The Friend Zone (Game On, #2)(10)

“You could have gone to an Ivy League school, couldn’t you?” I ask.

“This university has the best football program in the country and a very decent physics department,” he says with a small shrug. “No big deal.”

Stumped by the way he obviously wants to hide his intelligence, I stare. He clearly thinks I’m judging him—he scowls, his big hands curling into fists on the table. “Aren’t you going to ask why I risk playing a dumb jock’s game when I could be more?”

“I wouldn’t ask that. I know there are highly intelligent men who play football.”

He relaxes a little. Then runs a hand through his bright hair. “I’m sorry. I am touchy. I don’t like the extra attention. I mean, I’m freaking six-six. I’m a star player on a championship-winning team. I get enough as it is without questions about my IQ.” He laughs, but it isn’t amused. “Anyway, I love football. I love mathematics and science. This way, I get both. And if football doesn’t pan out, I know I’ll have a good future lined up in nanotechnology.”

“Understatement of the year, Cupcake.” I give his foot a nudge with my own, and he relaxes further.

“So what you up to now that you’re home, Ivy Mac?”

We’ve talked about so many things, but for some reason not our plans for the future. Somehow Gray and I have a relationship focused on the present. I think it was easier for us to simply enjoy each other. But when faced with having to tell him my plans, unease bloats in my belly. I’ve mapped out my life but right here and now I don’t want to look at the paths that I’ve drawn.

I wipe my hands on a napkin before taking a long drink of lemonade. “Technically, I’m not home. You know how for the last year I’ve been with my mom, learning how to run one of her bakeries?” Mom is a first-class baker. She owns and runs three highly successful bakeries around London. Her specialty is breads and cakes.

Gray nods, and I take a breath, my insides suddenly shaky and cold.

“In the spring, I’ll return to London and take over her bakery in Notting Hill.” Aside from her Chelsea location, it is her most lucrative store. Letting me run the place is a huge responsibility, and a huge display of trust.

Absolute silence greets me. Gray frowns as if he hadn’t heard me, but then his chest lifts on a breath and he clears his throat. “You’re leaving again? To live in London?”

“Yeah.”

Sunlight hits the side of his face, highlighting the strong lines of his nose and jaw as he turns to look out the window. The curve of his lower lip plumps before he presses his mouth into a line. And then he’s looking at me. “When are you going back?”

“March.” My fingers curl around the greasy napkin in my lap. “I majored in business. I’ve always liked baking. It all fits. And this way, I can spend more time with my mom. She was so happy to have me with her this past year.”

He nods, not looking at me but at the ruin of chicken bones scattered in the red plastic basket before him. “That’s good, Mac. Really…good.” He gives himself a little shake, then lifts his head. His smile is wide, carefree. It might be forced. I don’t know. I only feel this weird sense of loss and guilt. But he doesn’t let me wallow.

“So we have a few good months before you take the baking world by storm. What are you going to do here?”

I let myself relax against the booth seat. “I’m going to hang with Fiona. She goes to college here, and so Dad is living here too for the time being. He has an apartment in New York City and a house in LA, but Dad has always been overprotective of Fi and doesn’t trust her to be on her own.”

Gray frowns, pausing before taking another bite of chicken. “But he doesn’t worry about you?”

“Naw, I’m like rubber, always bouncing back. Fi’s the fragile one.” I shrug. “It’s always been that way. ‘Don’t worry about Ivy; she’s the steady one.’ ‘Protect Fi’s feelings at all costs; she’ll break if you don’t.’ Frankly it’s bullshit. Fi and I are more alike than not. But that’s how our parents see us.”

“I get that,” Gray says. “It’s what parents do. ‘You see us as you want to see us. In the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions.’”

“Did you just quote The Breakfast Club to me?” I ask, amused.

“Good catch.” He grins, which draws my attention back to his mouth. It’s lush—sweetly curved yet still masculine. Even when relaxed, his lips hold a smile. “So you’re going to live with Fiona?”

“Yep. Fi’s living in the guesthouse behind my dad’s house. I’ll stay with her.”

Gray sputters on his drink. “Wait. Your dad has a house big enough to include a guesthouse, but you two won’t live with him?”

“Fi refuses to ‘live with Dad.’ But she loves the guesthouse so…” I shake my head. “I know. We’re odd ducks.”

“You’re a cute duck.” Gray reaches out to muss my hair. His touch is warm, familiar in attitude, yet a completely new thing for me. I can’t help but stare at him, much as I’ve done since he picked me up.

He catches my look and simply grins. “I know.”

“What do you know?” My voice has gone oddly soft, warmth and happiness spreading through me.