The Game Plan (Game On #3)

by Kristen Callihan

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

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

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

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

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

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

  His nod is vague, his gaze sliding away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Then don’t push me away!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

  And my rage grows.

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

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

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Dex

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

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

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

  Fi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “I told her it wasn’t—”

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

  “Bad play, man.”

  “Way to go, knucklehead.”

  “Send her flowers.”

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

  “As she calls the cops on your ass.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  But now I’ve gone and hurt her.

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

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

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

  It’s dark by the time I get home.

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

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

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

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

  Fi is here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Agreed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Her voice is soft. “Like what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Fiona

  Ethan is clearly fighting a smug grin, looking as though he’s plotting all sorts of nefarious ways to fuck me. Which would be hot if I wasn’t so nervous that I might throw up at any second.

  Even so, I take the
moment to soak him in. God, he feels good. Solid and warm. I’m dying to stick my nose in the center of his chest and just breathe. The ever-thickening bulge growing in his sweats is distracting and delicious. I’ve missed his gorgeous cock. Without thinking, I press myself against it. He grunts, his hold on me tightening.

  But I can’t do this when he’s touching me. Giving his meaty biceps a kiss, I step out of his embrace. Ethan frowns, but he lets me go.

  “All right,” he says, running a hand through his hair, sending strands flowing around his face. “Now you’re starting to freak me out. What’s going on, Fi?”

  I love that he doesn’t even ask why I’m here, just why I’m worried. I hold on to that fact as I trace a vein in the white marble countertop. “I quit my job.”

  I love the way he can smile with just his eyes. And I love the tenderness I see in them now.

  His big palm comes to rest near mine. “You did something you were afraid of but needed to do. I’m proud of you, Fiona.”

  A shaky breath flows out of me. “Thanks. I’m proud of me too. It feels good. I’m going to start a furniture-making business, selling my work through my friends’ store in New York. And then maybe do a little design consulting on my own.”

  Ethan blinks, his stoic features never moving, and I can tell he’s trying to figure out why I’m freaked if I’m happy. Because I am seriously about to freak out. A slow shake starts in my belly and radiates outward as I search for words.

  He sees it and immediately steps closer, his warm, calloused hands rubbing over my upper arms. “Cherry…”

  “I know everything is up in the air. I just quit. We haven’t been together long. But I just…I don’t know. Thing is,” I babble on, “I thought I’d visit you for a while. I brought some things and maybe—”

  “Stay,” he cuts in, his fingers gripping my arm as if he’s going to physically hold me here. And then that isn’t enough for him because he sweeps me off my feet in that effortless way of his.