The Friend Zone (Game On, #2)(58)

Fiona’s silence is like a condemnation.

“Why do you think it will end?” she finally asks.

“Oh, come on,” I whisper brokenly. “He’s a football star and will soon be an even bigger one. The odds are stacked against us.”

“Not all men cheat.”

I flinch, her words like a punch to my chest. I’d meant that our lives were on divergent paths, and Gray doesn’t even believe in relationships.

“I don’t think he’ll do that,” I say.

“But you fear it.”

Suddenly I don’t have the strength to stand. My ass hits the stool hard, and I stare off, not seeing my kitchen but the past.

Fi and I witnessed the fights. Heard the phone calls when Mom tried to find out where he was. The hideous sound of Mom crying behind her bedroom door when Dad didn’t come home. I’d been ten when they divorced. Even then, I’d vowed never to let a man do that to me.

Did I really think Gray would be like Dad? Did I put that on him?

“Shit.” The sides of my throat hurt, as if a cold hand is squeezing it. I lick my dry lips, wanting Gray more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Everything is clear and pure when he’s with me. Without him, it’s all static.

“Call him, Ivy,” Fi whispers into the phone. “Let him in.”

My voice sounds like a frog’s when I can speak. “I’ve got to go.”

By the time I hang up with Fi and dial Gray’s number, my fingers are shaking. I don’t know what I’m going to say to him. Come back to me. I need you might scare him. I was a stupid ass is probably better.

But he doesn’t answer. It goes straight to voice mail. And when I text, telling him that I need to talk to him, he doesn’t respond.



* * *





Gray


“He’s not eating, Drew. It’s beginning to freak me out.”

Anna’s stage voice drifts through my fog, but I don’t respond to it. I can’t. I’m a goddamn mess. I tried being the old me. Crashed and burned. Couldn’t even keep up the pretense of Happy-Go-Lucky Gray for more than five minutes with that chick at the party before I fled. Can’t get my mind focused on football. Can’t do anything but bleed inwardly.

My chest hurts, my throat is closed, and I keep replaying every word Ivy uttered when she demolished my heart, keep visualizing that evil-as-f*ck picture of her dancing with another guy.

“Maybe he’s coming down with something,” Drew answers before giving my foot a kick under the table. “You feeling all right, Gray-Gray?”

“Yeah,” I get out, because he won’t stop if I don’t respond. “Great.”

It was a mistake coming to Drew and Anna’s house for dinner. It is freezing cold and raining out, not the best night for driving. But I needed the distraction their happy chatter could bring. Now I just want to leave without any more questions being thrown my way.

“Well, it can’t be the food,” Anna says, getting up to clear her and Drew’s empty plates before taking my full one. “My lasagna is killer.” She’s not lying. Anna doesn’t make the heavy American version of lasagna, but a masterpiece of thin, delicate noodles between layers of béchamel and Italian sausage. She gave me the recipe, and I’m never going back to the old way. It’s a shame I can’t stomach one bite tonight.

“So I’m guessing no humble pie for desert, huh, babe?” Drew teases, giving Anna’s ass a playful swat.

“If you ever want pie again,” Anna warns, “you’ll eat those words, bud.”

Drew hauls her onto his lap where she happily settles in. “Now, Jones, you and I both know that prohibiting me from eating pie hurts you more—”

Anna slaps a hand over his mouth before he can finish. But they’re both grinning at each other.

Fuck me. Did I really think it would be a good idea to hang out with Mr. and Mrs. Perpetually in Love? Worse, they both notice my scowl. Drew’s brow lifts, and Anna simply peers at me before reaching across the table to rest her small hand on my arm. “What’s going on, Gray?”

It’s her touch, feminine and light and caring, that reminds me of Ivy’s and does me in. I exhale with a shaking breath. “Ivy dumped me.”

“Dumped you?” Anna frowns. “Were you two going out?”

“No,” I mutter. “As a friend. She thinks we’ve been spending too much time together. She wants to date…people.” The words feel like broken glass against my throat. I tell them the rest of my disastrous argument with Ivy in short, terse sentences.

When I’m finished, my friends are silent. Probably pitying me. Then Anna gets up and starts messing with her beloved espresso machine—the very one I’d taken care of when she and Drew were on the outs. I still kind of mourn giving back to her. Deftly she makes an espresso, adding a spoonful of sugar, then handing me the cup. “Drink it down like a good boy, and you’ll feel better.”

Doubtful, but I take a sip anyway. Dark, sweet coffee hits my system like a welcome slap. Weirdly, it does make me feel better. Not by much, but enough. And I realize that this is why I’m here. Being in Drew’s familiar kitchen, talking to him and Anna, helps.

Drew leans forward, bracing his arms on the table. “I think we’re going to need a bit more explanation. You’re both obviously into each other—”