Текст книги "The Game Plan"

Автор книги: Kristen Callihan

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Chapter Nineteen

Dex

“Look, it’s Sinatra!” Delgado, my fellow lineman, shouts when I walk into the locker room.

I’m greeted with a rousing chorus of “Gold on the Ceiling,” all of it off-key and loud. I’d been informed by a cackling Gray that video of my karaoke performance had gone viral. If that hadn’t been enough, the ESPN highlight, complete with accompanying jokes, made it clear I’d get my fair share of shit come Monday morning.

“Yeah, yeah,” I wave an idle hand. “Laugh it up, fuzzballs.”

Sampson, a nose tackle, makes an attempt to roar like Chewbacca but ends up choking, which cracks the guys up even more.

Grinning, I sit down and kick off my shoes. Finn Mannus, my QB, saunters over, a smile wide on his face. He gives my shoulder a hearty slap. “So, Dexter, have a good week off?”

“Say what you’re gonna say, Manny, and fuck off,” I tell him lightly.

He’s still grinning at me like a smug fuck. “I must say, I enjoy seeing you hang your balls out, Dex. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Pretty sure there’s a lot you don’t know about me.” I’ve stripped down to get in my gear when I catch his eye. He’s no longer smug but serious.

“That’s kind of the point,” he says. “You’re my center.”

His words give me pause. I like Finn. He’s a rookie, which especially sucks for him because he has to carry the team without the freedom to ease into his job. But he’s also a good quarterback, and it’s my job to protect him. But I don’t know him like I know Drew. I haven’t taken the time. Guilt tilts in my belly.

“Come out for a beer with me later,” I suggest. “And I’ll tell you all about my wild week.”

He looks at me with those famous baby blues that have women all over America sighing and throwing their panties in his direction. Doesn’t do anything for me, but I’m comfortable enough in my manhood to see what chicks dig about him. I guess I’m doomed to always cover pretty boys.

“Yeah,” he says. “Sounds good.” He moves to go but then halts. “Hell. We’ve got that photo shoot at four.”

A scowl works across his face, and now I’m the one who’s laughing. “Ah, the charity calendar. Thought that would be right up your alley, GQ.”

Apparently not, if his disgusted look is anything to go by. “Charity, yes. I’d just rather do it talking to a bunch of kids or something, not offering my ass up like a side of beef.”

“Aw, Manny,” says Sampson, walking past, “but it’s such a big ass. Almost as big as your head.” With that, he snaps a towel at said ass and takes off as Mannus lunges for him.

“Keep running, dickhead,” Mannus calls.

I suit up, more than happy for the attention to slide off of me and back to Mannus, where it belongs. Only that isn’t the case. For the rest of practice, guys serenade me. On the sidelines, when I’m gulping down Gatorade and stretching out my burning quads, Dean Calloway, the offensive line coach stands beside me, his gaze on the other players, but his mouth twitching.

“Guess I know who’ll be the lead in our annual team musical, Dexter.”

“Didn’t know we had a musical, Coach.” I toss my empty bottle into the trash.

He turns to me. “Maybe we should start one now.” Giving me a slap on the back, he ambles off with a, “Good work, Dex.”

I watch him go, and it occurs to me that although I’ve played for this team for going on two years, I haven’t really engaged. It’s too easy for me to hide away from the world. But laughing with my team, not taking shit too seriously, it feels good.

I could be happy, genuinely happy. There’s only one thing missing, and she’s over a thousand miles away.

Fiona

I’m headed out for drinks when Dex calls. Which has me grinning even before I answer the phone. “Hey.”

“Hey, Cherry.” His deep voice gives me a little thrill. Every single time. “What you up to?”

“Going out for drinks with Anna.” I dart across 5th and weave past a slow-strolling tourist family.

“Drew’s Anna?” Dex asks in obvious surprise.

“Yep. We’ve gotten to know each other over the years. Gray always invites her and Drew to spend Christmas with us.”

Drew lost both his parents when he was in high school, and Gray lost his mother to cancer around the same time. Gray has made it a priority never to let Drew go a holiday without family. “Family” being him, and now Ivy and me.

“Right, I forgot about that. Kind of kicking myself for going home to my parents’ instead of to Gray’s Christmas party last year,” Dex says with a wry laugh.

Because he’d been invited too. Every year.

“You were being a good son,” I say.

“I was avoiding the temptation of you,” he answers.

It makes me stumble. Frowning, I quicken my step. “Why did you avoid me?”

He sighs, and I can imagine him rubbing a hand along his beard the way he does when he doesn’t want to admit something. “Well, last year you were still in college, and I was a rookie in the NFL. There was absolutely no hope of us ever seeing each other. And, besides, you were Gray’s baby sister-in-law.”

“I’m still that. Although I object to the term baby.”

“Fine, younger sister.” There’s a smile in his voice before his tone goes serious. “I asked him, you know. If he objected to me making a play for you.”

“What?” I practically shriek.

“He’s one of my best friends, Fi. It’s man code. And you don’t mess with the code.”

“And what if he’d said no?” The idea of Gray lording over my sex life does not sit well with me.

“Then I’d have laid out a perfectly logical and irrefutable argument for him to change his mind,” Dex says. “Or I’d have pounded on him until he said uncle.”

I laugh. “So much for the man code.”

“Punching out an argument is an accepted form of conflict resolution in the man code. It’s part of our bylaws.”

“And you say women are confusing.” I laugh and hurry along so I’m not late. “So what about you? What are you doing tonight?”

“Same thing. Going out with my QB.”

“Finn Mannus?” I give a little sigh. “He’s dreamy.”

Okay, I’m still a little irked by Dex’s archaic “man code” thing with Gray, and payback is a bitch.

Predictably, Dex makes a noise of disdain. “Thought you didn’t follow football.”

“There’s a difference between following the sport and following a hot player,” I tease.

“Never thought I’d be the jealous type,” he drawls. “But I guess I am because I have the sudden urge to punch the little shit in the face right about now.”

“Don’t do that! You’ll ruin the pretty!”

“Fi.” Dex sounds ominous. And pained.

Laughing, I put him out of his misery. “Baby, you know I only have eyes for one guy. And he is way sexier than some skinny quarterback.”

“Yeah?” He’s practically purring now.

All my pleasure points stir. “Yeah.”

I hear him sigh, and his voice lowers. “I want to look at that pic you sent me. I want that so badly my dick hurts. But I know if I do, it’ll hurt more. I can’t beat off to thoughts of you anymore, Fi.”

My breath hitches. “Why?”

“I’ve had the real thing. Imagination no longer cuts it.”

“Have you… You used to think of me when you touched yourself?”

I swear I hear him swallow down a groan. “You know I did.”

“We could…” I sidestep a woman running toward the subway. “We could talk through it.”

Another groan from Dex. “No,” he says. “It’ll kill me, Cherry. Not being able to touch you.”

“I can touch myself. Pretend it’s you.” I don’t know why I’m pushing this. I’m in the middle of Manhattan and can’t do a thing. But teasing Dex is fast becoming one of my favorite things. Only because I know he likes it. Even more, he needs it. Dex is too closed off. Which wouldn’t really matter, but I’ve seen that spark of life in him that’s aching to come out and play.

I can hear it now when he gives me a dark chuckle. “Babe, the thought of you touching yourself is even worse. That’s something I need to see, not hear.”

“We could Skype.”

“Fi.”

“Ethan.”

The smile in his voice remains, but he sounds tight. “I don’t have smooth words. I’d fuck it up by saying the wrong thing. You don’t need to hear how today I thought of backing you into a quiet corner of my locker room so I could shove my hand up your skirt and fuck you with my fingers, knowing my guys walked around a few feet away. I’d tell you to be nice and quiet while I did it, not make a sound, even though you were dying to.

“Of how I’d pinch one of your perky little pink nipples with my other hand. Nice and firm the way you like it.”

I’ve slowed to a complete stop, my skin on fire, my breath short and rasping, as the world passes me by. Jesus. My nipple throbs as if he were here now, tweaking it with a rough touch; my sex aches, the ghost of Dex’s thick, long fingers pumping into it.

I clear my throat. “I think you got the talking down pat, Big Guy.”

He pauses and takes an audible breath. “I never got to taste you, Fi. I regret that. I have no idea what a pussy tastes like, and all I can think about is yours. God, I want to spread you wide and take my time, savor every inch, see if your flavor changes when you come.”

“Ethan,” my voice cracks.

“See? It’s too much, isn’t it?”

Somehow I manage to laugh. “Any more and I’m going to spontaneously combust right here on Fifth Avenue.”

“Yeah?” He sounds surprised. Poor, deluded, sexy center.

“I think you’re right,” I say, forcing myself to walk again. “No more sex talk. It’s killing me too.”

A sad sort of half-chuckle rumbles through my phone. “I know. So…” His voice strains as if he’s reaching for lightness. “Tell me something else to take my mind out from under your skirt. How’s work?”

Yeah, right there is an immediate buzz kill.

Fuck, my throat hurts again. I want to tell him everything, right down to the bone-deep agony I feel in failing once again. But I don’t want him to see that side of me. Flighty Fi who can’t keep her shit together. I can’t stand the thought of being diminished in his eyes.

“It’s fine.”

He’s silent for a moment, and for the first time, I’m grateful for the physical distance between us. He can’t see my face.

“I thought you had to leave because of a work issue,” he says carefully.

Great. Either I’m lying about work or I lied about why I left him. Silently cursing, I grind my teeth and search for an answer. “It’s all settled. Not as big a deal as I’d thought.”

“Well,” he says. “That’s good.”

He doesn’t sound like he buys my story. God, I’m fucking up already, building this house-of-cards relationship on a shifty set of lies. But I can’t tell him. I can’t. I’ll start crying here and now.

“I’m at the bar,” I tell him with false levity. “Call you later?”

“Always, Cherry,” he says softly. I hear him take a breath. “Fi?”

My heart pounds as I grip the phone like a life line. “Yeah?”

“Just know I’m with you. Even when I’m far away, I’m with you.”

It’s all I can do not to sob. I stand on the corner of 5th and 25th, the world flowing by me like rippling water, and feel such loneliness I have to hug myself around my middle. “Thank you, Ethan.”

I hang up then, because I can’t say anything more without breaking my heart wide open.

Chapter Twenty

Fiona

Anna and I end up not drinking but buying sandwiches at Eataly and claiming a table in the Flatiron Plaza, the little pedestrian triangle of concrete between Broadway and 5th. The weather is gorgeous in the way of New York in the fall—crisp breezes cutting through sun-warmed air.

I don’t talk about my job issues. I’d rather enjoy the evening than ruin my appetite.

“So, Dex?” Anna grins before taking a sip of her latte.

I don’t know if she found out from Ivy, or if Gray blabbed to Drew—though my money is on Gray. Regardless, I can’t help but grin back. “Yeah. Dex.”

I hold in a dreamy sigh, because that would be overkill. But Anna’s too quick. My satisfaction doesn’t escape her notice.

“That good, eh?” Her cheeks plump, and the breeze sends her red curls spiraling around her head.

“Let’s just say fauxgasms are unnecessary.”

“Fauxgasms?” Anna asks with a laugh.

“Fake orgasms.” I give her a look. “God, please don’t tell me you’ve never had to fake it. I think I’ll die of envy.”

My sex life hasn’t been horrible or anything, but college boys, by and large, are pretty much pump and dump, lather, rinse, repeat.

Dex had been a virgin, and yet he’d put his entire body and soul into the act. I’d felt cherished and my body worshiped. Never mind that Dex is so freaking sexy, all he has to do is look at me and I’m a hot mess.

Anna swallows a bite before shaking her head. “Of course I’ve faked it. Never with Drew, though.”

I roll my eyes at that but laugh. “I hope not since you’re marrying the guy.”

“Oh, he leaves me quite satisfied. Quite.”

We give each other an immature fist bump and dissolve into laughter.

“I have to admit, I’m surprised,” Anna says.

“Why? Because of the athlete thing?”

“Well, partially that. I mean you’ve shrugged off every friend of Drew’s who’s hit on you.”

More than a few guys on Drew’s team have made passes whenever I hang out with him and Anna. And, yes, my refusals were mainly because they were football players. But some were also total meatheads.

“But really,” Anna continues, “it’s more that Dex is so quiet. I mean, I love the guy, but you’re not exactly shy.”

I have to laugh. “He’s not quiet when we’re together. Anyway, I’m pretty sure I’d kill someone who was exactly like me. Imagine all the noise, noise, noise!” I fake a shudder.

Anna gives me an obligatory smile, but then it fades. “So why do you look so sad, Fi?”

Like that I wilt. I could tell her about my job. But that’s not what’s hurting my heart at the moment. “Because I don’t think I’m cut out for a long-distance relationship. I miss him already.” I don’t just miss him. I need him. Here. Now. “I’ve got all this fluttery anticipation and nowhere for it to go until we see each other again. Won’t it get worse the more attached I get?”

Reaching out, she takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Shit, I wish I was better at this. I don’t know. I fucking hate it when Drew is gone. But what can you do? We love who we love.”

“I thought falling for someone was supposed to be awesome.”

“Ha.” Anna leans back, her eyes bright. “Best and worst time of your life, kid.”

Dex

The photographer’s studio is in New Orleans’ Warehouse District. We’ve been scheduled in small groups. I’m here with Rolondo, Finn, and Jake Ryder, our other wide out.

Aside from Ryder, none of us are particularly comfortable with the idea of modeling for the next few hours, but it’s for charity, so we’ll make due.

No one is here to greet us, which is odd. When ringing the bell fails to get a reply, Finn pounds on the metal door with the side of his fist.

“We get the time wrong?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Nope. In fact, we’re a few minutes late.”

“The photographer had better not be having some sort of artistic huff.”

Finn is the one who appears to be five seconds away from a huff, but I shrug. “Maybe he’s on the can or something.”

“Great,” drawls Ryder. “We’ve gotta wait for a shit? That could be half an hour at least.”

Rolondo bends his head back and looks at the ceiling. “Lord, these boys keep leaving themselves wide open for a smack down. It’s almost too easy.”

Ryder smirks, then reaches past me and slams on the door as well. “Dude! Nip it off and open up!”

“Jesus,” I say, my ears ringing. “Have some class.”

He just grins.

The door whips open, ending the conversation. A tall young woman with long, straight hair a saturated shade of magenta gives us a dark scowl that takes our measure. I’m guessing we’re found lacking.

“Nip what off, do tell?” she asks, her voice so husky I wonder if she’s a smoker.

We all kind of shuffle, then Finn steps forward. “Er…we’re here for the calendar shoot.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t think you were here for the little league group shot I have scheduled later.”

“You’re the photographer?” Finn’s eyes widen in obvious shock.

“Let’s not be a cliché, eh, pretty boy?”

Ryder snickers. “She’s got your number, sweet cheeks.”

Finn is a pretty boy. We all love to tease him about it. But he doesn’t seem to like it now. “Hey now, we were told our photographer’s name was Chester Copper. Excuse me if I assumed it was a man.”

Her lips pinch. “I go by Chess. I’ve no idea how your PR manager got my full name.”

“Probably because they do background checks to weed out the freaks.” Finn’s dubious expression clearly states that PR failed in this case.

Chess gives a bored roll of her eyes.

“Chester Copper… That’s kind of like Chester Copperpot from The Goonies,” Ryder adds helpfully. “Remember that movie?”

Our photographer utters a ripe curse.

“Yeah, that’s a cool flick.” says Rolondo to Ryder. “Little dude who played the lead grew up and played Samwise Gamgee. Man, talk about a sad sap. As if I’m gonna toss myself into the fires of Mount Doom cuz I gotta boner for a hobbit.”

“He was on a quest to save Middle-Earth from Sauron, chucklehead,” I tell him.

“Naw, he wanted Frodo bad.”

Ryder makes a noise of annoyance. “Hello? Can we please get back to The Goonies and Chester Copperpot? You know, that old dude they find all shriveled and crushed by a boulder?”

Chess goes full-on red. “Yes, I know,” she grinds out. “My parents met at a draft house viewing of the movie. They expected a boy, and since my grandmama had already embroidered all my baby blankets…” She shrugs as if to say, what can you do?

“And they actually named you after a Goonies character?” I ask, kind of horrified. It’s worse than Gray’s mom naming him after a John Grisham character.

“Yes.” Her voice is tight, and none of us says a word, though I hear Rolondo murmur something about crazy white people under his breath.

With that she turns and walks briskly into the studio. After exchanging looks, we follow. Lights are set up around a large canvas. To the side, a long table holds football equipment: pads, footballs, our team helmets, even some shin guards and tape.

A slim guy wearing a fedora and a lime green skinny-pants suit straight out of the 1960s appears. Like me, he has a beard, though his is red and scraggly.

“I’m James,” he tells us. “Chess’s assistant. Sorry about the delay. We were on the balcony having a smoke.” He grins, giving Ryder a onceover. That makes Ry shift his feet and frown in confusion. “Or I was. Chess was just keeping me company.”

Chess goes to a table and picks up a large camera. “They don’t need a play-by-play excuse, James.” She doesn’t glance our way as she adjusts her equipment. “Changing room is to the left. Strip down, and James will get you oiled up.”

She might as well have dropped a stink bomb in the center of the room. I swear we all take a step back, our faces twisting with various levels of shock.

“Oiled up?” Finn sounds like he’s sucked a lemon through his teeth. “You fucking with us?”

“When I fuck with someone, he knows it, Mr. Mannus.”

Ryder laughs. “I love this chick.”

“I am not a chick, Mr. Ryder. I am a woman.”

Rolondo makes a faint, mock crowd-roar, and I elbow his side.

“Let me guess,” Finn drawls. “You’re obsessed with finally finding One-Eyed Willie.”

Ryder chokes on a smothered laugh, and I have to run my hand over my beard to hold in mine.

“Man,” Rolondo mutters. “You’ve gone and done it now.”

Chess has the stare of death. Like, scary fierce. I’m pretty sure her closet is full of the skeletons of other smart-mouthed ball players who dared to cross her path. It’s so bad we all stand there like recalcitrant boys who’ve been hauled up before the principal.

But my lips are twitching. I know in about ten minutes we’re going to be bare, and Finn is going to hate every second of it. I itch to take out my phone and text Fi. My smile dies a swift death at the thought of her. Fi didn’t sound right. She was hurting, and damn if I know why. The distance between us is like a cold hand gripping my spine. I don’t like the feeling, or the fact that she didn’t tell me the truth.

But I’m going to find out. The sooner I’m stripped and “oiled” the faster I can. I take a deep breath and step forward. “I’ll go first.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Fiona

It is a universal truth that women like to talk their problems out. Unfortunately, all the talk in the world won’t make a problem go away. Mine is waiting for me like a looming black cloud as soon as I get into work and see that Elena has moved to her own office at the end of the hall.

She waves, grinning broadly, as I walk past. I briefly wonder how a finger-wave back would go over but don’t bother. Instead she gets a chin nod as if I’m channeling a bad biker cliché. It feels stupid and ineffectual, and I’m in a piss-poor mood by the time I get to my desk and find that Felix’s to-do list includes ordering fabrics that I picked out but are now considered Elena’s design contribution.

She comes to my desk just as I’m turning on my computer. “I thought you’d want to hear it from me. Felix just called me into his office this morning. He gave me the associate designer job.” She squeezes my hand. “I hope we can still be friends. I’ve really enjoyed bouncing ideas off each other.”

God, she says it so sincerely. And what can I do? I’m pretty sure punching her in the face won’t help the situation. Though it might feel really fucking good.

I glare down at my hand, my fingers slowly curling into a fist. But for some odd reason, I start to think of Ethan’s hand wrapping around mine, holding me down as he slides into me.

“You feel so good, Cherry.” Brilliant eyes of green-gold and amber look at me with glazed wonder. “Nothing better on Earth than this.”

“Fiona? You okay?”

I suck in a breath and glance up at Elena, who hovers. “Yep. All good.” Not entirely true. But I’m calmer. Able to speak, anyway. “Anything else?”

She frowns a little. “Ah…no.”

“Okay. Well, I’m getting some coffee then.”

I leave her standing there. For now I’m calm. But every step I take hammers it in: I hate this. I hate this.

It occurs to me that I have to be a little more proactive. Take the bull by the horns. I am woman, hear me roar and all that.

I wait until the end of the day to make my move. Yes, I’m that brave.

“Felix? You have a moment?” I clutch my clammy hands behind the folds of my skirt.

Felix looks up from his laptop. A tiny white espresso cup sits beside it, which means he’s probably reading up on celebrity gossip. “Sure, sweetie.”

Sweetie? I want to gag. And now that I’ve worked up the nerve to approach him, I actually have to talk. Part of me really wants to laugh. I have absolutely no trouble talking to people. I don’t think I could go a day without saying something to someone, even if it’s just to tell a person they have on cute shoes.

But now a golf-ball-sized lump of panic is lodged in my throat, and it’s all I can do just to get my ass in the chair opposite Felix.

“Want an espresso?” He gives me an overly friendly smile, the one he uses on clients he fears might be difficult. So I know he isn’t exactly unaware of why I’m here.

“No. I’m good.” I focus on his eyes. Always look them in the eye. Reminds you that you're talking to another human. Nothing more. “You…ah…made Elena associate designer?”

Everything inside of me wants to scream, maybe throw Felix’s coffee onto his pristine white leather Corbusier lounge chair.

With an expansive sigh, he sits back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Yes, I did, hon.”

“I thought you weren’t going to make that decision until next month.”

“Fiona, I understand that you’re disappointed.” His tone is so patronizing, I have to dig my nails into my palms to keep from twitching. “But you and I both know it was coming to this.” He takes a dainty sip of his macchiato. “I simply sped up the process.”

“Is it…” I suck back a sobbing breath. “Is it because I went on vacation?”

His cup clinks on the glass desktop. “God, no.” He regards me for a moment, his dark eyes almost sad. “Elena simply has an edge that you do not. Namely, contacts.”

This time a sob does escape me, only it sounds kind of a like a laugh. “You promoted her because of her mother?”

“No, because of her mother’s friends. She has lots and lots of friends with lots and lots of cash.” He smiles slyly. “Her designs aren’t bad either. Fresh and lovely without being too daring. Just what the bored, rich Manhattanite wants.”

I swear to God, my entire body wants to dry heave. Somehow I manage not to. “Her designs are—”

“Copies of yours?” he supplies. “Yes, I know.”

I think I gape. I don’t know anymore because I’ve gone numb. “You know?”

Felix shrugs, takes another sip of his drink. “You’d have to be blind not to notice, honey. Yours are a bit more risky, however. You push yourself where she plays it safe.”

Okay, now I know I’m gaping. “I can’t believe this. Mine are more daring, and you’re rewarding her?”

“Honey, safe sells more. And you’ve really got to applaud her ingenuity.” He sighs again, resting his elbows on the desk. “First client I scored was done using José, my lover’s, designs. I lost a good lay but gained a business.”

“That’s horrible.”

“That’s business. Calculated risks, use what you know will work.” He gives me a reproachful look. “You should understand this.”

“Don’t remember taking that course in college,” I snap.

“I’m talking about your dad, sweetie. Sports agents aren’t exactly known for being above board. Frankly, I assumed you’d be more hardened. More cutthroat.”

“My dad,” I grind out, “never stabbed his colleagues in the back.”

Felix gives me a disbelieving look. I ignore it and stand. I want to quit, to tell him he can go fuck himself with one of his precious Ferragamo slippers. I want that so badly I can taste it. But just the mention of my dad has me holding my tongue. He thinks I quit at everything. Flighty Fi, always running at the first sign of trouble.

And maybe Felix will fire me now. But I’m not going to stomp off in a dramatic rage first. Straightening my skirt, I manage to collect my temper.

“I’ll be in late tomorrow. I’m picking up those fabric samples on my way,” I tell him.

“All right.” He turns his attention back to his online gossip mag. “Take your time. Oh, that lovely little sandwich shop is next door to them. See if anyone wants sandwiches. Not me. I’m skipping lunch this week.”

The faint hum of the city seeps in through the windows. Somewhere down the hall, a telephone rings. It’s nothing compared to the ringing in my ears.

Sandwiches? I’m expected to go to Elena and ask if she wants a fucking sandwich for lunch tomorrow?

“Yeah,” I croak. “Sure.”

Except I’m not asking anyone a damn thing. My hands shake by the time I’ve pulled my purse from my desk drawer and grabbed my coat off the hook.

It’s a struggle not to cry. With every step I take, the spike of my heel connects with the raw-wood floorboard and thuds in my heart. My throat is closing, a lump rising.

Get it together, Mackenzie. Deep breaths.

I want to scream so badly my stomach clenches. I swear to all that’s holy, if I see Elena’s fuckity-fuck face I will fucking lose my shit.

Keeping my head down so I don’t accidentally make eye contact with anyone, I move toward the lobby.

The elevator dings before I’m close enough. I lift my head, ready to run for it, because I need out. But my steps stutter to a halt, shock buzzing along my skin.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

Dex stands ten feet away, his big hands stuffed into his jeans’ pockets, his broad shoulders covered by a dark blue Henley. That steady, powerful gaze of his meets mine.

My lip wobbles, emotion pushing up past the lump in my throat. He must see my distress—the smile that’d been blooming drops.

My chest heaves as I struggle to keep my breathing normal. If I can just get to Dex, everything will be okay.

I walk straight to him, not stopping until I wrap my arms around his waist and bury my face against his solid chest. The scent of cloves and oranges is stronger now that I haven’t been near him in a while. He’s warm, strong, safe. His arms surround me, hold me secure. I sag into his embrace.

“Hey,” I say to his chest.

Dex presses his lips to my crown. “Cherry. You all right?”

No. Not at all. My eyes burn and prickle. I hug him tighter, breathe him in. “I’m just…really glad to see you, Ethan.”

His chest lifts and falls on a breath, and his husky voice rumbles over me. “I missed you too, Fiona.”

Dex

Despite the fact that I play professional football for a living, I’m not a violent man. I solve problems with my mind, not my fists. I tell myself this as I tuck Fi against my side while we take a cab to her apartment. She’s trembling, her delicate hand roaming over my torso as if she needs to pet me to keep herself grounded.

And it slays me. The need to pound into someone, something, anything, surges through me in waves that I tap down by burrowing my nose in Fi’s fragrant hair and breathing in deep.

Women have nice-smelling hair, that’s a given. But something about Fi’s scent just does it for me. Pheromones. A basic biological lure that hooks one person to another. One whiff of Fi, and I’m both hard and utterly content.

“You’re here,” she whispers. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”

I take another deep breath before I speak in a low voice, trying to coax her out. “What happened, Cherry?”

She stiffens against me, and I have to grind my teeth. If someone hurt her… Yeah, I’ll be resorting to violence. But then she sighs and her fingers drift over my chest, finding my nipple and stroking it over the thin fabric of my shirt. I try to ignore that touch as she tells me the whole tale.

The heartbreak in her voice tears at my own heart. She bleeds, I bleed. That’s just how it is now. Worse, I can’t fight this for her. I can’t go and pummel her shallow boss or her conniving co-worker. I can only hold her tight, press my lips against her head, and let her talk.

“I just feel so…” She waves a hand as she struggles to find a word. “Angry. Hurt. Dejected. Yeah, that’s the prevalent emotion right now.”

With a sign, she presses her nose against my chest. Her warm breath seeps through my shirt. Still she plays with my nipple, twisting the little barbell I wear just enough to make me feel it in my balls.

My hips shift in reaction, but my mind is on trying to make this right. “Baby, I—”

She silences me with a look, her big green eyes luminous with unshed tears. “Ethan, I know you want to fix this.” She gives me a watery smile. “Don’t look so shocked. I know you better than you think.”