The Friend Zone (Game On, #2)(23)

That smug… “Oh it is on like Atari Pong!”

Gray halts mid-lunge, 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, his face red and his eyes tearing. 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.”

“Ne-rd.”

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 smile and 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. And 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,” I murmur, fear and urgency making me panic.

“Mmm?” he asks absently, his gaze somnolent.

And then I feel it, the length of his cock growing heavy and hard against my thigh. A shudder works through me.

“What…?” I take a short breath, and our lips almost brush.

Gray makes a sound deep in his throat. He’s gone so tight, tension vibrates along his frame.

“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 it.”

Our eyes meet, his such a deep, true blue that I can’t think straight. I should stop this, lighten the mood, f*cking 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 blushes. “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…”