The Game Plan (Game On, #3)(3)

As if he reads my thoughts, he gives me a slow nod of hello.

I find myself laughing. At myself. He wasn’t checking me out at all. He was waiting for me to recognize him. My fuzzy brain searches for a name.

Dex. He’s Dex.

I give him a nod, inclining my chin. And he rises. Up. Up. Up.

Yep. Tall as a tree.

I remember that he now plays center in the NFL. And though a lot of centers sport a big barrel belly, Dex doesn’t. No, he’s just pure, hard muscle. All of it visible beneath the black tee and faded jeans he’s wearing. All of it moving with the natural grace of a professional athlete as he strides toward me.

“Fiona Mackenzie.” His voice is low, steady, and kind.

I don’t know why I think kind but it sticks in my head and relaxes me in a way I ordinarily wouldn’t if some guy I barely knew approached me when I was on my own in a club.

“Hi, Dex. Sorry it took me a minute. I’m usually quicker than that.” I nod at the chair in front of me. “Care to join me?”

He glances at my nearly empty glass. “Want another drink first?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” If only to have something to do with my hands. Because, while he doesn’t threaten me, he has a presence that’s potent.

My stomach tightens when he leans close as if he might embrace me, his massive frame shadowing the small table. But he merely sticks his nose to my glass and takes a sniff. With a nod, he straightens and turns toward the bar.

I do not admire his ass as he walks away. Okay, maybe a little. Because damn.

He returns soon enough, another Manhattan in one hand, a bottled water in the other. A memory hits me—of how he usually drinks water, almost never any liquor.

Before he can sit, a girl comes up to our table, her eyes pleading.

“Are you using this chair?” She puts a hand on the only chair at the table. The other side is pulled up against the bench seat I’m using that runs along the wall. Technically, Dex could sit next to me.

We all are clearly aware of this. The girl looks between us as if to drive this point home. It would be petulant for me to say no. So I nod. And she whisks it away before I can change my mind.

That amused look doesn’t leave Dex as he settles next to me, his thigh close enough to mine that I feel his body heat. Not that I think he’s doing this on purpose—he’s just that big, and the space is just that small.

Smiling a bit, I take a sip of my drink. “You knew I was drinking a Manhattan based on smell alone?”

Dex sets his water on the table, calling attention to the tattoo sleeves he has on both arms. “My uncle owns a bar. I’ve helped out over the years.” He glances at my glass. “That and the cherry gave it away.”

And it’s like my brain turns off, because I pull that cherry out of my drink and put it between my lips to suck it. Like some damn porn star. His gaze snaps to my mouth, and his eyes narrow.

Damn, but I feel it again. That slow, hot stroke between my legs. This guy makes me wet with just one look.

Flushed, and cursing myself an idiot for putting on a display, I yank the stem from the cherry and eat the fruit with brisk efficiency before taking a hasty sip of my cocktail. “So, Dex,” I say quickly—as if I didn’t just try to call attention to my mouth. “It’s been a while.”

He blinks, his gaze dragging from my lips to my eyes. “Ethan.”

“What?”

“My name,” he says. “It’s Ethan.” The corners of his eyes crinkle. “Ethan Dexter.”

“Ah.” I take another sip. “So I’m not allowed to call you Dex? That only apply to friends or something?”

He doesn’t laugh or fidget, just keeps his gaze steady on my face. “Didn’t mean it as an insult. You can call me Dex, if you like.”

Before I can ask him why he’d insisted on Ethan if that’s the case, he speaks again. “I haven’t seen you since the wedding.”

Gray and Ivy’s wedding. Now that was a drunken blur. Good times.

Truly, I don’t drink often. But when I do… Ahem. Which is why I try to avoid reaching the point of maximum craziness.

Memories of the wedding are a strain, but hazy edges of them remind me that I danced with Gray’s boys—Dex included. Ivy danced too, which is always a show. My sister, who I love more than anyone on Earth, is a horrible, scary dancer. So mainly I’d concentrated on helping Gray run interference, making sure she didn’t accidentally clock anyone on the head while she convulsed—danced.

“I remember you mostly holding one of the walls up all night,” I tell Dex now. He’d danced a few songs, sure, then had taken a bottled water and leaned against the wall to watch the rest of us.

He grips his current bottled water. It’s too dark to see what his tattoos are, but I can tell they’re colorful, vintage looking. And he has more of them than he did a year ago.

“Sometimes it’s more fun to watch.” His gaze doesn’t move from my face, but it feels like it does. My breasts swell heavy against my bra, more so when he continues. “You ripped your dress off and flung it in a tree.”

A flush works over my cheeks. It was a tropical resort. And I’d wanted to swim. Everyone did. I lean forward. “Are you saying you liked watching me strip, Ethan Dexter?”

His chuckle is a gentle rumble. “I’m saying it was memorable.” He glances down, those long lashes hiding his eyes. “And entertaining.”