The Friend Zone (Game On, #2)(8)

“Promises, promises.” He grips the steering wheel, the ropey muscles in his thick forearms bunching as he does it. “Why did your dad get you this car? Don’t get me wrong, it’s got great styling for what it is and handles well. But I mean, you’ve got to be what?” Pink races up his cheeks as his gaze travels over my legs. “Six feet tall?”

He had to bring it up. Of course he did. I don’t think I’ve met a guy who hasn’t remarked on my height. But I act unaffected.

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m a petite five foot twelve.”

Gray grins wide at my joke. It’s a good look for him. Lines bracket his mouth. They’re kind of like dimples but longer. Just as irresistible, though.

“Cute,” he says, changing lanes with confidence. “So, Little Miss Five-Twelve, why the clown car?”

I sigh and lean back against the seat, trying to find room for my legs. “I think my dad still sees me as his baby girl. And compared to him, I am small.”

“Shit, I’m small compared to your dad,” Gray says easily. He’s exaggerating, but not by much. Dad has a few inches on him. Before my dad was an agent, he’d played center in the NBA. He might have gone into coaching, but Dad always liked the kill of the deal better than the stress of the game.

“Okay, but pink? It really doesn’t seem like your color,” Gray says with a pointed look at my clothes.

I’m wearing black skinny jeans, a vintage The Cure concert tee, and red Chucks. No, I’m not much for pink.

“There’s also the problem that he often confuses me with Fiona. As in, one Christmas I got Fi’s coveted Barbie Dream Townhouse, and she got my much-desired make-your-own-alien kit.” I shrug. “Now it’s cars. I’m stuck with a pink Fiat that I can barely squeeze into and little five-foot-three Fi’s swimming around in a black Acura MDX.”

“Shit.” Gray shakes his head. “That sucks, Mac.”

“The only consolation is that Fi is equally miffed.”

“Why don’t you guys just exchange cars?”

The million-dollar question. I thrum my fingers against the window pane. “First off, he bought us cars. How many kids can say that? We knew how lucky we were in that regard. And we didn’t want to hurt Dad’s feelings. Despite his faults, he’d be mortified if he realized his blunder. Dad tries, you know? He’s just…kind of clueless when it comes to us.”

Gray nods, but there’s a sadness in his expression that says he’s got no idea what it means to deal with a caring-yet-misguided parent. Until now, we haven’t talked about family. Me, because Gray plans to sign my dad as his agent.

Not wanting to bring down our happy mood, I give him a smile. “Besides, I’m used to my little powder puff now. And just think—” I give his hard side a nudge with my elbow. “I’d never have seen you crammed into it if Dad had gotten it right.”

Gray laughs before ducking his head a bit. “Oh yeah, sure, that’s worth all the pain.”

“You know it, baby.”

His blue eyes flash with humor and slide over me before returning to the road. “And we might not have met.”

Something swells between us, warm and tender. It gets me all sentimental, the very thought of not knowing Gray making me weepy. Or maybe I’m overtired.

Gray clears his throat. “Where am I taking you?”

“City Diner.”

When he raises a brow in surprise, I give him a look that must be bordering on feral. “I’m craving a heaping bucket of crispy fried chicken with a side of biscuits like you wouldn’t believe.”

“And she eats,” he says to the car. “A girl after my own heart.”

“Just drive, Cupcake.”

“Easy now, Special Sauce, I’ll get you your chicken.” He’s grinning as he rolls down the window and turns up the radio once more. Wind whips through my hair and music pumps through the speakers. Happiness floods my veins, as light and fizzy as champagne. It’s good to be home.



* * *



When I graduated high school I knew exactly where I was going. Off to Sarah Lawrence to soak up college life. The prospect excited me so much I was packing my trunks while still wearing my graduation cap and gown. All through college, I kept my head down, nose to the grindstone, and finished a year early for my efforts.

Now college is over, and I feel adrift. The friends I made have been flung to the four winds, all of them taking that next step in their lives. It’s a lonely business graduating. So lonely that I understand why many people automatically enroll in grad school to feel that sense of camaraderie once more. But I need an academic break for now. And I’m no longer lonely. I’m here with Gray, who seems to fill up the space around him—literally, because he’s freaking huge, but also with his energy, like he’s his own solar system, a swirling vortex of planets and stars and suns.

He’s comfortably slouched in the booth where we’re sitting, his long arm draped over the back of the seat. Sunlight glints in his dark blond hair, and there’s a small smile playing on his lips.

“What?” I ask before taking another bite of fried chicken. A moan might have slipped free. I’ve been craving real fried chicken for ages, crispy, golden, juicy, tasty. In short, heaven.