The Friend Zone (Game On, #2)(7)

“You don’t mind, do you?” I ask as we make our way out into the bright sunshine. Fresh air mixing with jet and bus fumes assaults my lungs. “Me picking you up?”

“No,” she says quickly, maybe too quickly. “Why would I mind?”

I shrug, side-stepping a business woman booking it into the terminal. “You didn’t tell me you were coming home.” Until the words are out of my mouth, I don’t think I’d realized how much that stings.

It’s worse when she grimaces. “Yeah, I know…” She stares down at her red Chucks as she walks. “I should have told you. I just…”

“Ivy,” I warn, saying her real name for the first time. It’s intimate in some strange way, and I don’t know how I feel about that.

“Okay, okay,” she hurries on, “it was shitty. I just. Fuck it.” She glances at me and there’s steel in that look, as if she’s bracing herself. “I wanted to, of course I did. I planned to surprise you tomorrow. But, I dunno, I was afraid too. What if it got all—”

“Awkward.” I start to smile, and my step grows lighter, especially when she smiles back at me, her apple cheeks going rosy.

“You worried too?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, what if you didn’t like me in person? We’ve been so close…” I trail off, strangled by my own discomfort. And now it’s f*cking awkward. Brilliant.

She solves this by slinging an arm around my waist and giving me a squeeze. The action sends warmth straight through my veins, and I find myself leaning into her embrace.

“I’m glad you’re here, Gray.” Her fingers press into my side. “Really glad.”

I’ve just officially met Ivy Mackenzie, and I realize I’ve missed her for what seems like years. “Me too.”





Two





Ivy


Even though it’s my car, I ask Gray to drive. And, shockingly, he doesn’t simply accept that as his manly due. “You sure?” He dangles the keys off the tip of his long finger as if waiting for me to snatch them up.

“I’m liable to drive us off the road right now. Chauffeur me, sir.”

“Well, then.” He unlocks the door for me and opens it with a sweeping gesture. “Your pink chariot awaits, madam.”

Ah, my little pink Fiat. I’ve missed her. Gray hates the car, and I get that. He’s way too big for it, proven by the way the seat has been rolled back as far as it can go and yet he still has to cram himself behind the wheel while muttering curses.

For weeks I’ve tried to envision Gray driving this car. Nothing does the reality justice. His hard-packed muscles bunch and twitch, his wide shoulders hunch, and his long legs bend awkwardly. The steering wheel looks delicate under his big hands.

“Oh, this is so awesome,” I say, barely holding in my snickering.

Gray turns to glare at me, but his blue eyes are smiling. “This is why you wanted me to drive, isn’t it?”

“Partially. You just look so cute.” I give his cheek a tweak.

He bats my hand away with a short laugh. “Little punk. I swear to God, I’m gonna find a way to get you back.”

“I’m terrified. Truly.”

We’re soon driving down the highway. Despite Gray’s cramped position, he maneuvers the car with ease. I can imagine him on the field, those quick reflexes of his working in perfect tandem with his body. It must be a beautiful sight. I’ve wanted to view footage of his games, but just as I’ve feared seeing his picture, so have I feared watching him play. Some part of me didn’t want to know. I might have become too shy, too enamored of his talent if I knew those things.

I roll the window down a bit, and cold, asphalt-tinged air blows in. “I’ve missed the scent of America.”

He glances at me. “America has a scent?”

“Yeah. Don’t ask me to describe it, but it does. England has a scent too.” I lean my head against the headrest and watch the world pass by. “Cars feel different when they’re driving on the other side. Do you know how long it took me just to figure out which way to look for traffic when crossing the street?” I sigh, the feeling of homecoming sinking further into my bones. “I loved being in England. But now that I’m here, I realize how much I missed home.”

Gray’s forearm brushes my knee as he reaches for his iPhone dock. He fiddles with his song selection before sitting back. Tom Petty’s American Girl floods the space. Gray gives me a cheeky grin, and I return it. “Only half-American,” I say. “My mom’s a Brit.”

He chuckles. “Noted.”

For the entire song, we don’t speak but simply drive. It’s both odd and entirely normal. I have so much that I want to say to Gray now that we aren’t limited by texting. But it can wait. Something about him puts me at ease enough to just enjoy the moment.

“Can I ask you something?” he says when the song ends.

My lips purse. “When someone says that, it’s usually because they’re about to insult you.”

He chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling in good humor. “Fair enough. And my question will probably be construed as insulting.”

“Mmm.” I fight a smile. I can’t help it; driving down the highway with Gray just makes me happy. “Go ahead then. But beware, I bite when provoked.”