Chapter 7
Gray
My life runs on patterns. Always has, probably always will. Now there’s a new pattern: football, coursework, Mac, sleep. And I don’t really want it any other way.
When I’m not studying or at practice, I’m searching out Mac, heading to her place. It feels like home to me now. I like the quiet and the fact that I don’t have to yell at some dickhead to flush the fucking toilet or not leave his underwear on the couch. But mainly it’s just hanging out with Mac, where the only interruption is the occasional arrival of Fiona, who always grins at me like she knows something I don’t and calls me a “mountain of hot man-flesh.”
Mac blushed bright red the first time Fiona called me that. It was cute.
But now we’re alone and curled up on the couch, eating pizza and watching college hockey. My bloodthirsty Mac is shouting her approval at the TV as some guy smashes another player against the boards.
A twinge of envy hits me. It must be sweet to fly across the ice. But I have to chuckle when Mac yells, “Good deke!” as she grips her pizza crust like a hockey stick.
It occurs to me that, a month ago, I’d have laughed my ass off if someone had told me I’d prefer staying in, without the possibility of sex, to going out and hooking up with some girl.
What I really want to do is put my arm over Mac’s slim shoulders and draw her close to my side. I have the constant urge to run my finger down her blunt nose, then trace the heart-shaped curve of her upper lip. Rosebud lips.
I’d heard the expression before but didn’t know what it meant until now. Mac’s lips are a perfect rosy pink, and plump, like she’s in the process of blowing a kiss even when relaxed. They kind of drive me crazy.
So does the way her nose wrinkles every time she laughs. Which is often.
It makes me disgruntled. What the hell is wrong with me? Am I so oversexed that I can’t just be friends with a girl without having the desire to try something? I want this friendship to work, want to be more than a guy driven by the urges of his dick.
Annoyed with myself, I sit back and cross my arms over my chest. “You got any video games?”
Mac tosses her crust onto the pizza box—and I grab it, not willing to waste perfectly good crust.
She smirks at this but answers me. “Nope. Video games aren’t really my thing.”
“Figures. You probably avoid them because you suck at them.” I don’t think that, but it’s fun to egg her on.
Predictably Mac sits up straight and glares. “I rock at video games. When I so choose to play them.”
“When you ‘so choose’?” I snicker. “The formality of your speech reveals the falsehood behind your claims, young Padawan.”
She turns in her seat, her knee knocking into my thigh. “You’re calling me a liar?”
Pink washes over her cheeks and her dark eyes shine.
God, she’s pretty. So pretty it hurts my heart. I want to haul her onto my lap, settle down, and kiss her sexy little mouth until I can’t move my lips anymore.
Since I can’t do that, I give her my best patronizing look. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You just don’t have the reflexes necessary to compete.”
“I have the reflexes of a cat.”
I snort, totally enjoying myself now. “If you mean Garfield, then yeah.”
A couch pillow hits me in the face. I sputter and find myself nose to nose with Ivy, whose eyes spark with challenge.
“You better run, Grayson, because in about five seconds I’m gonna have you pinned and begging for mercy.”
Hell yes, please. Make me beg. Take my stiff cock out and ride it until I cry.
Because I’m in serious danger of tackling her, I jump up and back away as if it’s all a joke to me. “Bring it, Mackenzie.”
I know Gray is teasing me. I accept the bait. He’s going down—hard. I get to my feet and raise my fists. “First hit wins bonus points.”
“You’re so cute when you’re delusional, Mac.” He gives me a little come-hither gesture with his hand.
That smug...
“Oh, it is on like Atari Pong!”
Gray halts midlunge, his mouth falling open as a laugh sputters out. “It’s supposed to be ‘on like Donkey Kong.’”
“You say what you want. I say what I want.” I swing, but he ducks, and my fingertips catch air. Damn it.
His blue eyes crinkle at the corners. “Okay, but why ‘Atari’ Pong? Why not just ‘it is on like Pong’?”
“I like my descriptors.”
A full-bellied laugh erupts from him. Distraction enough that I bap the side of his big head.
“Point!”
That shuts him up. Narrowing his eyes, he circles closer. “Bring it, Special Sauce.”
“Oh, Cupcake, you are so dead.”
We dance around each other, lunging and feinting. When his hand throws a playful swat toward the crown of my head, I twist and duck.
“That’s right,” I say, doing my best Ali, feet moving in an intricate pattern. “Fear the wrath. Bob and weave. Bob and weave.”
Gray is cracking up now, red-faced and teary-eyed. He’s trying to concentrate but he’s laughing too hard. Which leaves him wide open on his left.
Unfortunately, I’m laughing too, and the rat fink keeps getting in taps on my head.
“Take that,” he says, tweaking my nose.
“You...argh!” I duck and barely evade.
He freaking cackles with evil glee. “Oh yeah, I own this like a patronus, baby.”
The words kind of hover like a bad stink, as our gazes clash, and we both pause.
“You,” I gasp through a laugh. “Are such a nerd.”
“That was boss and you”—he snorts—“know it.”
“Nee-rrd.”
I don’t even see Gray move, he’s so fast. One moment I’m singing out my disdain, the next his beefy arms are around my waist, and he’s bringing me down. He controls the fall, taking the impact and sheltering me from banging into the floor. But we still land in a tangle of limbs and laughter.
“Silly girl.” His grin is wide. “You fell victim to one of the most classic blunders.”
Weakened, I let my head rest against the hard swell of his biceps as I quote The Princess Bride back to him. “Never get involved in a land war in Asia?”
Slowly he shakes his head, and his golden hair falls over his brow. “Nope.”
“Never go against a Sicilian when death is on the line?”
Gently, I flick the lock of hair back.
He watches me do it, but his smile doesn’t falter. It grows as he leans in close.
He takes my air with his proximity. Suddenly I’m aware of Gray all around me: the massive wall of his chest pressing into mine; the thick swell of his thigh resting on my legs.
He’s warm, strong, and alive. He doesn’t move, just studies my lips as if he’s never seen them before. The soft heat of his breath tickles my nose, his lips near enough to brush my own. For a moment we simply exchange air, and my head grows light, my body heavy and languid.
The heat within me surges. I want to close that distance. I want to know what he tastes like.
“Gray.” Panic mixed with urgency has me breathless.
“Mmm?” he asks absently, his gaze somnolent.
And then I feel it: the length of his cock growing heavy and hard against my thigh.
“What...?” I take a short breath, and our lips almost brush.
Gray makes a sound deep in his throat. He’s gone so tight that tension vibrates along his frame.
Think, damn it. Friendship good. Kissing bad.
“What is the most classic blunder?” I ask in a haze.
His long lashes sweep down on a slow, dazed blink. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “I forgot where I was going with that.”
Our eyes meet, his such a deep, true blue that I can’t think straight. I should stop this, lighten the mood, fucking get my head together. But he feels so good, the wall of his chest against my breasts making them sweetly ache.
He trembles, his eyes closing, as if he can’t concentrate either. As if he might dip his head and brush those gorgeous lips of his over mine.
“What in the hell are you doing, Grayson?” snaps the distinct voice of my father.
It has the effect of a gunshot. Gray leaps up with such speed that it takes my breath in a sharp whoosh.
The next instant, he’s got my wrist and pulls me up so quickly that I practically fly. Jesus, but his strength is impressive.
“Ow.” I glare at him, rubbing my wrist.
Gray winces. “Sorry. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” But I’m not looking at my wrist.
My father is standing in the doorway, his dark brows forming a line over narrowed eyes. He’s in a suit, though it’s rumpled around the edges like he’s come here straight from the airport. I’d forgotten he was coming home today.
“Hey, Dad.” Shit. What he walked in on couldn’t have looked good.
“Ivy.” His tone is pissed. Pissed-Off Dad takes things slow and steady. Right before he blows.
Gray tucks his hands in his pockets, as if this will somehow convey innocence. I want to roll my eyes. We are innocent. But he’s not looking at me.
“Mackenzie. Hi.”
Dad raises one brow. “Want to tell me why you were on top of my daughter, Grayson?”
“Uh...”
Smooth, Gray. Really smooth.
“Dad, stop with the overprotective father act.”
“It’s not an act. I am an overprotective father, Ivy.”
I shove past both of them and head to the kitchen. “Do you want a beer?”
Dad grunts. “I could take a beer.”
Gray finally finds his voice. “So you just get back in town?”
“Yes. And not a moment too soon, it seems.” Dad’s glaring a hole into Gray’s forehead. “We have things to talk about, Grayson.”
“Yeah, sure.” Gray doesn’t recognize Dad’s I’m-going-to-give-you-a-lecture-from-hell tone, but I do.
“For now,” Dad says. “I need to discuss some things with Ivy.”
Great. Cue the needless lecture to me, as well.
“Right.” Gray nods. “I’m headed out anyway.”
I’m about to protest, but Gray edges toward his coat, keeping his gaze on my dad as if he’ll attack when his back is turned. I almost roll my eyes again, only I’m not so sure my dad won’t attack.
“See you tomorrow, Mac.” Gray gives me a look that I read well. Don’t argue with him. Just get it over with.
I’ll be good, I answer with my own look. At least I will until Gray is well and gone.