The Friend Zone (Game On, #2)(14)
“She’s not…‘this’ Ivy,” I pant out. Dip, touch, turn, sprint. “And what’s to tell? She’s…” I touch the next cone. “My friend.”
“Hmmm…” Drew takes a pull on his straw—Jesus, the drink has an umbrella. I swear he put one in it to f*ck with me. It’s forty degrees out here, and he’s acting like he’s on a beach somewhere. “And yet you’re attached to your phone like it’s become your second dick.”
“Don’t see a problem with that.” I grunt. “Two dicks, twice the fun.” One. More. Set. Fuck.
Drew watches me with that stare of his that always sees more than it should. There’s an evil light in his eyes that looks way too pleased for comfort. “Yeah, as much as I’d love to discuss your disturbing, multi-dick fantasies—and believe me, we really ought to discuss that issue—I’d rather talk about your new girlfriend.”
I race through my final drill, panting as I grab my bottle of Gatorade then guzzle it with enough zeal that sticky rivulets of drink run down my chin and drip on to my bare chest. Sweat stings my eyes and I ache all over, a hum of sensation that causes me to shake. Is it sick that I love the feeling, love pushing my body to the brink? It’s as close as I can get to the aftermath of hot sex without the awkwardness of “thanks babe, see ya” getting in the way.
Drew tosses me a towel while the bottle is still at my lips. I pluck the towel from the air without looking then use it to wipe my face. When I chuck the damp towel back at him, Drew lurches to his feet, the long cast encasing his left leg making the move awkward.
Though I’d never admit to it, the sight hurts me. Until a brutal sack broke his leg, Drew was our starting quarterback and the team’s undisputed commander. The injury ended his season. And as much as I hate to think it, I’m afraid our team will be lost without him. We were a well-oiled machine, a f*cking brilliant team. Now what? The conference championship game is next, and our mojo is all off.
Worse, I hate seeing Drew hobbled because I know how much it tortures him. But Drew seems to be getting on all right lately. Much of it having to do with his girlfriend, Anna. According to Drew, being in love does that for some guys. Personally, I think it’s the steady diet of sex with a hot girl, but what do I know?
Which reminds me… I toss away my empty bottle and give him a look. “Ivy is my friend, who happens to be a girl. Not my girlfriend. Big difference, sweet cheeks.”
“Ha.” He grabs a football from the ground beside his chair. “You do realize that when a guy has to define that difference, he’s usually lying to himself.”
I snort. “You just want me to be all cow-eyed in love like you are. And then you won’t look like such a sap in comparison.”
He grins. “Nice try, Gray-Gray. Now spill it.”
Jogging to the back of Drew’s yard, I get in place for him to throw me the ball. I might have gone to practice at the school’s stadium, but I want to keep Drew company, and the more I can get the football in his hands the better it is for him.
“She’s fun, easy. I like talking to her.” I take off running, halt, turn, and catch the pass Drew drills into my hands. Tucking the ball tight against my side, I turn again, run back to my starting place then toss it back to him. “And, no, I don’t want to f*ck her.”
This is mostly true. Mac has a natural sexiness that I’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to notice. But I’m not going to even entertain thoughts of sex and Mac. No. Way. That would make me a dirty, low bastard, and I don’t want to be that with Mac.
Drew palms the ball. “I didn’t ask that.”
I catch another pass, this one launched far over my head, forcing me to leap high. “You were thinking it.”
Drew laughs a little. “Yeah, okay, I was. But only because you usually want to f*ck any girl who comes into your orbit.”
“Okay, fine,” I admit, starting another route. “You got me, I am a sex god.” I talk over Drew’s obnoxious snort. “Truth? Had we met before the texts, I’d have tried something. She’s funny and smart and hot. Who wouldn’t want her? Shit, I don’t know, man. I just like her. I really like her. She’s the first person I want to talk to. Every day.”
Drew cocks his head, his mouth twitching as if he’s fighting a smile. Annoying. “Uh, bud,” he says with a barely repressed chuckle. “That’s how I felt about Anna. From the very start.”
I frown, gripping the ball tight in my hands. “Ivy and I are just friends, though.”
His silence is deafening. And I resist the urge to shift my stance. “This relationship is important to me. Hell, she flat-out said she feels safe with me because we’re just friends. I’m not going to f*ck up that trust by hitting on her.” I want to be better than that. For her.
My oldest friend in the world looks at me like I’ve grown horns, then slowly blinks. “You’re not tucking the ball in fast enough when you catch on the right,” he says. “Take better control.”
Asshole. But he’s right, so I can’t complain. “That’s it?” I ask him instead. “No more ribbing?”
“Naw.” Drew spins the football on the tip of his finger before he palms it. “I was just curious.”
Right. Sure. I continue to run short routes, catching each ball Drew sends my way, practicing quick hands, tight ball tucks, and balance. He waits until I’m done and dead on my feet, a fresh batch of sweat coating my skin and soaking the waistband of my shorts, to attack.