Page 23 of The Game Plan

“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’thave 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?

Seven

Fiona

Dex doesn’t come home. Not when Ivy and Gray head up to bed. Not after I’ve read in bed for a few hours. It’s nearly two inthe morning when I give up the ghost and turn off my e-reader.

In the silence of my cozy guest room, tucked under the eaves, I stare at the window, now blocked by heavy pink silk curtains.I decorated this room. My first project. I’d gone for white walls, a gold-leaf Rococo dresser, a white Louis XVI-style bedtrimmed in lime green satin, and a set of vibrant Warhol Queen Elizabeth prints hanging on one wall. I call it shabby Britchic. It’s in honor of my mom, who’s British and uses this room when she visits.

The room across the hall, where Dex is staying, I decorated for Dad, the color scheme dark and masculine. Gray flannel onthe walls, ebony wood bed, bold photo prints and pinstriped gray curtains. It’s empty now. Something I’m painfully aware of.

Is Dex avoiding me? Is he angry? Hurt?

I replay the brush of his fingers against my skin when he’d left me. It had felt like a conversation. A promise, maybe.

But what the hell do I know?

Why does it matter so much? And so fast? Just last night I’d told myself he wasn’t my type. Then I had to go and kiss thehell out of him.

Huffing, I kick the covers free, my skin hot and itchy as though I have ants crawling over it.

Maybe I should listen to Gray and nip this thing—whatever the hell it is—in the bud. Dex is out for the night? Good. I’llavoid him in the morning. And that will be that. We’ll politely go our own ways, and I’ll leave next week.

An hour later I am still wide fucking awake. Damn it.

Dex

One thing about living alone, you don’t have to sneak into your house. Being a guest, however, I try my best to get up thestairs without waking anyone—a certain baby, to be specific.

I’m bone-tired and smell like cigar smoke. Some of the guys insisted on lighting up. Swear to God, those dogs playing pokerpaintings have a lot to answer for. Because I can see no good reason how filling up a room with vile blue smoke is conduciveto winning poker.

I certainly didn’t need any aid to win. Defensive linemen are shit at keeping a neutral face. I could read them like a bookand am a few grand richer for it. A smile pulls at my mouth at the memory of Jaden cursing as he lost again and again.

My smile fades. I took sick pleasure in beating his ass. I tell myself it didn’t have anything to do with that little sceneI witnessed at the restaurant, that it was all about being a good center and not letting a lineman get one over on me. ButI’m only lying to myself.

Suppressing a sigh, I creep into my room. And halt.

The small bronze bedside lamp is on, casting a soft, warm glow over the room. Not much light, but enough to see perfectlyclear.

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