I feel sick, hearing his tale, twisted and sad. When he lowers his head and clears his throat, I want to cry and hold him tight. But I don’t move, don’t want to break whatever spell he’s under that’s allowing him to talk—because he clearly needs to get this out.
“Then it was kind of slick. I looked down and…there was blood…on my…” A ragged breath tears out of him. “I saw that, and everything just kind began to spin. I threw up. They left, shouting names at me, saying I was a bad fuck even for a football player…shit like that. But the girl I’d…”
Wide eyes the colors of earth and sea look up at me. “She acted as though she liked it. Wanted me to do that to her. Why? I made her bleed. Why would she want that? Because she wanted to claim a football player did that with her?”
“Ethan.” I don’t hesitate now to pull him close. He’s stiff with resistance, but his head rests on my shoulder, his breath coming out in agitated puffs.
“I couldn’t do it after that. It felt so ugly. Tainted. What I did, it wasn’t right.”
“No.” My palms cup his cheeks, and I lift his head to look into his eyes. “You got pulled into a bad scene. People do stupid things when they’re wasted.”
He tries to shake his head. “If I’d been more experienced, I’d have known enough to say no. Or get some…” His cheeks pink. “Lube or something.”
“Yeah? And what about that girl? If I asked a guy to do that, you better believe I’d demand some lube.”
Not that I’ve done anal before. But facts are facts.
“Look,” I say when it’s clear he’s going to argue, “you were stupid. She was stupid.”
His hands wrap around my wrists as he looks me in the eye. “I didn’t mean it to come out as a sob story. Logically, I know all this. But I remember, and I feel ashamed. After that, I just couldn’t tune out those thoughts. I couldn’t do casual sex. A relationship would be all right. But I don’t want someone who wants me because of what I do instead of who I am.”
My heart sinks a little. “Dex, we can’t have a relationship. You live in New Orleans, and I live in New York.”
His eyes drill into me. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you, Cherry. You say what you mean and don’t filter it…”
I wince. “I’ve been working on my filters.”
He flashes a quick, tender smile. “It’s a good quality. I trust you. I’m insanely attracted to you. I want to fuck you. I want to know you. I want to be with you. If you want all that from me too, I won’t let something as small as inconvenient living locations get in the way.”
Holy hell. I can’t even speak.
Letting my wrists go, he searches my face, his expression almost stern. “I want you badly enough to put my all cards on the table, show who I really am. So I guess it’s your play now. I’ll understand if what I said turns you off and you’d rather end this.”
His lips press tight, as if he’s forcing himself to say no more, but his eyes never leave mine.
My fingers reach out, trace the corner of his mouth where his beard frames it, just like the first time I touched him. “I think, Ethan, I want you more now than before. But a relationship? I have to think about it. Okay?”
He blinks. Then the corner of his luscious mouth curls upward, his gaze going hot as melted chocolate. “Just say the word and you can have me, Fiona.”
Chapter Eleven
Dex
Patience. I have it in spades. I’ve trained myself to use patience as a tool, knowing that the right moment will come, and when it does, I’ll take it. But right now, patience is wearing thin. Because Fiona has yet to give me an answer.
Back at Point Reyes, she kissed my cheek and told me she’d have to think about being with me. Not because of my past, she was quick to reassure, but because she’s afraid to start something that has a clear expiration date.
Frustration rolls through me. I don’t see an end to us, just how good we could be together. I should have stated my case all those years ago, when I first wanted her. When we lived in the same damn town. Only she had a boyfriend then. And I was too wary to step in between that. Stupid of me.
Maybe we’ll always be off with our timing. But, fuck it, I’m not giving this up. No fucking way. Not when I’ve gotten a taste of her. Not when she’s heard my ugliest truths and accepted them without judgment. We can be real together, which is something rare and precious in my world. So I’m regrouping.
First step: we go out with Ivy and Gray. If I can’t get a date, a double date will do for now. One of Gray’s teammate’s nanny is watching Leo.
We go out for dinner first.
Ivy and Fi entertain us with stories of their childhood and how their dad brought home athletes who are now our heroes.
“Tell them how you won a bet with Jordan when you were six,” Ivy says to Fi.
My girl’s green eyes sparkle as she laughs. “Oh, God.” She takes a drink of her cocktail. “I bet him I could jump higher than he could.”
“No way did you beat Jordan,” Gray insists, shaking his head.
“I did so!” Her cheeks flush a pretty, soft pink. “The stakes were a dozen donuts. He went first. And man, he has ups.”
We all nod at that. Fi leans in closer, her voice dropping. “I acknowledged his awesome skills, then took my turn.”
Ivy cuts in. “The little stinker waltzed into our kitchen, so we all followed. And as bold as you please, Fi climbed on the counter, looked Jordan in the eye, and jumped.”
“What?” Gray exclaims. “That’s totally cheating.”
“That’s what Jordan said.” Fi shrugs. “I pointed out that we never said the jump had to start on the floor, and since I did technically jump to a higher point, I won.”
I laugh at that. “And you call me slick.”
She grins, unrepentant. “Hey, he conceded defeat and brought me donuts. Said he could respect my determination to win at all costs.”
And so it goes, talking and eating and having more fun than I’ve had in as long as I can remember. Whenever I grow too silent, Fi pulls me into the conversation, sometimes by touching my elbow and looking my way to ask my opinion. Sometimes by saying something so outrageous, I can’t help but comment.
And I have the strange sensation of something deep inside me clicking into place, as though I’m becoming the person I was meant to be. It’s both a relief and kind of unnerving.
Sitting next to Fi, close enough to catch the fragrant scent of her hair, feel the brush of her arm against mine whenever she turns to say something to Gray who’s on her other side, settles me and makes me crave more.
I want the right to put my arm across the back of her chair the way Gray does with his wife. To lean in and kiss her smiling lips whenever she says something cute, which is pretty much all the time.
We end up going to a bar, and it’s karaoke night. Which means it’s crammed full of slightly drunk and extremely exuberant off-key singers. We’ve managed to get a table up front and center. I’m thinking it’s because the owner is a huge football fan; I’m pretty sure the table was occupied when we walked in.
But the hostess insists we sit here and hurries off to get us drinks.
“Excellent,” says Gray, rubbing his hands together, a gleam in his eye. “The last person to sing gets to buy the drinks.”
Ivy grins wide. “You’re on, Cupcake. I’m going to sing the house down.”
We all pause, our gazes darting back and forth as a certain sense of terror falls over the table.
Ivy sees us and slaps her palm onto the table. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. I know what you twats are thinking! If I suck at dancing, I’ll suck at singing? Well, I don’t. I’m awesome.”
Awkward silence ensues, and she snorts.
“What? You think I don’t know I suck at dancing? I just don’t give a shit.” She glares at Gray, though there really isn’t any anger in the look. “So you can stop dancing like an ass now.”
A strangled sound leaves him. “You knew?”
>
“Of course.” She tosses a lock of her hair over her shoulder. “You’re too coordinated on the field, and you kind of forget to suck when you do those victory dances.”
He gapes at her for a long second, then gives a bark of laughter. “I fucking love you, Special Sauce.” With that, he hauls Ivy into his lap and kisses her.
Fi, however, finally snaps out of the trance she’s been in since Ivy confessed. “You sneaky shithead,” she shouts over the music. “All these years I’ve been covering for your craptacular dancing, and you knew!” She shakes a fist. “I swear to God, Ivy Weed…”
“Oh, please,” Ivy counters. “You pretend you suck at baking so you don’t have to cook for family holidays.”
Fi sniffs, looking guilty as hell. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ivy leans in, her eyes narrowed. “Midnight cookie baking ring a bell, Tink?”
Fi’s cheeks flush, and she studies her nails with undue interest while muttering something about traitor sisters under her breath. “Those are for PMS cravings and nothing more. I was baking under duress.”
“Right then,” Gray says, smart enough to interrupt before they can go down the dark road that is discussion of their periods. “We’re going to do a duet, Mac.”
Ivy bounces up. “I get to pick the song!”
She runs off, and Gray shoots out of his seat. “No chance in hell, Ivy Mac. Mac!”
Fi rolls her eyes. “She’s going to go all Beyoncé-Jay Z on him.”
I laugh hard at the thought of them singing “Drunk in Love.” “I’m filming the whole thing.” I pull out my phone and get it ready.
They don’t sing “Drunk in Love.” It’s worse. Much, much worse. Or maybe equally horrific.
“Oh. My. God.” Fi’s eyes go wide before she bursts out laughing.
Gray and Ivy have decided on “You’re the One That I Want” from Grease. Oh, they own it, belting out the lyrics just slightly off-key—well, completely off-key in Gray’s case—and totally working the crowd, who are all shouting and lifting their phones to film them. It’s clear Gray has been recognized.
But still, it’s terrible.
Fi and I howl with laughter until my sides hurt and I have to gulp down half my bottled water.
“I can’t believe she knew she sucked at dancing,” Fi mutters watching them, a smile still pulling at her lips.
“Well, when you think about it, she’d have to be blind not to know,” I counter. “I mean, the arm flailing alone…” I shudder dramatically, and Fi snickers, just as I’d hoped.
“Watch it,” she says, her gaze on the stage and a smile in her eyes. “That’s my sister you’re talking about.”
“Hey, I love her like a sister too. Does that count?”
Fi turns, and her green eyes hold me captive. “As long as that doesn’t make us like brother and sister.”
I lean in until my lips nearly brush hers. “Not even close, Cherry.” I steal a quick, soft kiss and have the satisfaction of hearing her breath hitch.
My satisfaction grows when I pull back and she gazes up at me with a slightly dazed expression. I run the pad of my thumb over the smooth curve of her lower lip. My groin tightens with heat and want.
“You gonna give me an answer soon?”
Her lashes sweep down, and she reaches for her drink. “We’re out now, right?” Green eyes peer up at me. “This is a double date, isn’t it?”
“Yep.”
Her lips purse like she’s trying not to smile. “Slick.”
“Not really.” I lean closer, pressing my arm against hers. “Look, I know I’m asking you to go out of your comfort zone—”
“Yes, how about that?” Fi counters. “I mean, do you often do the same? Because, from where I sit, you seem to play it safe.”
My brows lift. “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing safe about going after you.”
She smiles, shaking her head. “But you know I’m attracted to you.”
Love hearing that. I sit back and watch Gray get on his knees in a sad John Travolta parody. Running my hand over my beard, I turn back to Fi. “Okay. How about this? I hate being the center of attention. If I get up there and sing my ass off, will you give us a go?”
She laughs. “You’re serious? Are you bribing me for sex?”
“First off, I’m not talking about sex. I’ll never withhold that from you.” I grin, touching my forehead to hers. “We can go home right now and fuck, Cherry, if that’s what you want.”
Hell, tell me that’s what you want. I can take it. I’m a big boy. Part of me is growing bigger by the second at the thought of finally having Fiona.
She goes so pink, I can see it in the dim of the club.
“I’m asking for a relationship,” I say. “Or at least taking a leap of faith.”
Fi looks me over as if she’s trying to figure out if I’m crazy or not.
I let her look, sitting back, my hips low in the seat. Her slow inspection has my skin tingling. I have the mad urge to haul her on my lap and kiss her into compliance, lose myself in that sweet, plump mouth of hers. But I stay still.
“You’re really going to go up there?” She nods toward the stage where Ivy and Gray are now bowing—the hams.
“And sing my ass off,” I add. My gut rolls at the idea of performing in front of all these people. It’s not something I want to do. But I will.
I ignore the small twinge of guilt that follows when she gives me an evil grin. I know she’s looking forward to seeing me make an ass of myself, just as we laughed at Ivy and Gray.
“Before you answer,” I say above the applause that follows our friends’ performance, “I’ll warn you now. I will never lie to you, Fiona. But I don’t intend to fight fair either.”
Her cheeky grin just grows. “Playing me again, are you, Slick?”
“Maybe.”
She cups the back of my neck and gives me a quick, hard kiss. “Bring it, Dexter.”
Chapter Twelve
Fiona
Ho-boy, I’m in trouble with this man. He gives me a quick, impish grin as he rises from his seat, that big, bold body flexing and stretching beneath his worn jeans and tight gray t-shirt. He’s completely unaware of how sexy he is, which only makes him hotter.
But he isn’t stupid. He knows his boldness is irresistible to me. His fist raps once against the table top. “Game on, Cherry.”
Gray and Ivy are sauntering back, their faces aglow with sweat and happiness. “We were fucking awesome,” Gray announces just as Dex walks off.
My attention is on Dex’s taut ass. I kind of want to follow him and smack it. Seriously, his ass is a work of art. I’m pretty sure if I ever see it bare I’ll spontaneously combust.
Heat rises up my thighs. I want to see it bare. I want him. Badly enough to risk a reckless, long distance relationship?
Gray finally notices Dex by the stage. “No fucking way!” He glances at me, his eyes wide. “He’s not, is he?”
My cheeks hurt from the stretch of my smile. “He is.”
Ivy plops down next to me and takes a long drink of her beer. “Someone should check outside and see if pigs are flying.”
Gray is still wide-eyed and gaping as he sits next to her. “No shit. What gives, Fi-Fi?”
“Why are you looking at me?” I blink with all the innocence I can muster.
“It has to be about you when it comes to Dex.”
I’m not going to acknowledge how that sentiment warms me. Instead I watch Dex make his selection and say a few words to the karaoke operator. A flutter of nerves goes through my middle. He looks relaxed enough, but his shoulders are definitely tight.
Shit. I made him go up there.
Well, not made. It was his idea.
To impress you.
Color me impressed. He has more guts than I do. No way would I sing in public. Cats fighting under a full moon sound better than me.
I shift in my seat, leaning forward, then plopping back, as Gray pulls out
his phone and gets ready to film, all the while going on about hell freezing over and Dex leaping into the deep end of the crazy pool.
Maybe I should put a stop to this?
Dex takes the mic and slowly walks up the stairs to the stage.
There’s a ripple running through the audience. They’ve recognized him too.
Shit on a popsicle stick. He’s going to hate this.
My fists clench as he takes center stage, his head bent, his hand clutching the mic tight.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I’m halfway out of my chair to stop him when the music starts. I recognize the opening notes. He’s picked “Gold on the Ceiling” by The Black Keys.
“Bold choice,” Gray mutters.
My heart is pounding so hard, I can barely breathe.
Then Dex starts to sing. And I swear my jaw hits the table.
Gray’s and Ivy’s do too.
“Holy shit,” Gray says before he leaps to his feet, his fists punching in the air with a loud whoop. “Dex!” He shouts, jumping up and down as the music thrums.
Because Ethan Dexter is bringing the house down, singing the song like he fucking owns it.
His deep, raw voice rolls over me, and my nipples go so tight they hurt. I get on top of my chair and holler my approval, dancing along to the music, singing the refrain with the rest of the crowd.
As for Dex? He holds the mic with two hands, his eyes closed, his thick thighs parted. One leg bounces in time to the beat. Tatted and bearded, muscles flexing, he’s so damn hot, the women in the crowd scream for him.
He doesn’t seem to notice.
Then his eyes snap open, and he zeroes in on me. That smug bastard grins as he belts out the lyrics, telling us all it’s all right if we want to steal from him, that there’s no guard in his house. But I know he’s talking to me. Waiting for my answer.
I grin back, my body swaying, my hips snapping. I’ve been to countless parties, clubs, and concerts. I’ve had boyfriends and one-night stands. I’ve grown up around fame. And it isn’t until now that I truly realize how bored I’ve been, going through the motions. Maybe that’s how life is; you kind of just plod along, fall into a nice little rut until something comes along to shake things up.
The Game Plan (Game On #3) Page 8