Chapter 8
Ivy
I’m waiting for the first strike. But Dad goes for my underbelly instead.
“You look good, kid.” My dad gives me a ghost of a smile. He’s pissed but trying to play nice. “Glad you’re here.”
He doesn’t say Glad you’re home. He never does. And I’ve never really noticed until now. It hits me; I have places to stay, but not a home. Our family is too transient for that.
Forcing a smile of my own, I give him my standard reply. “Glad to be here.”
Dad tugs on his ear. “Listen, I’m sorry I missed your arrival—”
“It’s okay.” I don’t want to hear him make excuses. And because I’ve missed him, I don’t want to fight. Quickly I go to my toes and kiss his cheek. “You look good too.”
Dad pats my shoulder and gives the top of my head a peck. There are few people who make me feel small in size. Dad is one of them. At nearly seven feet, with a wing span of eighty-six inches, he was a formidable opponent on the court. His size makes him look a bit like an overgrown scarecrow, all long limbs and bony joints.
I step back from him. “Besides, Gray picked me up, and I was happy to see him.”
Maybe I do want to fight.
Dad scowls. “Gray Grayson has the potential to be a superstar.”
His voice is so low, I need to strain to hear it. Which is exactly what he intends—force your opponent to focus on you and you’re in control.
Like that, our fragile bubble of keeping the peace bursts.
“He’s a superstar now, Dad.” I pop the top on a beer and hand it to him with a little more force than necessary.
Dad simply stares down at me from his great height. He’s more silver-haired than brown now. But his brows are still dark, and this makes his glare more penetrating. I wonder briefly if he’s coloring those damn brows just for that effect.
“You know what I mean, Ivy.” Dad doesn’t drink his beer. “I’m this close to signing him.”
“He is my friend.”
“That little show just now didn’t look like friendship to me.”
Chest tight, I flop into a chair. “We were goofing around, and I’m twenty-two years old. I really don’t need a lecture.”
Dad sits as well, only with much more decorum. Setting his untouched beer on the table, he steeples his hands together as he leans back. “No, sweetheart, I think you do. You’re right. That young man is a superstar. With a reputation.”
Heat prickles over my chest, and it’s all I can do not to huff like a child. “I know all about his reputation. It doesn’t matter to me.”
“It ought to if you’re going to fall for him.” Before I can protest, he leans forward and pins me with a look. “Guys like that... Hell, Ivy, my career as an agent is built on them. You know what their lives are like. Women at every turn, offering to do anything—anything—they want. These guys will screw their way from game to game and enjoy themselves without a care for who they hurt.”
“Guys like you,” I snap without thought. Instantly, I’m horrified that I’ve spoken so crassly to my own father.
Dad freezes, but his gaze doesn’t waver. “Yeah, Ivy. Guys like me. I loved your mother with all my heart. And I cheated on her constantly. Didn’t even consider it cheating, to tell you the truth. Thought of it as my due for being a star.”
Cringing, I look away, not willing to face him when he’s talking about hurting my mother.
Maybe he knows, because his tone goes soft. “I regret the man I was. But it doesn’t take away the reality of this life. Have you any idea how many wives and girlfriends I’ve had to handle because one of my guys has done something stupid with some young piece of ass? Too many, Ivy. I see that bone-deep hurt in those women’s eyes, and their resolve to just ignore these indiscretions, and—”
“Okay, Dad,” I all but wail. “I get it. I know.”
My jaw locks as I turn to him, and it takes effort to speak. “I’ve lived this life too. But I refuse to judge Gray by what others have done.”
Dad gives an expansive sigh. “For Christ’s sake, he already fools around so much there are TikTok accounts devoted to his castoffs. One search on him is a PR nightmare of party pictures and half-naked women.”
Reason number one I have never googled Gray. I ignore the thick sludge of jealousy pushing through my veins.
“We’re just friends,” I insist, my tone rising. “How many times do I have to say this?”
His response is a level look full of skepticism. “For argument’s sake, let’s say this friendship grows into something more.”
Dad raises a hand when I open my mouth to protest. “Hypothetical here, Ivy. What happens when it all goes south? You think he’ll want to work with me anymore?”
Like that, I go utterly cold, then flush white-hot. For a moment, I can’t make my mouth work. “This is about you.” In a fog, I stand, my fists clenching. “You don’t give a shit about me—”
“Watch your mouth.”
“No. You sit here putting all sorts of unwarranted fears in my head, and it’s all because you’re afraid of losing Gray as a client!”
Dad stands as well, and the edges of his mouth go white. I brace myself for the explosion, knowing firsthand just how loud Dad can yell when he’s pissed.
Bring it on. I’m pissed too. But it doesn’t happen. No, his reaction is worse because he deflates. His wide shoulders wilt on a sigh as he sets his hands low on his hips and looks down.
“I need Grayson.” It’s almost a whisper. “There are things... Business isn’t what it used to be. Guys...they’re going to big-name firms. Salary caps, scandals, bad PR. It’s all taking a toll.”
A painful lump fills my throat. Dad has never talked to me like this. In all honesty, I don’t want to hear it. I used to think of him as Batman—questionable tactics, but on the whole, unbeatable and enduring. I cannot think of him as less.
“We’re just friends,” I whisper, as if saying it enough will somehow protect me from messing things up.
Absently, Dad nods. “Whatever you want to tell yourself, kid.”
His flippancy has me grinding my teeth. I kind of hate him right now for manipulating me. For putting Gray in the middle.
Dad sees it in my expression. He blanches, apparently shocked. “Ivy... It might not look like it, but I am always on your side. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
My nerves are a twitchy mess. I keep thinking of the look in Mac’s eyes when, in a completely ill-advised play, I sprawled on top of her.
What would have happened if I had kissed her? She’d been...receptive. Hadn’t she? I’d wanted to. I’d never wanted to do something so badly in my life.
God, her lips had been too close to mine, too pretty, too pink, looking so soft and inviting and just fuck. The temptation to simply touch them with my own, to lick a path across that cute little heart-shaped mouth of hers, had been so strong that I still ache deep in my bones.
But then I blink and remember Sean Mackenzie glaring at me as if he’d been contemplating good places to hide my body. It makes me queasy.
I get where he’s coming from. Worse, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing in regards to Ivy anymore. She means so much to me it freaks me out, and I’m suddenly on some tightrope where the wrong step will send me plummeting.
On that happy note, I turn my truck around and drive away from my house.
I head to Palmers, hoping that someone will be there to shoot the shit and get my mind off having to eventually talk to Mackenzie. That discussion should be fun. I shudder just thinking of it.
I find Dex in the booth at the back of the bar. It’s a good spot, dark enough that the chances of being left alone on a busy night are decent but positioned at the right angle to watch the TV hanging over the defunct jukebox. Dex is sprawled along one side of the booth, his back against the wall, his legs hanging over the edge. He’s watching TV, and the place is quiet enough to hear Morgan Freeman’s deep voice roll on about the universe.
I slide into the opposite side of the booth. “Whatcha watching?”
Dex keeps his eyes on the TV, blue-and-purple light coming off it reflecting over his skin. “Entering a Black Hole.”
“Dude, you want to learn about anal, watch some porn like the rest of us.”
As hoped, his mouth twists and his nose wrinkles. “Hot sick has just surged up my throat.”
“‘Hot sick?’” I laugh. “That’s a new one.”
Rubbing his chest as if he really might be sick, he keeps his gaze on the program. “Don’t you have someone else to pester with really bad sex jokes?”
“Nah.” I reach for his beer, taking a swig before he can grab it back. “It’s your turn on the rotation.”
A waitress ambles over, stopping beside me. “Hey there, gorgeous. You need anything?”
“Yep. Give me a Shiner Bock and put it on his tab.” I grin at Dex, who sends me a sidelong glare but nods and goes back to his show.
The waitress stands there, not moving, and I shoot her a questioning look. She leans in until she’s brushing against my shoulder. “Anything else?”
“Nope. Wait!”
She hasn’t gone anywhere, so she grins. “Talk to me, handsome.”
“Add a basket of wings. No, two. And some cheesy tots.” I glance at Dex. “You hungry?”
Dex’s mouth twitches. “I could eat.”
“Two barn burgers with everything, as well. Food’s on my tab, thanks.”
Okay, I just ate pizza at Mac’s, but it’s either eat, work out, or fuck away this tension. As I’m at a bar, I go with the only feasible option.
I sit back and watch the show that’s turned Dex into a social zombie. Well, more of a social zombie. Truth is, astrophysics isn’t my sweet spot, not like quantum mechanics, but I still find it fascinating. Silence falls as we listen to scientists explain the mysteries of space on a simplified level.
At my side, the waitress is all but hovering. I’m about to ask her why she isn’t moving when she finally stirs and then walks away.
Dex takes the moment to look over. And he smirks.
“What?” I ask.
“You totally ignored her.”
“Who?” I watch TV. “Man... They’re explaining a theory that’s years out of date.”
“Yeah, that’s because this was produced in 2011,” Dex drawls, still staring. “The waitress. You ignored her.”
“No, I didn’t. I placed my order.”
Slowly he shakes his head. “She had her breasts thrust right under your nose. Not to mention that she was clearly expecting you to respond.”
“So, I didn’t notice. What’s the big deal?”
“She’s hot, available, and waiting?”
“You fuck her, then.” Is it too much to ask to watch TV in peace?
Dex’s feet hit the floor with a thud as he turns in his seat and leans his elbows on the table. “I’ve been your teammate and friend for four years, Gray-Gray, and I’ve never seen you turn down an opportunity like that.”
“Maybe she’s not my type.”
“Bruh. If you’d even looked at her, I might buy that.”
“Are we having a girl chat here? We gonna braid each other’s hair next?” I reach forward and try to ruffle Dex’s hair, but he swats me away.
“Here we go,” says a chipper female voice. “One Shiner.”
A frosty bottle is set on the table, and I look over.
Jay-sus. Okay, now I get what Dex is saying, because the waitress is smoking. And the tits she apparently thrust under my nose are so huge they’re practically falling out of her low-cut top. How in the hell did I miss that?
She gives me a smile filled with promises I know will be delivered with much enthusiasm. And what do I want to do? Drink my beer, eat my food, talk to Dex, and then go home. In that order.
“Thanks,” I tell her before taking a long pull of the beer and tuning her out.
Dex’s eyebrow lifts in emphasis. Yeah, I know. I’m fucked.
The waitress huffs off.
“You know it isn’t going to go away just because you won’t acknowledge it,” Dex says.
“What isn’t going away?” Johnson asks, suddenly at my side.
Fuck. Me.
He, Thompson, and Diaz are here and they cram into the booth without ceremony. Diaz takes the seat next to Dex, while Johnson and Thompson shove me to make space for their massive bulk. Which means I’m squished into the corner. Though Johnson is pure Iowa farm boy, with straw-colored hair and pale blue eyes, and Thompson is an inner-city kid from Detroit with a retro fade, there’s a similarity in their size and the way they move and talk in unison. Brothers from another mother, we call them.
“What we talking about?” Johnson tries to grab my beer but he’s too slow. Linebacker speed is sad.
“Nothing.”
“Gray’s special needs,” Dex says over me as the waitress comes back and proceeds to dole out the food. I take possession of my burger before it’s gone. As it is, Thompson shouts, “Wings!” and claims a basket.
“You mean how he’s hot for Ivy?” Johnson dives into the cheesy tots. Fucker. Those are my favorite.
“Man,” Diaz drawls, shaking his head. “Don’t do it.”
“Why not?” Johnson asks around a mouthful of tots. “She’s wicked hot. I’d hit that.”
“Hey,” I snap with a death glare. Johnson shrugs in apology but doesn’t look too sorry.
“She’s his potential agent’s daughter, knucklehead,” Thompson says to Johnson. “You do not fuck with the daughters.”
Dex watches us between bites of his burger. “Every girl is some guy’s daughter. What if she wants to be with Gray? It’s her life, not her dad’s.”
“True that,” says Diaz.
“Whatever,” I cut in. “She is my friend. Which means off-limits.”
“But you want her.” This from all of them. In unison. And they laugh at that.
Yeah, fucking hi-larious. The burger is starting to land hard in my gut. I’ve got to start eating better.
“Come on, Gray-Gray, you know you do.”
“Kiss the girl, already,” Johnson begins to sing. Badly. A cheesy tot hits his cheek, and he chucks a wing at Diaz in retaliation. It goes wide.
“Isn’t that the song the little crab sings in The Lion King?” Dex asks.
“It’s The Little Mermaid. And stop playing like you don’t know.”
“Says the dude who knows the lyrics.”
“Please. My little sister watched it five million times when we were kids.”
“Whatever you have to tell yourself, Johnson.”
And then they’re back to me.
“You really should admit to it. Probably make you feel better.”
“You want her baaad.”
“Fine,” I snap. “I do. But it’s not happening, so shut the fuck up and let a man eat.”
Johnson gives me a once-over as he swipes Dex’s beer. “Man, this is bad news. Soon you’ll be so jacked up for it, you’ll get distracted on the field.”
“I’d like to think I’m a better player than that,” I say, truly offended, because what the fuck? Football is my life’s focus.
Johnson shrugs, unconvinced. “When’s the last time you got any?”
“Why do you care?” Nope, I’m not going to squirm in my seat.
Diaz looks me over and rubs the fuzz he likes to think is a goatee as if he’s contemplating. “Not since he’s been driving that car.”
They all stare in obvious shock. I can’t blame them. Has it been that long? Shit, it has. My skin prickles, a sinking sensation tugging at my gut. I haven’t touched a girl since I started texting Ivy. It wasn’t even a conscious decision, because I can’t remember making it. And the realization freaks me out. So much so, I take a bite of my burger to keep my shaking hands occupied.
Unfortunately, Johnson isn’t through with me. “Why don’t you just fuck her and get some relief?”
I roll my eyes. “That has got to be the dumbest idea in the history of sex.”
“Explain.”
“Okay, just for shits and giggles, let’s assume that I make my move and Ivy agrees to let me into her bed. What happens afterward? She. Is. My. Friend. I don’t want to lose that.”
Hell no. A world without Ivy in it would be like a world without the sun—cold, dark, devoid of gravity. I’m pretty sure I’d drift aimlessly. A shudder hits me just thinking about it. Hell, it’s bad enough that I have to face her leaving for London in a few short months.
“So no to the friends with benefits?” Dex asks in a subdued tone, as if he’s truly curious.
“Oh, that’s always a great idea.” I snap my fingers. “It never works. And then I’ll be out a friend just because I can’t keep my dick in my pants.”
“You never know unless you try,” Dex says. “Maybe once will be enough for both of you.”
I toss my half-eaten burger into its basket. “Why do you think alcoholics don’t take another drink after they’re sober? Drug addicts a hit? Because just once is never enough. Not when it’s the only thing they crave.”
And God help me, because the truth is Ivy has become a craving in my blood, racing through me hot and thick.
Around the table my friends look slightly horrified, and more than a little sorry for me. It burns, and I pick up my beer, avoiding their gazes.
“Can we please talk about something else now?”
“Yeah, all right,” Thompson says. “You hear about Marshall’s little stunt last night?” Already he’s snickering.
“What did that fool do now?” Dex asks.
“Tried to perform a Cool Hand Luke.” Thompson tears into another wing.
“What? With the eggs?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
We groan as one.
Johnson leans in, taking up the tale, a gleeful grin lighting his face. “He got some sorority chick to boil him up a shit-ton of eggs. Swore he could down like sixty of them or something.”
Diaz shakes his head as he listens. Hell, we all do. Marshall is a fuckwit of the first order.
“How far did he get?” I ask, knowing the outcome wouldn’t have been pretty.
Johnson starts snickering. “Man, he eats around two dozen, turns white as chalk, and then bolts.”
We’re laughing now.
“He make it out of the house?” Diaz asks.
“Shit no. Got tangled up in a bunch of girls,” Johnson says, still laughing. “Fucking hurled all over them. You should have heard them squeal.”
I’m laughing so hard, I have to wipe my eyes. “He’s never gonna get laid again.”
“They’re already calling him Big Barf.”
Our conversation moves on from there. Until Dex catches my eye and leans across the table as the guys discuss their NFL fantasy leagues.
“I gotta ask. If you want Ivy, why not make it real?”
Heat rushes over my face. Real. As in girlfriend. The idea makes my heart pound and my palms go clammy. I kind of hate Dex for asking. But he’s like that, always finding your underbelly and poking at it.
I run a hand over my jaw. “Who says I want a girlfriend?” Just saying the word makes me cold. I’m not a look-forward guy. Live now. Play hard. Those things are safe. Fun.
The look Dex gives me says he reads me like a playbook.
I sigh, picking up my beer to mutter into the bottle before I gulp the rest down. “Thing is, Dex, this isn’t football. That’s easy. Friendship is easy. Relationships?” I push my empty bottle away. “It’s not my game.”
Slowly he nods, his fingers tight around his glass. “Yeah, except you want her. Which means your game is already in play. Only way to go is forward, man.”
Sometimes, I really hate talking to Dex.