, freeing it with a little bounce, and my dick surges against my jeans. I swallow a groan. God, she’s beautiful. Creamy, firm flesh, a rosy-brown nipple the size of a quarter.
“Hold your top.” My voice sounds guttural.
But she does what I demand, her breast shaking a little with each quick breath.
My hand shakes too as I cup her warm skin, plump her sweet tit for the taking. Then I kiss her nipple, grazing the tip, tickling it with my lips and beard.
“Ethan…” Her hand lands on my shoulder, holding tight.
I’m so hot, my skin burns. I kiss her breast like I would her mouth, licking and sucking, nipping the stiff bud, brushing my lips over it. And do it all over again. I get lost in the act, fucking worshiping her breast the way it ought to be.
Small, needy whimpers leave her mouth as she clutches my shoulders with both hands now, her sweater sliding a little and falling onto the bridge of my nose. I don’t care. I drag the flat of my tongue slowly over her nipple, savoring it, and she groans. Long and loud. The sound is a hard tug on my cock.
My free hand finds her hip, pulls her forward.
And Leo wakes with a squeak and a little cry of protest.
Instant bone kill. I yank my head out from under her sweater and take a step back, careful to keep my hands on her hips so she doesn’t fall.
Closing my eyes, I take a breath, then another. Jesus, I’ve never done anything like that, never let myself not think and just take what I want. And I want to do it again, and again, lose my fucking mind on pleasuring Fiona Mackenzie.
I’m almost breathing normally as I turn to sit on the bench so I can see what Little Man wants.
Next to me, Fiona rights her clothes and jumps down. Keeping her back to me, she runs a hand through her hair. When she finally turns, she doesn’t look embarrassed or regretful. She simply helps me change the baby’s diaper as if nothing happened.
I don’t know if I should be grateful or disappointed. Right now, I’m going with disappointment.
Chapter Six
Fiona
“Is it wrong that I’m thinking of hiring a mother’s helper?” Ivy picks up a perfume bottle, sniffs it, then wrinkles her nose and sets the bottle down.
“I’m inclined to say it’s wrong you haven’t already,” I say.
She sighs and runs a hand through her dark hair. It’s longer than I’ve seen it in years, spilling over her shoulders, her ubiquitous bangs grown out to frame her face. “Mother guilt blows. I feel like I should be ashamed for wanting some time to myself. And with Gray.”
“Ivy Weed, I’ve been at your house for all of two days, and I want to cry for you. Babies are tough work. You have the means to hire help, so do it. Happy mommy and daddy, happy baby.”
I don’t mention our childhood. I don’t need to. Our mom stayed at home and refused to seek any form of help, even though she had the means. She was a walking stress basket. There’s kid guilt too. And it sucks.
I glance in the small mirror set up on the glass countertop and smear a bit of poppy red sample lipstick on my lips. The shade is too strong for my light coloring. “Here, this would look better on you.”
After Dex and I had returned home, Ivy had all but attacked him with hugs of gratitude. Fairly well-rested after a few hours off baby duty, she’d been itching to go out, and called a sitter. So here we are, having sister time and idly shopping. And I’m fighting the good fight to not think about what happened in the Tea Garden.
Ivy shakes her head. “Gray doesn’t like lipstick. Says it tastes bad.”
I snicker and move on.
“Speaking of jobs,” she says as we leave the store. “How’s yours going? Bob Sugar still giving you grief?”
I laugh at the nickname Ivy and Gray gave Elena Ford, my little shithead co-worker. At least Bob Sugar was upfront about stealing Jerry Maguire’s clients. Elena is far more insidious. About two months ago she started at the design firm where I work in NYC.
At first, I thought I’d made a friend. Elena was sweet, slightly clueless, and immediately came to me for guidance.
“You’ve been here six months,” she’d said in her sweet, pleading voice. “And you’re so talented. Me? I’m terrified I’ll get everything wrong and be out on my ass.”
I know all about fear of failure. I am the family fuckup, always flitting from this thing to that. So I helped Elena, showing her my designs, talking about what inspired me, what I thought the client was looking for.
How was I to know she’d waltz into our Monday mockup meeting with designs for the Greenberg condo that looked almost exactly like mine?
Sure, there were differences. Just enough that it didn’t look like a complete copy. But the overall style and themes were exactly the same. I’d felt sick. But, hey, it could have been a coincidence. And Elena was still so nice, thanking me for all my help. Cracking jokes in the staff lounge.
Except our boss, Felix, chose Elena to assist him with the condo. She’d won. And I’d been okay with that. Only it happened again.
Ivy’s arm links through mine, pulling me back to the present. “You’ve gone quiet.”
I sigh and lean into her shoulder as we head for the Embarcadero. “I don’t want to dislike anyone, but I’m beginning to actively hate this woman.”
“What did she do now?” Ivy asks darkly.
“It’s my fault,” I mutter, my stomach twisting. “I told her what I had planned for 44 Park—”
“Fi,” Ivy cries. “You didn’t!”
“Give me a break. It was before I realized that she was, you know, thieving scum—”
“A creative leech,” Ivy puts in helpfully. We have another name for her too; it rhymes with hunt. “Argh, that bitch is totally gaslighting you.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “I feel so stupid.” And sick. Heartsick. “She did it again. This time it was worse. Same use of Art Deco touches mixed with raw woods and industrial framework. Same fucking color scheme.”
“How in the hell does Felix not notice?” Ivy’s dark brows are nearly touching now, she’s scowling so hard.
“He made a comment once on the similarity. Elena just grinned and said some bullshit about great minds thinking alike.”
Ivy snorts. “Brilliant.”
“Yes, wasn’t it? Her mother is a creative editor for Elle Decor. She has numerous and powerful contacts. Why should Felix care when it’s good business?”
As usual, I vacillate between rage and sorrow. Working with Felix is my dream job come to life. He’s a major player in the NYC design community. And I’d been his star apprentice. Until Elena came.
Now I’m second fiddle, watching as she climbs the ladder on the rungs of my work. It blows. Especially since she makes it her business to stop by my desk and fill me in on all the cool shit she gets to do with Felix. Evil hag.
“Well,” Ivy says. “Now you know. Don’t give her any more fodder, and she’ll have to come up with something on her own.”
“I guess. I just keep thinking, I’m here and she’s there, working her witchy voodoo.” Part of me hadn’t wanted to go on vacation. But I’d already been granted the days; the flight was booked.
“Do you want to go back?” Ivy asks, sympathy making her eyes wide.
“Naw.” I give her arm a squeeze. “I need the break. And I’ve missed you, Gray-Gray, and little Leo so much.”
“We’ve missed you too.” She kisses my cheek.
“And I guess it could be worse.” I smile. “I could be working with dad.” Ivy is his partner-apprentice.
“Har!” She rolls her eyes. “Though he really isn’t that bad.”
“I bet living on opposite coasts helps.”
“You know it. Let’s go eat. I’m starving.”
We end up at a Spanish tapas restaurant on the Embarcadero and basically order our weight in food. I pop a cube of Manchego cheese in my mouth and sigh.
“Maybe I should move to San Francisco,” I tell Ivy. “I love it here.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Don’t tease. It isn’t nice.”
“I’m serious. I’ve been living in Dad’s apartment like a mooch. NYC is exhausting. Maybe I should move out here.”
Even as I say the words, I know what I’m doing. Dreaming of running away. Shit gets hard, I bail. I’m not proud of it. But I can’t seem to stop.
Ivy gives me a sad little smile, as if she too is aware. But she doesn’t say that; her attention is diverted by someone behind me, and she waves whoever it is over.
I glance back to see a very large, very hot guy making his way toward us. He’s dressed in smoke gray slacks and a pale pink cashmere sweater that would look horrible on most guys but works with his dark skin and bulging muscles.
“Hey, hey, Mrs. Grayson, I thought that was you.” He leans down and gives her a kiss on the cheek.
“Hey, Jaden.” Ivy glances at me. “Fiona, my sister. Jaden Willingham.”
He gives me a grin. “Best defensive lineman in the business.”
“Modest too,” I say, well aware of athlete egos. And though I really don’t get into sports, it’s impossible not to be aware of things with Ivy and Dad in the family. So I know Jaden is a player with Gray’s team.
“You know it,” he agrees happily.
“Have lunch with us,” Ivy says, gesturing to the unoccupied seat between us.
“Cool.” Once he sits, he turns to me. “So, Fiona…Ivy’s sister.”
“Wait.” I hold up a hand. “Don’t say it. You knew the moment you saw us. We could be twins.”
He chuckles and gives me a long, appreciative look. “Gorgeous identical twins.”
Ivy and I are like a yin and yang sign. But it’s fun to tease.
Jaden takes the plate Ivy has made up for him. “So where’s your lazy half?”
“Working out,” she says with a smirk.
After the sitter arrived, Gray and Dex have gone to train. You know, for fun. Shudder. I get my ass on a treadmill three times a week. But what they do? No, thanks. Although I can appreciate the results.
I take a sip of sangria and take my mind off of Dex. But it’s hard. I swear I still feel his mouth on my breast.
Answer to the question about whether I’d feel his beard if he sucked my nipple? Yes. Hell yes. To my toes.
I’m still experiencing aftershocks from what he did to me in the form of random clenching between my thighs and painful throbs of need.
Fuck. That man is too sexy for his own good.
“What you up to on your week off?” Ivy asks Jaden. “All play?”
He takes a drink of water that our waiter has set down for him, then leans my way. “This is what I love about your sister; she’s like a den mother and coach all rolled into one.”
I know he means it. Ivy has a way with guys. They always end up a little in love with her.
She laughs when Jaden gives her a friendly half-hug and exaggerated kiss on the cheek, but then she frowns, her gaze shooting across the restaurant. “Damn,” she mutters.
Jaden follows her gaze. “What? That dude with the camera?” He shakes his head. “Little pests, man.”
Paparazzi. Ivy and I grew up with them. Though they’re nowhere near as annoying toward athletes—or most of them—as they are with actors and singers. Even so, we’ve always regarded them as the enemy.
Since I’m not really news, I’ve grown lazy about spotting them. But Gray is a huge star here. Already one of the best tight ends in the NFL, and ridiculously hot to boot, he has his fair share of attention. Ivy, as an agent, daughter of my dad, and Gray’s wife, gets a lot as well.
“I think they took a picture of us kissing,” Ivy says to Jaden.
“And tomorrow they’ll be saying we’re having a wild affair,” he says with an annoyed sigh. “Don’t let it bother you, Ivy.”
“I don’t.” She shrugs. “It just pisses me off. Gray deserves better than that shit.”
“Well.” I toss down my napkin and turn to Jaden. “Let’s give them something else to talk about. Smack one on me, lineman.”
A glint lights his eyes. “I like your style, Fiona.”
I know Jaden can tell we’re just messing around to help Ivy. I’ve always been a flirt. Pretending to kiss a guy is nothing to me. But some small part of me wonders why I offered to do this, because it suddenly feels very wrong.
It’s too late to back out. Jaden cups a hand at the back of my neck and leans in. His kiss is brief—hell, he’s practically laughing as he does it—but it’s just long enough to make certain the photographer will see and take a picture. And though Jaden is good-looking, I don’t feel anything other than mild satisfaction that we’re taking attention away from Ivy and Gray’s relationship.
Jaden pulls back and smiles wide. Ivy is laughing and shaking her head. But her smile fractures, turning into dismay as she glances over my shoulder.
And I feel cold to the pit of my stomach. Because I know. I turn and Dex’s gaze clashes with mine. The cold within me turns to hot, painful lead. His expression is unreadable. Gray’s isn’t; he’s pissed.
Together, they make their way to us.
“Ivy Mac,” Gray says softly as he bends to kiss his wife. He snags a chair from an empty table behind him and sits close to her. Dex takes the empty seat at my side.
Shit. Fuck. Shit.
My throat clenches tight but some sullen, childish part of me wants to rebel. We’ve only exchanged one kiss and, okay, some seriously hot boob action, but we aren’t in a relationship. We don’t even live in the same city. Then I think of how I’d react if I saw Dex kissing someone else. I’d want to punch him in the junk.
Guilt and embarrassment grow painful as I feel Dex beside me, his arm resting on the table near enough to touch.
“Gray, my man.” Jaden and Gray exchange a dude shake, and then Jaden looks at Dex. “Dexter. Last time I saw you, I took your QB down at the thirty.”
Dex’s mouth twitches in a shadow of a smile. “Yeah, that two-point conversion we made on the next play for the win must have chafed.”
Gray starts laughing. “That loss fucking sucked. Way to bring it up, J.” He gives Jaden’s back a hearty slap.
The guys laugh.
“Forgot about that part,” Jaden admits with a head shake.
“Happens to defensive linemen all the time,” Dex says as if in sympathy. “They’re easily confused.”
Annoyance rises within me. Here I am feeling guilty as hell for exchanging a fake kiss with a stranger, and Dex is acting as if nothing happened. Well, it didn’t. But he doesn’t know that. He’s ignoring me.
As if he hears my thoughts, his hazel eyes meet mine. Still nothing. No emotion other than casual friendliness.
“So you’re lunching with my girl,” Gray says to Jaden.
“Naw,” Jaden answers easily before slinging an arm over my shoulders to give me a friendly squeeze. “I’m lunching with my girl, Fiona.”
Great. Lovely. Perfect.
If looks could kill, I’d be dead. Speared through the heart by Gray’s glare.
I force a laugh and give Jaden a light shove. “Then you can pick up the check.”
He sets his attention back on Gray and Dex, both of whom I’m ignoring in favor of patatas bravas.
“I got a poker game going tonight,” Jaden tells Gray. “Dean, Jamal, and Monroe will be there. Even pretty boy James is in. You coming?”
Gray doesn’t even blink. “No way. I’m staying at home and sleeping if I can.”
“That’s right. I forgot you’re on baby duty. How’s the little man?”
I drift away from the conversation and glance at Dex. He’s focused on Jaden and Gray, his profile to me. The slant of his nose and the jut of his chin are like the stamp of a Roman coin. I could totally see him as a centurion, slashing his way through armies.
I really have to stop crushing on him. I know myself. I’m not good at flings. One-night hookups I can walk away from without a problem. But if I start to like the guy, I need more. I’m not going to get more with Dex.
His deep voice breaks me out of my fog.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll go,” he says to Jaden.
I’m guessing he’s in for poker.
“Cool.” Jaden makes as if to rise. “It starts up in an hour. Why don’t you come with me now?”
“Sure.”
So Dex is leaving. Never once having said a word to me. He stands, his chair legs scraping over the floorboards. And a sense of loss plummets to my stomach.
I want to apologize. I want to yell at him for ignoring me.
I say nothing. Dex and Jaden exchange goodbyes with Ivy and Gray.
I get a kiss on the cheek from Jaden.
“Good to meet you, Fiona.” His dark eyes twinkle. “If you want to hang, give me a call. Gray’s got my number.”
I give him a tight smile. But my attention is on Dex. “That’s sweet, but I’m spending my time with Ivy and Gray and Dex.”
At the mention of his name, Dex finally looks my way. “Night, Fi.”
That’s all.
I manage a nod, determined not to let this bother me anymore. We weren’t meant to be anyway. But then, as he walks past my chair, the tips of his fingers run along the back of my neck.
A shiver goes through me, a smile tugging at my lips. And then he’s gone.
Fiona
The moment Dex is out of the restaurant, Gray turns on me. “What the hell was that, Fi?”
“Oh, would you relax,” I snap. “It was just a joke.”
“I guess I missed the punch line.” Gray scowls at me before stealing my water and taking a drink—while glaring over the rim of the glass.
“A pap took a picture of Jaden kissing my cheek,” Ivy explains. “Fi and Jaden were just giving him something else to gossip about.”
“I guess.” Gray shrugs but then gives me another hard look. “Still, Fi, that was not cool. Dex likes you and—” He flinches, rearing back as an olive bounces off his forehead. “Did you just ping me with that?”
“Did you miss the part where I threw it at your big head?” I ask sweetly before frowning. “Do not lecture me like I’m an idiot, Gray. I had no idea you guys were coming here.” I give Ivy a pointed look, because she could have warned me. “And I feel shitty enough as it is.”
“Well…” Gray starts.
I cut him off. “That said, Dex and I aren’t…” I wave a hand. “I don’t know what the hell we are. We went on one date. I’m leaving in a week.”
He pouts, crossing his arms over his massive chest. “Then maybe you should stay away from him.”
Hurt caves in on my chest. “Wow. Thanks. It means so much to me that you feel the need to rush me off Dex’s front porch.”
Gray’s tight mouth eases a little. “I didn’t mean it like that. Okay, maybe a little. Shit.”
“No, no.” I hold up a hand. “I get it. And maybe you’re right. But that’s my call, not yours.”
Tense silence falls over the table.
Ivy sets a hand on Gray’s arm. “We have one hour before the sitter needs us to return. Let’s not waste it arguing, Cupcake.”
He looks at her for a long moment, then nods. His blue eyes are wide and serious as they seek me out. “Sorry, Fi. I shouldn’t have gone off on you.”
“Sorry about the olive. That shit can stain,” I say, grudgingly. “Next time I’ll throw a nut.”
I get a napkin to the face in return. And we both laugh. But my insides are heavy, restless. As annoyed as I am with Gray, I know he’s right. And doesn’t that just suck the big one?
