The Friend Zone (Game On, #2)(83)

At this, Drew straightens. “Scared, sure. But it’s Anna. She’s it for me, so I guess I’d be starting a family early.”

“Exactly. Ivy’s my girl. She always will be.”

Drew really looks at me now. “You’re not freaking out.”

“Why does everyone assume I’d freak out?” I grumble. “It’s insulting.”

“Hell, I’d freak out.” He shrugs. “And, well, you’re…”

“What?” I’m quickly moving from insulted to pissed.

“Come on, Gray. You’ve been Mr. Party, give-me-a-new-girl-a-night since I’ve met you. It’s just a little shocking to see you not get spooked over something as big as this.”

Okay, he has me there. I take another sip of my soda. “I’m a little unsettled, sure. What the hell do I know about babies? I’m afraid I’d accidentally crush it in my big-ass hands. But then I think of me and Ivy together, watching the little guy grow and…” I trail off and clear my throat. I’ve said too much anyway.

A slow, incredulous smile spreads over Drew’s face. “You want this baby, don’t you?”

I shift in my seat, resisting the urge to hunch. My cheeks are uncomfortably warm. And yet the corners of my mouth want to lift. “Yeah, I think I do.”

It terrifies me. Nothing is settled, and suddenly all I can think about is the future, wanting a family, a life with Ivy. It’s all dancing in front of me, as solid as smoke.



* * *





Ivy


“I’m beginning to think that life will never be one-hundred-percent perfect.” My head is in Fi’s lap, and she’s giving me random braids.

“Is this because you’re gonna be Man Mountain’s baby mama?”

“Jerk,” I mutter but glance up at her. “But, yes. I mean, here I was, life plan finally making sense. I’m in love with the best guy in the world, and now…boom! Guess, what, genius, you’re knocked up!”

Fi pulls up another section of hair to braid. “Not to mention Dad is going to shit puppies when he finds out. Mom will probably bake a ten-tiered stress cake, then kick it.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you suck at commiserating?”

“You. Like, tons of times. Which makes me wonder why you keep talking to me.”

I frown but cuddle closer into her lap. “Seriously, Fi, what am I going to do? It’s all funny to call me a baby mama, but isn’t that what I am? God, how many prenup contracts have we seen Dad draw up for this shit?” I laugh without humor before pressing my hand to my hot eyes. “I’m a f*cking cliché.”

“You are not! Gray is crazy about you. Do not put yourself in that category of sad female who tries to trap an athlete through pregnancy.”

“But people will think—”

“Whatever the f*ck they want to think. Their opinion means dick-all.”

We’re both quiet. Despite my inner turmoil, I feel better. Fi is the comfort of my childhood and the one person, aside from Gray, who I can say anything to.

“Do you want this baby, Ivy?” Fi’s voice is soft, almost hesitant.

“I think Gray does.”

“Really?” Fi makes a surprised chuckle. “Huh.”

“He gets this look in his eyes. Like he’s excited. Happy.” That look makes my insides melt and my hormones kick into high gear, and I have to fight not to cry. Even now my smile is wobbly. “It’s kind of cute.”

“And you?”

I sigh and turn my head to give her access to the rest of my hair. “Fuck if I know. I don’t feel ready. But then it’s Gray and me, and I can’t…” I swallow hard. Twice. “I just don’t know, Fi.”

Her hand comes to rest on my cheek. “Talk to Gray about it.”

My vision blurs hot and wet. “That’s the problem, Fi. I’m afraid that if we disagree on the decision, I’ll lose him.”

I turn and press my face into her belly, hiding in the dark. I think of my life, how it began. Fi doesn’t know everything. I can’t even say everything. “I don’t want Gray to be with me based on obligation.”

The real fear is that I’ll lose him regardless. Nothing good ever came from being forced into life-altering decisions.





Twenty-Eight





Ivy


Gray won’t be spending Christmas with me. His team has to leave for New Orleans the Monday before to get ready for their bowl game. Two weeks he’ll be gone. And because I know I’ll be a distraction to him, I’m waiting until New Year’s Eve to join him there.

So Gray and I make our own Christmas early with Fi, whose boyfriend has gone home for the holiday.

Fi has decorated our small house with such enthusiasm it looks like Santa’s elves have invaded us during the night. Every doorway is fringed with lighted garland. Tiny novelty houses grace the sideboards. A big—pink—Christmas tree, hung with little glittering footballs and helmets and miniature pink Fiats, sits in the corner.

Gray has a good laugh over that. “Awesome tree.”

“It’s deranged,” I murmur.

“It’s kitsch,” Fi stresses. “And it’s fabulous.”