The Friend Zone (Game On, #2)(57)

My shout echoes over the terrace, followed by the sharp crack of glass impacting against stone. Panting, I glance down at my empty hand and then at the carnage that used to be my phone, lying some twenty feet away. I hadn’t even known I’d thrown it.

And I don’t care. Every inch of me hurts, a dull, pulling pain, as if I’m slowly being torn apart from the inside out. My throat seems to swell, closing down, convulsing. And I blink down at my shiny wingtips as if trying to make sense of how they got on my feet. But all I can see is that picture, hear Ivy’s voice in my head, telling me that she needs space, that she doesn’t want me.

The muffled sound of laughter from inside grows loud and clear, and a blast of warmth hits the side of my face. I turn. A girl stands framed in the doorway, her body slim and tight, her smile welcoming.

“Hey,” she says, strolling over, each step sending her hips swaying. “What are you doing out here all alone?”

Everything in me recoils at the thought of talking to this girl. I want to go home and crawl into bed. Maybe sleep for a week. But I push deep down inside myself, remember the Gray I used to be. The one who had fun and never thought about anything real. The Gray who never felt pain.

I pull out a smile. “Doesn’t look I’m alone anymore.”

That’s all she needs to hear.





Nineteen





Ivy


Making pain aux raisins is soothing. The steps I have to go through. The yeasty scent of dough and the warm fragrance of almond cream. I push myself, creating dozens of delicate, buttery layers. Rolling and folding, rolling and folding.

A fine ache spreads along my neck and shoulders. It feels good, this movement. Proactive in the face of my inner silence. Music plays and I sing along. Rolling and folding. Layer after layer. The dough is like cool satin against my palms.

The phone rings, and I rub my hands on a rag before answering.

It’s Fi. “Hey there, mama bear.”

“Hey.” I try to insert some enthusiasm into my reply. I really do. But it’s an epic fail.

Unfortunately, Fi notices. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.” Which is true. Life has basically become a void. I’d tried to go out, have fun. Dance with guys and pretend I loved it. But I’ve never been very good at pretending.

We’re both quiet for a minute. Me not being able to respond without sobbing to Fi, and she’s playing detective. This becomes obvious when she says with suspicion, “Are you listening to Shadowboxer?”

Sometimes it sucks to have a sister who knows me inside and out.

“No.” I flick off my speakers.

“Why are you listening to my moody namesake?”

Fi knows perfectly well that I listen to Fiona Apple when I’m in a funk. “What are you, the DJ police?”

“Yes, and you’re in violation of drowning in sad-sack music for the emotionally imbalanced.”

Giving up the ghost, I confess. “I miss Gray.” I draw in a deep, shaking breath. “I miss him like a loose tooth.”

“What?” She laughs, clearly confused.

“You know, it’s like a constant ache, and even though I should ignore it, I can’t help but prod.” Provoke that itchy, dull pain that digs deeper the more I touch on it.

“Ah? a vicious circle of self-torture,” Fi says. I can picture her nodding now.

I don’t say anything, but pluck at a spot of dried flour on my apron.

Fi’s gentle voice drifts through the phone. “Do you want me to come home tonight?”

She’s been spending more time at her boyfriend’s house. I’m almost envious, but I’m not going to drag her over here. “No. I’m okay.”

“Call Gray, Ivy.”

“I’ve texted him.” A stab of pain hits my heart. “He’s been distant. Doing his own thing.” Just like I asked him to do. And all I can think of is Gray out, meeting girls, moving on.

Fi sighs. “Yeah, not the same. Call and tell him that you’ve been an idiot. A big ol’ flaming idiot—”

“Hey!”

“And that you want him bad.”

My chest clenches as my pulse spikes. “I don’t—”

“You do. Lie to me if you want, but don’t lie to yourself, Iv.”

Grimacing, I press my cold fingers to my eyes. They feel too hot. Prickles are forming behind my lids. “It’s for the best. Us cooling things down. I’m leaving for London anyway.”

“And yet you told me you don’t want to work with Mom. So why go away? Stay here for a while, Ivy. I know I’d love it. Dad would too.”

“Which bring us to the fact that he’s going to work with Dad,” I say lamely. “He wasn’t happy about the idea of me being with Gray.”

Fi snorts. “So the f*ck what? Have you ever considered that Dad might be more worried about you getting with that hot-ass mountain of man sex than the possibility of losing Gray as a client?”

“What? No.”

“Oh, please. He’s still our dad. And he’s never liked us going out with anyone. You just made it easy for him because you never really cared before.”

I clench the back of my aching neck. “Look, it doesn’t matter what Dad thinks. Or where I live. Not really. Gray… Shit, Fi. He’s my best friend. What if I tell him I want to take it further, be exclusive, and he doesn’t? Or if we do get together and it ends? I can’t lose him.” But I already am, and it’s killing me.