The Friend Zone (Game On, #2)(27)

“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 f*ck 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 f*ck? Football is my life’s focus.

But 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 f*ck 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. “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, an evil 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 f*ckwit of the first order.

“How far did he get?” I ask, knowing the outcome won’t be pretty.

Johnson starts snickering. “Man, he ate 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 barfed 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, leaning in 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 cold. 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, only 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.