I want to fuck her so bad it hurts. My dick fucking aches. And though I’m familiar with repressed need, this is a new level. I’m so jacked up now, my hips push against the edge of the counter like they have a mind of their own.
“Fuck.”
But that’s the problem, isn’t it? She was ready for me to fuck her, practically panting for it. And so was I. Only I can’t do it. So I left her like a coward.
I don’t expect Fi to come down. She’s probably pissed. Maybe even disgusted with me. And for good reason.
My eyes squeeze shut, and I draw another slow breath through my clenched teeth. Such a fuck up.
“So what kind of bagels did you get?”
I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of her cheerful voice. She breezes into the kitchen, her hips swaying. She’s dressed in tight black jeans and a fitted gray sweater that reaches mid-thigh and looks soft, touchable.
It’s all I can do not to stare at her pink, kiss-swollen lips. Because I’ve completely lost my voice.
Fi stops at my side and picks up the halved bagel before moving away to pop it into the toaster. “You get any good cream cheese?”
She looks up at me with wide eyes the color of new leaves. No judgment, no anger. Waiting, it seems, for me to hand her cream cheese.
“Fi…” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard. “I…uh….”
The front door opens. Gray and Ivy are home.
“Hey,” Ivy calls as she sets the baby car seat down on the kitchen table. “Did you get bagels? Thank God. I’m starving.” She leans down to unhook Leo. “A certain evil husband thinks it’s cool to hike at freaking 7 a.m.”
Gray ambles in looking better-rested than I’ve seen him since before the baby. “We were up anyway, and I was going stir crazy in this house. Ooh…is that poppy seed?”
I try to catch Fi’s eye over Gray’s head, but she’s already taking her nephew from Ivy’s hands and kissing the top of his fuzzy little head.
A weight settles on my chest. I feel like I’ve lost my chance. Like she’s slipping away.
But then her head lifts. Bright eyes look straight at me. “Let’s go for a ride after we eat.”
* * *
I take her to Point Reyes, find a spot where we can park, and we walk along the cliffs. The mountainside, covered in a blanket of browns, greens, and soft purples, rolls toward the Pacific. Sunlight glints off the deep blue ocean. Yet all I can focus on is the girl at my side.
She’s taking it all in with wide eyes, the sea breeze whipping at her hair. The top of her head reaches my shoulder. And even though we’re nowhere near the edge of the cliffs, I have the overwhelming urge to haul her close and hold on tight—to protect her from any potential harm.
Shit, didn’t a hiker die in a landslide a few years ago? Has it been raining? I’m ready to tell her we should go when she gives a happy little sigh.
“God, it’s beautiful here.”
“Yep.” I keep a sharp eye on the path.
She turns, and the soft California sunlight sets her skin aglow. “You’ve been to San Francisco many times before?”
I snap a sage leaf off a nearby patch, rubbing the velvety leaf between my fingers. “Grew up in Santa Cruz.”
“Really?” She smiles. “California, huh? So you were one of those dudes who hung out under the boardwalk and surfed all day?” She’s grinning as if the idea amuses her.
“Well, not all day. Mostly before practice or when I had some free time.”
Her green eyes go round with surprise. I’m guessing I don’t really look like a surfer. I silently laugh at what she’d make of my dread-wearing phase.
I tap the tip of her little nose. “It’s great for balance, strength, focus, and stamina. Kind of like football training. Only more fun.”
“Athletes,” she mutters, shaking her head, then looks me over again. “I did not have you pegged for a California boy.”
I laugh at that. “Where did you think I was from?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Somewhere rugged where dudes rope steers. Montana or Wyoming or Texas maybe.”
I laugh again. “The only bullshit I’m familiar with is trash-talking on the field.”
Fi grins wide and picks a sage leaf as well, bringing it up to her nose to draw in its scent. “Somehow I can’t imagine you talking shit.”
“No. But I’m well versed in it from defensive linemen trying to get into my head.”
“And you just let it roll off you like oil on a duck’s back, don’t you?”
“Pisses dudes off more than any words can.”
I love the sound of Fiona’s laugh. It’s loud, free, and unashamed. Her entire face lights up when she laughs. And I have to clench my hands not to grab hold of her, capture that sound with my lips, and swallow it down. I imagine that laugh might fill me up, warm all the cold places in my chest.
She comes to stand beside me, and her slim hand finds mine. Instantly, I thread my fingers with hers.
“So your parents live pretty nearby, then?” Her fingers tighten just a bit. “Or are they divorced?”
“They’re still together. The house is about an hour’s drive down the coast. But they’re in Europe right now with my little brother, doing a group tour.”
“But he’s got to be…what? Eight?”
“Yep. They homeschool him so they can all travel the world.” The corners of my mouth twitch. “They’re probably sampling bratwurst in Germany about now. Dylan, my brother, is probably whining for an American hot dog.”
“I think that’s lovely.” There’s a sigh in her voice.
From Ivy, I know their parents are divorced and have been for years. Sean Mackenzie spends most of his time in New York or Atlanta, and their mother lives in London.
“Do you miss your mom?” I ask.
She squints into the sun-dappled ocean. “Yeah, sometimes. I spent most of my summers with her, either in London or traveling. But it’s become forced over the years.” Her blond hair whips in the breeze, and she brushes it back with her free hand. “I don’t know…we’re just not very much alike. She’s focused, organized. I’m…”
Fi doesn’t finish.
I give her hand a squeeze, tug her against my side. “Creative. Full of life.”
“Sweet talker,” she scoffs, but her head rests against my shoulder.
We’re silent for a minute, just watching the ocean, my hand in hers. I run my thumb along her palm and find a callus. She notices and gives me wry smile. “Not very soft, I know.”
Taking my time, I follow a path of small, new scars and rough patches. Her hands are torn up. “What have you been doing to yourself?”
She moves to pull away but I hold fast, catch her gaze with mine.
“Nothing bad,” she says, giving up on the little tug of war we’ve got going. “I’ve been…” Her plump cheeks flush. “I’ve been making furniture. I wear gloves for some things, but you have to have a feel for the wood.”
“Furniture?” I find myself smiling. “That’s… Well, it’s fucking cool.”
Her color rises. “I haven’t really talked about it with anyone. It’s just something I do to relax. But I like it.”
“So those are hard-earned scars.” I hold up my own hand, knuckles swollen, nails cut to the quick so they won’t tear out during a scuffle.
She leans in closer to me. “Yeah. I guess they are.” Fi pauses. “I made Ivy and Gray’s kitchen table.”
I hadn’t been paying attention to the table then because Fi had been in the room, but I can recall it well enough. “That’s a substantial piece. Beautiful.” I look down at her, my chin resting near her cheek. “You should be proud.”
“Thanks.” Her voice is quiet, almost shy as she stares out at the sea.
She’s shared a confidence with me. One she obviously has trouble embracing. I don’t know if she did it to let me know I could trust her, or she simply found herself exposing a truth. Either way, it humbles me.
Fi’s soft
, feminine warmth at my side is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. And I know I need to tell her everything if I have any chance of making her mine. I take a breath, smell the sweet mix of sage, eucalyptus, salt, and sun. “Fi…”
But she cuts me off. “I’ve heard there’s a creamery around here that sells cheese.”
I frown, my eyes staying on the scene before us. People are easy for me to read. Fi is no exception. I get her on a bone-deep level. The problem is, she reads me easily as well. I’m not used to that. No one ever really bothered before.
All day I’ve been expecting her to demand an explanation. But never once has she made mention of my cut-and-run. At first, I didn’t know what to make of it. Now I’m thinking she’s purposely avoiding it because she knows I’m struggling.
She moves to go, but I tug her back. “I know I fucked up, leaving you this morning.” A cold sweat breaks out over my skin, and I swallow hard, run a hand through my hair, only to have my fingers snag because I have it all bound tight.
Cursing, I look out over the ocean. “I…”
“Hey.” She touches my arm, and I feel it at the base of my spine. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“Yeah, I do.” I force myself to face her.
“Is it the virgin thing?”
My breath halts.
But she doesn’t notice and keeps talking. “Because I don’t mind that. At all.”
Fuck if my cheeks aren’t burning. “You’re right, Gray does gossip more than a flock of old ladies.” I squeeze the back of my neck. “Yeah, technically, I guess I am. It’s not like I’m going around hiding it. I just don’t really mention it either.”
“Well, why should you? Your sex life isn’t anyone’s business.”
I look down at her. “I’d like it to be your business.”
She blushes at that. Sweet Fi who, by all accounts, doesn’t fluster easily. I love that I can make her blush, can leave her tongue-tied.
“Look,” I say, “I didn’t want to make this a big deal, but I thought I should tell you because I know there are guys who freak out when a girl doesn’t have experience and they weren’t informed, and—”
Fi’s mouth shuts me up. Her kiss is firm, as if she’s trying to tell me it’s okay, yet it’s also tender, which makes my entire body clench with some weird, uncomfortable emotion.
She lowers from her tiptoes and looks up at me with solemn eyes. Her slim, warm hand takes mine again. “I meant what I said; you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But I can see that it bothers you. So if you want to tell me, Ethan, I’ll listen.”
The last thing I want to do is talk. But I take a deep breath and try. For her.
Chapter Ten
Fiona
Babbling, blushing Dex is new. It’s almost cute, the way this big, burly guy who could easily lift me over his head and spin me with one hand becomes all flustered. Except I don’t like that he’s obviously upset. So I don’t smile. I simply hold his hand and wait for him to talk.
Because I know he will. Though he’s a virgin—which, holy hell, I cannot believe this gorgeous giant is untouched—and he might be quiet, Ethan Dexter is the most forthright man I’ve ever known. I’m used to guys who fake their way through life with false bravado and grand boasts. Ones that, when cornered, lash out. Or guys who lie about uncomfortable truths.
But Dex? No, he just takes a breath and admits that he’s a twenty-four-year-old virgin. Again, the thought ripples over me, and I find myself more than a little turned on over the prospect of being the only girl to have him, to see him come. Hot damn, I want to witness strong, silent Ethan break apart and lose his mind.
Suppressing a shiver of lust, I lean in closer under the pretense of letting his big body block the wind, when really, I just want to surround myself in his warmth and delicious scent.
Dex tugs my hand, and we sit on a wide, flat boulder that’s tucked a little crook on the hillside. Tall, fragrant grasses buffet some of the wind, and the sunlight grows warm on my skin.
The corners of Dex’s eyes crease in a frown as he stares at his hands on his massive thighs. Then he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet to remove an old, laminated photo. He doesn’t look at the picture he hands to me.
“I met Drew and Gray at a football summer camp during my junior year in high school.” He clears his throat. “I’m the one on the left.”
He doesn’t need to clarify. There are three guys in the picture. Wearing dirt-stained uniforms, they have their arms slung over each other and are smiling for the camera.
I notice Gray straight away. He’s the tallest, his hair bleached pale blond by the sun, and he’s grinning extra wide as if he’s on top of the world. Drew, the one in the middle, is a quarterback and Ivy’s client now. I got to know him well when she and Gray married. He was Gray’s best man, and I was maid of honor. He’s model cute—even then—with light brown hair and eyes and a crooked, almost sly smile. Then there’s Dex.
If it weren’t for those serious, beautiful hazel eyes of his, I might not have recognized him. He isn’t wearing a beard—not surprising, given that this is high school—and his smooth cheeks are plump and round. Dex is plump and round. Oh, you can see the beginnings of the massive muscles he has now, but high school Dex had yet to shed his baby fat.
His smile is more reserved than his two friends’, cautious almost, but I see the joy in his eyes. He loved being at this camp. Clearly loved his two friends as well.
“I was always a chubby kid,” he says in a low voice. “You know, the big guy who looked like he’d been held back a couple of grades when he stood next to the rest of the class.”
Lump in my throat, I nod.
“Girls never noticed me.” Dex takes back the photo when I offer it to him and puts it away. “Not until junior high when I started to play football, and then only in a, ‘Hey, good game, Dexter,’ sort of way.”
He stares out at the ocean. “They noticed me in high school, though. Made the varsity team freshman year. Went All-American senior year.” He shrugs. “I was still more fat than muscle, but the cheerleaders were all about giving players the love. And that included me.”
Well, why wouldn’t they? Dex is awesome. And I seriously doubt he’s changed much since his childhood.
“I fooled around some. Thing is, I knew they were only into me because I was on the team.”
“Why would you think that?” I can’t help asking.
He gives me a look that says, get real. “Outside of my high school circle, not one girl gave me the time of day. Ever. And…” He scratches his beard. “One of them admitted it. Lisa Unger told me, ‘Don’t worry, Dexter, we’ll take care of you. You’re on the team, after all.’”
“Bitch.”
His mouth quirks. “Just honest, I guess. Anyway, after that, I didn’t want to mess around. I kept to myself. Hell if I was going to be with a girl who wanted me just because I played football. ”
“Okay, but what about college? There are lots of girls in college who aren’t shitty little shits.”
Dex snorts at that, and his eyes crinkle. But it quickly fades, and he grows pale beneath his tan. “By the second year of college, I’d lost the fat and felt a bit more…confident. But then...” He blows out a breath and braces his elbows on his knees.
“Ethan.” I touch his back and find his long-sleeve shirt damp with sweat. “What happened?”
His large hands clench into fists. “I’m not proud of this part.”
My stomach tightens, but I keep my palm firm against his body. “It’s okay.”
I really don’t know if it is, but don’t know what else to say to reassure him.
“So…I…uh… Spring Break sophomore year, a bunch of us from the team headed down to Mexico. It was wild. Girls everywhere. Sex everywhere. I’d never seen anything like it. Our season was over, we’d won our first National Championship, and we were treated like gods.”
His shoulders go so tense, his body is l
ike granite beneath my hand. A fine shiver works over him, and I rub his back, desperate to calm him down. When he speaks, his voice is rough and rusty.
“First night out, we all got completely drunk, smoked some pot. I’d never tried it before, and it hit me hard. We’re at this party, and two girls come up to me. They’re wearing nothing but these tiny little bikinis and are so fucking eager to please me. That’s not even it. These girls, it’s like they want to outdo each other by being as wild and willing as they can.”
Yeah, I know the type well. Growing up around athletes, I knew those women even when I was too young to understand what sex was. My dad, who was an NBA star before he was an agent, fucked those types of women and ruined his marriage.
The feminist in me wants to say it’s the men taking advantage and using woman like disposable sex toys. But the truth is far more muddy, because some women are more than willing to play that role. In fact, they compete for the chance to be used.
“I was drunk and high enough not to care,” Dex says slowly, as if every word is being dragged out of him. “Next thing I know, all three of us are in a back room, one of them is sucking on my cock—though I’m so far gone I can barely feel it—and the other has her tits in my face. And I’m thinking finally, finally. But it also feels kind of off.
“Then one of them starts begging me to get down and dirty with her, says she loves it ‘dirty.’ Fuck if I know what that means, but then she’s on all fours, telling me to fuck her in the ass.”
Dex pauses, runs a hand over his face. He looks so ravaged, I don’t want him to go on. And yet I do, because if he trusts me enough to tell me his secrets, I’m going to listen to them.
“I was a virgin. What the fuck did I know about doing that? But the other one is coaxing me, ‘Do it to her. Let me see you fuck her. Oh, that would be so hot, baby.’” He shudders. “We were all wasted, stupid. I don’t… I remember trying to get inside her, and it chafed, wasn’t comfortable. But the one chick watching was kind of chanting, ‘Give it to her good.’ And the other, the one I’m, you know, trying to… She’s shouting, ‘Come on, get it in already.’ But my mind’s wondering, isn’t she supposed to be wet and slick?”
The Game Plan (Game On #3) Page 7