The Friend Zone (Game On, #2)(93)

“Of course they will.” Anna nods then glances at me. “You’re looking a little peaked. You want me to get you a ginger ale?”

“Yeah, that would be great, thanks.” From the corner of my eye, I see my dad chatting with the university’s athletic director, and a tinge of guilt hits me that my friends know about the pregnancy but my parents do not. One thing at a time. Bowl game, then confess to the parents. Yay.

Leaning back in my chair, I wave the big foam finger Fi gave me back and forth to get some air movement. It’s freaking hot in here and too confining. I cast a longing glance at the stadium seats below. I want to be out there where it’s nice and open. But Anna, Fi, and I are all up here with my dad, the university staff, and a couple of boosters.

I watch Gray take the field again. He’s not hard to miss, towering above most of his teammates, the number eighty-eight clear on his wide back. Football uniforms aren’t exactly sexy. Pads and helmets obscure a lot. But the pants? Shining red Lycra lovingly covers Gray’s tight ass, which is now currently displayed on the multiple flat screens along the suite wall as the cameras zoom in on his team’s huddle. I have to smile; if Gray were here, he’d be making tight-end jokes.

He looks focused now. They have plenty of time, but I know Gray won’t be complacent. He’ll push and fight for every inch gained. Always will. His confidence on the field borders on cocky. Only he never shows off, he simply plays with his whole heart.

Anna comes back with my soda, and I take a grateful sip. The ginger ale is ice cold and fizzy. But it doesn’t shake off the growing nausea. If this keeps up, I’m going to give up a good chunk of this game to the porcelain goddess. Grimacing, I run a hand along my aching neck.

Oppressive heat swarms up my body. Saliva coats my mouth and sends my stomach churning. Setting aside my soda, I stand up. My lower belly feels heavy, as if a bowling ball is rolling around in the small space between my hips. Queasiness rises within. The heaviness turns into clenching, and I rest a hand on my middle.

Faintly, I hear people talking. Someone is calling my name. But my innards are writhing too much to pay attention. The room swims in and out of focus, and my heart begins to pound. I need to get to the bathroom. The thought barely passes my mind when a violent cramp wrenches through me, knocking the air from my lungs. I double over, and a gush of slick, hot wetness flows between my legs.

“Ivy?” Anna’s voice comes at a distance, buzzing and indistinct.

Tears blur my eyes as I try to speak. Something is running down my legs. Blood. I lift my head, find Fi reaching for me.

“It’s bad,” I say through cold lips.

The room is spinning. Dad is suddenly at my side. “What the hell is wrong with her?”

Fi is whispering in his ear. He turns pale and glances down at my lap. He winces.

They’re moving me back, making a circle around me. The room fills with murmurs, gawking faces.

“Daddy,” I say. “I’m sorry.” I want to tell him I’m pregnant, but I don’t think I am anymore.

Someone calls for a doctor, and all I can say is, “Don’t tell Gray. Not now. Promise not to tell him yet.”

Fi’s hand is strong and warm on my icy one. “It’s okay, Ivy. It will all be okay.”

But I know it’s a lie.





Thirty-Three





Gray


Fourth quarter, third-and-ten with a minute on the clock, and my blood is pumping. There is a sharp, metallic scent in my nose. The crowded stadium buzzes around me, a dull hum at this point compared to the ringing in my ears. Every inch of me hurts, my bones aching, my joints throbbing. I’ve a gash on my knee that stings. Sweat runs into my eyes. And I wouldn’t change it. My entire body is alive and working to accomplish one thing: win this f*cking game. One touchdown and we have it.

I head back to the huddle, and a defensive lineman shoulder-checks me as he passes, taking the moment to taunt, “Gonna bring you down, * boy.”

“I do love *,” I say, facing him while walking backward, my arms wide. “But yours smells a little off. Better get that checked.”

Mr. No Humor points at me. “You’re going down.”

“Gotta catch me first. So far you’ve been tasting my cleats.” At that I jog off and join my guys, ignoring whatever else the dumbass has to say.

“Please tell me I get to smoke Ninety-Two’s ass,” I say to Cal as we gather at the forty.

Behind the grill of his face-mask, Cal grins wide. “Funny you should say that, Grayson. Time to become the Gray Ghost.”

Gray Ghost. Because stopping me is as impossible as catching a ghost. Which is both apt and awesome. “Gray Ghost it is then, Frost,” I tell Cal, giving him a nickname, as well. Because damn if he didn’t earn one today.

He simply nods. “Let’s put this game to bed, boys.”

Cal gives us the play, and I smile with teeth. For me, it’s a simple hook play, with a lot of intricate subterfuge on my teammates’ part to throw the defense off the scent. My body hums with anticipation.

At the line Mr. No Humor is glaring. “You ready for me, Blondie?”

I put my toe on the line, hunkering down low enough to let him think that I’ll charge him at the snap. “Now, I’m gonna block your ass,” I tell him nice and conversational-like. “But that don’t mean I want your *, ’kay?”