Chapter 9
Ivy
Tonight, I meet Gray at Palmers again to hang out with his teammates. Because their coach has a strict no-excessive-drinking policy, the guys limit themselves to one beer each. Also in effect is a no-partying rule while they train for the postseason. So sitting around, talking smack, and telling jokes is as wild as they get for the moment.
I prefer this, actually. I like hearing their stories and seeing the obvious love they have for each other. They’re now talking about Thompson, Johnson, and Marshall’s sexcapades, which are varied and a bit disturbing.
“What about the time Thompson left us stranded in some seedy bar in Cancun because he took the car to drive some co-eds to a party?” Gray glares at Thompson. “Without telling us.”
“So wrong,” Marshall says with a shake of his head. “Bros before hos, man.”
“You cut us deep,” Gray adds.
“Don’t let him fool you, Ivy,” Thompson tells me as he rolls his eyes. “Gray is as crazy as any of us.”
Gray shoots up straight in his seat. “Oh, no. Do not be putting me in your neighborhood of Crazy Town.”
“Look at Mr. Nightly Hookup, trying to play like he’s a saint. Boy, please.”
Drew too makes a noise of disbelief. “Are you forgetting the stripper who went down on you in front of everybody at your birthday party?”
Anna elbows Drew’s ribs, and he does a double take, his gaze shooting to Anna and then to me. Understanding sets in, and his eyes widen in obvious chagrin. He coughs and looks away.
Gray, however, waves a hand. “Please, that is nothing compared to these chuckleheads’ antics.” Despite his light tone, he resolutely doesn’t look at me.
Marshall takes the moment to add, “Man, that chick had a mouth on her. Sucked me off that night too. Bless her heart.”
Only then do all the guys pause and glance at me, wincing a bit as if they know they’ve gone too far. And what can I say? Yay, I’m so glad Gray got a blow job from a stripper! I sure hope he gets checked on the regular!
I take a hasty sip of my soda. Rolondo looks at me for a second, his dark eyes serious. Then he pulls a grin.
“Did your boys ever tell you about Cheerio?” he asks Anna and me.
Instantly all the guys groan. Drew ducks his head into the crook of Anna’s neck, while Gray simply starts to laugh and shake his head as if to say, No, no, don’t do it. But how are we supposed to resist that tease? Even more, I’m desperate to hear any story that doesn’t involve Gray and sex.
Anna and I demand that Rolondo enlighten us. But it’s Johnson who answers. His eyes gleam as he settles more comfortably in his seat. “This was back when most of us were freshmen. Dude was a senior. Defensive end.”
“Defense. Crazy-ass motherfuckers,” Diaz mutters, though he looks amused.
“You know it,” Johnson says. “Anyway, Cheerio decided to have a party. You know, introduce us newbies to the team. It’s all cool until the end.”
“Some things cannot be unseen, man.” Dex shoves his fries toward Thompson as if he’s lost his appetite.
“Anyway.” Johnson gives Dex a pointed look of annoyance. “As I was saying, Cheerio—”
“Who we used to call Marcus,” Drew adds, his lips twitching. “Until that night.”
“Marcus,” Johnson stresses. “Goes to the kitchen, grabs a box of cereal and a jug of milk and brings it back to the living room.” Johnson starts to snicker, glee making his face turn red as he continues his story. “We think nothing of it. The fucker is hungry, and so what? Until he drops his pants.”
“What?” Anna’s red brows rise high. “Why?” They’re all choking on their laughter now.
“Dude grabs hold of his nut sack, stretches it out, and fucking pours milk and cereal into it.”
The guys roar with laughter, the deep sound of it bubbling over the room.
“Wha—?” Anna, horrified, glances at me and then back at Johnson, who is laughing so hard, he’s crying.
“Why would he do that? I don’t even understand how he could accomplish it. What do you mean ‘into it’?”
“Like he made a little bowl out of his sack.” Johnson seems to think this makes everything clear.
“He must have had an enormous ball sack,” I mutter.
Which only makes the guys lose it entirely. Gray slaps a hand against the table as he doubles over.
Anna turns to me. “Can you even?”
“I can’t. I really can’t.”
Drew coughs back a laugh. “Which is why he will be forever known as Cheerio.”
I’m never looking at cereal the same way again. But I can’t help laughing too. Even if it’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard. Which means I don’t see them coming, though I should have expected it.
One second, we’re all still chuckling, the next a swarm of girls descends on the table. I try to be charitable about my impression of them, but it isn’t working. Not when they nudge both me and Anna out of the way and drape themselves over every male at the table.
Two of them head for Gray. They sit on his lap, wrapping their arms around him. I find it hard to breathe, my skin suddenly hot and uncomfortably tight over my bones.
“Hey there, sexy,” Thing One says.
“We’ve missed seeing you around,” Thing Two adds, running her fingers through his hair.
Okay, I need to calm down. I glance at Anna, who looks ready to flip the table.
Drew pulls a girl off him and sets her away. “I’m taken,” he tells the girl. “Very.”
She pouts but saunters off to join her friend on Diaz’s lap. Drew pulls Anna close, murmuring something in her ear that makes her smile and rest her head on his shoulder. Envy hits me, not of their love, but of Anna’s smile and obvious relief.
Across from me, Gray catches my eye, and I struggle to give him an amused look. As if I don’t care. I shouldn’t; I know this is part of his life, of who he is, and I need to see it, not live in denial. But maybe I fail at my charade because Gray winces, clearly embarrassed. And he edges back from their stroking hands.
“Ladies.” He forces a smile. “We’re kind of in the middle of a conversation.”
Everyone at the table seems to freeze for a millisecond, as if Gray’s statement has sent a shock wave over them. Then it’s back to the guys groping the women and looking far from interested in continuing any conversations.
As for his new friends, I have to give them credit; they’ve perfected the art of glaring with absolute disdain. A glare that’s focused on me. Both of them quickly turn their attention back to Gray.
“But me and Angie have a bet,” says the girl with a tattoo peeking out from her low-rise jeans. “We want to see which one of us you make come first.”
“Mmm,” Angie coos, pressing her breasts against Gray’s arm. “You were so good at getting me off. Alyssa wants a try. And I know you’d be game.”
And I’m done.
Beneath the table, a slim hand wraps around mine. I glance at Anna, both surprised and warmly comforted by her silent support. She gives my hand a squeeze but doesn’t look my way. Instead, she stands.
“Drew and I are headed out.” Drew immediately rises, pulling out his wallet and tossing a few bills on the table. Anna turns to me. “You want a ride, Ivy? Or—”
“A ride would be great, thanks.” I force another smile and make to grab my purse.
But Gray stands, upending the girls from his lap. Like cats, however, they manage to land on their feet. He ignores their yelps of protest.
His blue gaze is serious and apologetic. “I said I’d take you home.”
That he’s being considerate has a small smile pulling at my lips, despite the growing tightness at the center of my chest. “That’s okay. You don’t need to leave.”
The scrutiny of his friends burns; I know they’re all watching, soaking in this little scene. It’s awkward, and I just want to go.
Angie rubs her hand up and down Gray’s arm. “Let her leave, Gray.” Her sly gaze travels slowly up my body, and her nose wrinkles. “She’s obviously big enough to take care of herself.”
Her friend snorts, making a false show of trying to hide it. “I think she’s part of the team, Ang.”
Nope, but I’m definitely big enough to squash you two like fucking bugs under my heel. I’m about to tell them as much when Gray glares at them. He catches hold of Angie’s wrist and moves her away from him.
“Yeah, I don’t think so. Not when you’ve insulted my friend.” He gives her another assessing look. “Not ever, in fact.”
Her mouth falls open, but he isn’t paying attention. Gray grabs his coat from the hook behind him and brushes past the two girls.
Ignoring the looks of his friends, and the pouting protests of Things One and Two, Gray takes my hand in his. “Come on, Mac, let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”
I don’t point out that we’re in a restaurant or that we devoured wings an hour ago, but let him lead me away.
As soon as we get home, I go to my room, put on my PJs, and scrub my face clean.
I might like to dress up now and then, but I’d rather be comfortable. And it’s just Gray with me now.
He’s heating up leftover white-bean soup when I return. Gray had brought the soup over earlier. It’s no secret that he loves cooking, and he’s really good at it. Apparently, his mom taught him, and he’d been the one to cook for his family when she was sick.
His big body moves with ease around the kitchen. He’s taken off his sweater, and his thin, ratty T-shirt drapes over his tightly toned torso like a caress. For a moment, I envy that shirt, the way it slides over his skin when he reaches for the bowls.
My gaze moves to his firm ass encased in old jeans. I’m pretty sure his butt should be cast in bronze and immortalized for posterity. Or maybe all of him. It’s like Thor’s landed in my kitchen and taken over late-night supper. Suppressing a snicker, I join him.
Gray turns, and his gaze slides over me. “Wonder Woman PJs. Excellent.”
“Just be glad I wore a bra.” I grab the spoons.
Gray halts midstride and utters a small groan. “Is there any chance you’d take your bra off now?” The tip of his tongue flicks out to touch his bottom lip. “Because that would so make my night, Special Sauce.”
His teasing shouldn’t send a pulse of heat between my legs. But it does. And I’m thankful that I’m wearing a bra now. Otherwise, I’m fairly certain my nipples would be saluting him.
We’re quiet as we eat. I don’t want to talk about what happened, but it’s all I can think about. Is this how my mom felt when she went out with Dad? Had other women been constantly rubbed in her face? But my mom and dad had been a couple. I’m just Gray’s friend. His buddy.
It’s a struggle to eat.
As for Gray, he looks equally downcast. I’m not sure why. He’s never hidden the fact that he likes to hook up. A lot. Am I getting in his way? I don’t want him to feel as though he has to babysit me. That would be too humiliating.
“You...” My hand clenches tight. “You didn’t have to take me home, you know. You could have gone home with those girls. I wouldn’t have been offended.”
I shove a spoonful of soup into my mouth to stop myself from taking it all back. But it’s too late. Gray’s eyes narrow, and his soft lips become flat and hard. He eyes me for an uncomfortable minute, one in which I inwardly curse my big mouth.
When he speaks, it’s low and deep. “Yeah, I know, Ivy.” His chair creaks as he leans forward, the irritated glint still in his eyes. “I wanted to hang out with you.”
Seems that’s all both of us want to do lately. Gray has quickly become my world, and it scares me a little. Because it’s becoming something I can’t control. I stab at my soup.
“It’s just...ah, well, the guys made it sound as though you kind of used to hook up every night.” And didn’t that make my stomach turn to lead? Which is all kinds of messed up. I certainly don’t own Gray.
He makes a noise of annoyance. “The guys were exaggerating. And what the hell? I didn’t want to go home with those chicks. It’s no big deal.”
His expression is mulish as he tucks back into his soup. I don’t know whether I want to smile or cringe. But I’ve upset him, which I don’t like.
“I don’t like how they talked about you,” Gray grumbles.
Though my face flames, I shrug. “It’s not like I don’t hear similar comments. A lot.”
“Doesn’t make it right.”
“No.” I sigh. “But who are we kidding? I’m six feet tall. Growing up with my dad, or when I was around his clients, I never felt particularly tall. But there are days when I feel like a total oaf around other women.”
Around guys too, but I’ve said enough. I’m too tender from tonight’s humiliation.
Gray’s brows lift in outrage. “You’re perfect. And hell, Mac, have you seen me? I’m a fucking tree.”
Perfect? Me?
Oblivious to my pleased shock, he snorts with self-deprecation. “I remember hitting my full height. Kept banging into everything. I really did feel like Gulliver around the Lilliputians. Sometimes I still do.”
“Yeah, but you lumber so gracefully.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle. “Never let them see you sweat, right? And I’m serious, Mac. You’re perfect just the way you are. I love not having to throw my back out just trying to meet you at eye level. So no more crazy talk about letting me go home with a couple of jock riders who I didn’t even want touching me, anyway. Okay?”
“Okay, okay. Sheesh.”
We both kind of glare and nod in agreement, slightly smiling at each other but still a bit awkward. And then we’re silent again.
“You should know,” I say slowly, because I can never seem to let anything go. “I’m fairly crap at expressing gratitude. I’m always saying the wrong thing.”
At this, Gray sets down his spoon and leans back in his chair before running a hand through his hair. The action has his biceps bunching. There’s a slight smile playing about his lips. “I kind of like that about you, Mac.”
I like everything about Gray.
“All I meant was that I’m happy you’re here.”
He grins wide. “Me too.” But he pauses, his brows knitting. “And I don’t hook up with someone every night. To clarify.”
“Just every other night, then?” I tease.
He glances away. “Yeah, maybe.” But then his deep blue eyes connect again. “And friends always come first.”
“Bros before hos?” I say, remembering Marshall’s line earlier.
Gray chuckles. “Something like that. Only my mom taught me never to call women whores.” His gaze lingers on my breasts just long enough that I feel it, then he catches my eyes. “And you’re definitely no bro.”
“Glad you noticed.”
“Hard not to notice, Mac.” He says it in a dry tone, but all I can see is that assessing, interested glance he gave me earlier, and it’s messing with my head, making my body too warm.
Frowning, I take a bite of soup to cover my disquiet.
Oblivious, Gray soldiers on. “I’ve never had a girlfriend before. So I’ll probably act like a douche now and then.” Color paints his cheeks pink. “I mean, a friend who’s a girl.”
“And a girlfriend?” I can’t help but ask. “You ever have one of those?”
“Nah. I’ve never had the inclination.”
“Never?” The word rings hollow in my chest. “That’s a tragedy. You’d make someone a great boyfriend.”
His cheeks darken, but he shakes his head as if I’m missing the point. “Pretty sure monogamy is a key factor in a relationship.”
My spoon clatters to the table. “You’d cheat?”
Gray frowns. “No. Never. But that’s kind of the point. I’ve never wanted to stay with just one girl, so why put myself in that situation?”
“I guess that makes sense.” The hollowness grows. Which is ridiculous. Gray’s an awesome friend, and that’s all I need.
“What about you?” he asks far too casually, as if this conversation has grown uncomfortable for him too, but he can no more stop than I can. “I’m guessing you’re pro-boyfriend.”
“That such a bad thing? I’m not into hookups.”
He flashes a quick, tight smile. “I can see you, Miss Monogamous, going through a string of boyfriends.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve had one boyfriend, smart-ass. Senior year of high school.”
Gray’s brows lift. “One boyfriend? That’s it?”
“Yep.” I steal his beer and take a long sip.
He watches me do it, amusement dancing in his eyes. It hits me anew, the way he makes me feel utterly at home, yet excited. Which is strange; we’re just sitting here, talking and eating. And all I want to do is drink in the sight of him, the way the corners of his mouth curve upward in a perpetual little smile, the strong cords of his neck, or how his evening beard dusts his jaw like raw sugar glinting in the lamplight. My tongue can almost imagine how it would feel to lick that stubble—rough, delicious.
Wait. What? No. There will be no licking of Gray’s jaw.
As if he notices my sudden flush, he peers at me, inspecting my face.
“What?” I ask in a sad attempt to escape my inappropriate thoughts.
“Nothing.” Gray gives the back of his neck a scratch, and I ignore his flexing muscles. “I just find it hard to believe you’ve been single all this time. You’re...well... You’re great.”
“Thanks, Cupcake,” I say in the face of his blush. It’s cute. And because it’s Gray, I feel comfortable enough to tell him the truth.
“I’ve had guys interested. But it soon becomes apparent that they were just as interested in my dad, or rather, who he knew. It would always come up. Could I get them tickets to such-and-such sporting event? Did I know Peyton Manning? Or Eli? Was that really my dad in a picture with LeBron James? Had I met him? And when I answer yes, it’s all they can think about.” I shrug. “I know, I know, hard problems to have.”
“That’s not what I’m thinking,” Gray says softly, his expression somber. “I was thinking that those fuckers missed out.”
Again I shrug and pick at my food, unable to face Gray just then.
“So,” Gray says. “This high school boyfriend wasn’t into sports?”
“He was. But his father was a record producer so he had his share of fame.”
Gray’s brows rise and I feel the need to explain further.
“We lived in Manhattan at the time. Life is kind of different there.”
“I bet.”
Not wanting to go on with my tired poor-little-rich-girl tale, I hurry to finish it. “My boyfriend was fine. We hung out. He took my virginity. The act sucked enough that I didn’t ask for a repeat. I left for college. End of story.”
“Sounds awesome,” Gray deadpans.
I leave that one alone.
“No one in college or London, either?” Gray presses, looking shocked.
I resist the urge to toss my spoon. “I met guys, sure. But no one that I wanted to start a relationship with, okay?”
“Okay.” He says it as though he’s placating me. Which makes me want to snarl more. But I don’t. Instead, we eat.
Until Gray starts shifting in his seat, getting antsy, his thumb tapping out an agitated rhythm on the table.
“What now?” I ask him.
Gray bites down on his lush bottom lip then blurts out, “If you’re not into hookups, and you haven’t had a boyfriend in five years...”
“Are you trying to ask about my sex life, Cupcake?”
It’s cute the way his nose wrinkles. “Please tell me I’m wrong in thinking you haven’t had sex in all this time.”
“You’re not wrong, Gray.”
The room goes silent as he gapes at me.
Annoyance crawls along my skin. “God. Your expression. You look like I’m in danger of damaging my vagina.”
“Not damaging it, but maybe depressing it. This revelation sure as hell is depressing my dick.” He visibly shudders.
I throw a napkin at him, and it skims his head, making his hair stick up.
“For Pete’s sake, Gray, it’s no big deal. I’m not suffering. Or,” I talk over him because his mouth opens to make another protest, “abstaining because of some greater purpose. I’m not waiting for a husband, or afraid of dick, or whatever. It just is what it is. I’ve been busy with school and—”
“No one is too busy for sex, Mac.”
“Oh, please, I’m only twenty-two. I’ve fooled around with guys, done plenty of things to satisfy me just fine. I just haven’t gotten to the point of having sex again. And, anyway, five years isn’t that long...”
“It’s long enough. What are you waiting for? Your kitty to go on strike and completely shut down? I’ve heard it happens.”
His scoffing hurts. Everything hurts suddenly, as if he’s ripped off a bandage and taken a good chunk of skin with it.
“So, you’re saying I ought to go out there”—I wave a hand toward the door—“right now and find a guy to fuck before my kitty stops working? You know, you’re right. That’s a brilliant idea.”
“What? No, I’m not telling you to go fuck someone right now.” He actually looks appalled. “Just that—”
“That what?” I snap. “You’ve made it abundantly clear that I’m a sorry sack for not having had endless sex all this time.”
Gray’s massive hands slap the table between us. “I’m just saying that sex is awesome, so excuse me if I’m shocked that you’re going without it. If it were up to me, I’d do it ten times a day.”
I picture it, Gray screwing an endless parade of girls. “Tell me something this entire town doesn’t know, Gray.”
As soon as the words lash out of my mouth, horror floods me. The feeling grows when Gray’s head snaps back as if I’ve slapped him, his skin leaching of color.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he whispers.
But we both know. A sick lurch goes through my stomach, and I stand, my chair scraping across the floor.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” I run my hand over my eyes as I back away. “I have to go.”
Gray stands as well, his face a mask of outrage and hurt. “Go? It’s your fucking house. Where the fuck are you going?”
I’m already halfway out of the kitchen, headed for the hall. “I’ve got to get some air, okay?”
I’m losing control, a rarity. And one I avoid because I usually say something I later regret.
“Ivy,” Gray shouts.
“Just lock up behind you.”
“Fuck this.” Gray’s snarl is the only warning I get before his hand wraps around my arm. He’s angry. Clearly hurt too. Yet when he spins me around, his touch is careful, as if he absolutely knows his own strength and will never use it against me.
“What the fuck, Ivy?” His blue eyes are denim dark beneath the slashes of his brows. “You just say that shit and then walk out on me?”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, the back of my throat prickling. “I have to... Shit. I’m judging you, Gray. And I don’t want to do that.”
His grip tightens. “So don’t.”
“I can’t help it. And what the hell? You’re judging too.”
His lips purse but he doesn’t let go. “Because it’s stupid, you not having sex. Stupid to make it more than it needs to be.”
“I can’t be like you, like my dad. I can’t treat sex like it’s nothing—”
“Not nothing,” he interjects. “Just not some holy event that you need to send out invitations to. It can be simple, you know. Dirty, hot fucking.”
Hearing Gray’s deep, creamy voice say those words is not what I need right now. Not when they lick along the back of my neck and cause a hot little shiver to break out over my skin. I ignore the sensation in favor of anger. It’s easier than useless longing.
“It’s always ‘fucking’ to you. A basic act, like getting a bite to eat or playing football—”
“Now, that I resent,” he says with a bit of levity. “Football is a holy act.”
“Right.” I wrench out of his grip. “Football means more to you than being intimate with someone.”
He snorts, his eyes rolling at the term intimate as if it’s a joke, and I poke his rock-hard chest with my finger.
“Right there? That disdain. What’s wrong with intimacy? What’s wrong with treating the act as something more? You’re taking all the beauty out of it. All the meaning.”
“And right there is your problem,” Gray snaps, his own long finger poking back at my shoulder. “You’re building it up so high in your mind that any guy who dares try with you is doomed to fail under the weight of your expectations.”
“Of all the asinine, ridiculous...” I lean in, my breath coming in hard pants as I struggle not to wring his thick neck. “You dare to lecture me on wanting more? Why should I listen to you, of all people?”
A dark flush works over his face, and I know I should stop, I know I’m being unfair, but I’ve snapped.
“You, who lets a skanky stripper suck you off while your friends watch, and then laughs about it afterward. Ever heard of VD? You can get that from oral, you know.”
“Stop,” he whispers, his eyes going glassy.
But I can’t. Ugliness is a river pouring out of me. I think of my dad cheating on my mom, of how I felt tonight, watching those girls hang on Gray.
“Maybe you don’t care who it is you fuck. But I’m not like that. I need more. And if you can’t understand that, well...tough shit!”
He lashes out, grabbing my upper arms and hauling me into his chest. Strong arms wrap around me, as my nose crushes into the hard swell of his pecs. He squeezes me as if he needs to contain my words, my judgment.
“Stop it, Ivy,” he says, loud, desperate. “Please. Please, I can’t fight with you.” His voice is broken now. “Not you.”
The full impact of what I’ve said to him hits me. Horror, thick and dark, rushes up my throat on a strangled cry.
“Oh God, Gray.” I wrap my arms around his waist and hold on to him. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
He’s stroking my head, as though I deserve comfort. I want to crawl into a hole and stay there.
“I didn’t mean it, Gray.” I shiver, burrowing closer, my fingers digging into the loose fall of his T-shirt. “I hate myself.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not too happy with you, or me, right now either.” Gray sighs, his hold becoming more secure. A soft touch on the top of my head, a gentle kiss. “But it’s okay. It’s okay.”
“It’s not.” I breathe in the clean, comforting scent of Gray. “You’re my friend, and I hurt you. I never want to do that.”
Standing as we are, not an inch of space between us, I notice the warmth of his body, the utter strength of it. When he holds me, I’m safe, enveloped.
“It’s over.” His lips press into my temple. “And I’m sorry too. I was being an asshole, getting on you for stupid shit.”
We’re quiet then until Gray sighs, easing impossibly closer, his big hand slowly stroking up and down my spine. Comfort. That’s what he’s seeking.
But I’m no longer thinking of comfort because awareness has set in, of his tight abdomen against mine, the bulge of his cock nestled against my sex. He isn’t hard, but it’s there, obvious and substantial, causing me to think about things that should never enter my head.
Deep within my belly, I clench, heat whispering over my skin. I want to melt into him, stay there all day. I want to open my legs, have him fill that lonely space in between them. If I tilt my chin, my lips will brush the satiny curve where his neck meets his shoulder. I want to lick that spot, taste it and bite it. I don’t want to think of other girls doing the same.
My breath hitches. All my anger—the vicious words I’d said—is fueled by jealousy. I am jealous of those faceless, nameless women.
Shame is a lump in my throat, the pricking burn behind my lids. I lashed out because of jealousy, and it was so wrong of me. I’m so fucking screwed, and I don’t know what to say to make it right.
“Gray...”
“I don’t want you to have sex like I’ve been doing it, Ivy,” he says with sudden heat. “It should mean something. For you. It should be good like that.”
My heart hurts at the hollowness in his voice, and I spread my hand against his lower ribs, holding him. “Why can’t it be like that for you too? Why the endless hookups?”
Because we’re so close, I feel the tension snake up his back.
“It just...” He swallows hard. “I guess I keep waiting for the one who will make me want to stop.”
“Stop having sex?” I’m chilled to the bone. And a hypocrite because the thought of him not wanting to have sex again is horrific.
My hair musses as he shakes his head. “Stop moving on to the next girl.”
His chest expands on a breath. “Ivy, I love women, and I love sex. But you’re right. It doesn’t mean anything to me other than quick pleasure. I don’t care who it is. I don’t remember their names. Shit, I am as bad as you said.”
He sounds so despondent that I clutch him tight. “No, Gray. Please don’t say that. Can we just... I wish I could take back our fight.”
Slowly, he eases away from me, though his arms remain loosely wrapped around my shoulders. It takes us both a moment to meet each other’s eyes.
It’s awkward, and his expression is twisted as though he’s tasted something foul. My fault. But he forces a smile.
“Hey, we’re good.” He pats my hair with a clumsiness that’s unlike him, his thumb hitting my cheekbone and nearly poking me in the eye. “It wouldn’t be normal if we never fought.”
Wincing a bit, I grasp his forearms and hold on. Because I can’t keep my hands off him, apparently. “This is true.”
Gray studies me, his blue gaze unnerving. The air between us is too thick, and I can’t breathe properly. A crease grows between his brows, as if he can see my guilt and the fact that I am fighting not to rise on my toes and press my mouth to his soft lips.
Fuck. A. Duck.
God help me if he really knew what I was thinking. He’d probably run out the door.
But he doesn’t move. Not yet. No, he presses his forehead to mine, cupping my cheeks in his massive palms. It warms me all over.
“I’m going to go now,” he tells me after a moment. “Gotta get up early for a hell practice.”
“Okay.”
But he doesn’t go. He seems closer, his breath mingling with mine, brushing over my parted lips. It’s too quiet. His fingers twitch, gripping me harder.
And then he lets go so abruptly that I almost stumble. Gray’s smile is wide, maybe too wide. He’s backing up, maneuvering around a chair.
“’Night, Special Sauce.”
I give him a smile back. False. Strained. Fucked-up. That’s me, Fucked-up Ivy. “’Night, Cupcake.”