The Game Plan (Game On, #3)(37)

Usually I do my running up and down stadium stairs, or towing a weighted sled while doing relays—brutal workouts designed to increase my strength and mental toughness or develop intense bursts of speed. Jogging along a flat trail is more of a luxury than a workout. Out here, I can soak up the scenery, get some much-needed fresh air.

Unfortunately, I’m not as fast as Gray, and the little shit catches up with me about a mile in. How he found me is some sort of Houdini magic because I sure as shit didn’t tell him where I was going.

“Hey,” he says as he comes alongside me.

I think I grunt. I’m not really in a talking mood.

“I’m guessing you know Fi left,” he says carefully.

I glance his way before facing forward again. “Say what you’re going to say, Grayson, and let me get on with my run.”

“Do you know how long I’ve waiting to have a heart-to-heart with you? Shit, Drew’s gonna be so jealous he wasn’t here.”

So glad my pain is such an event.

He must read this on my face because he winces. “Sorry. I suck at this. I’m not you.”

“Yeah, usually I lead in with a thought-provoking question, then wander away to let you work it out on your own.” I nod toward the path behind us. “Feel free to skip to the wandering part.”

“Nice try, Big D.”

At our side, the Golden Gate Bridge rises out of the morning fog. It’s beautiful. Almost peaceful. Only Gray won’t let me have any peace.

“You’re just going to let her go?”

For a hot second I actually want to hit him. Did he think it didn’t kill me to watch her walk away? I pull in a calming breath. Calm. I’m always calm. “She threw down an argument I had no solution for.”

Short of quitting my job, there is nothing I can do to solve the problem of me always leaving Fi.

The dull pain in my chest spreads down my arms. All I can do is run, listen to the sound of my feet hitting the pavement, the rasp of my breath going in and out.

“Man,” Gray finally says. “I’m sorry. I thought she’d be different with you. That she wouldn’t flake—”

“Grayson,” I cut in, because I really can’t handle pity right now. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You might be a parent, but you’re not mine or Fi’s. I knew what I was risking.”

He manages to keep quiet for a few beats, but Gray’s a talker, incapable of prolonged silence. “Still,” he mutters, “f*cking sucks balls.”

I couldn’t agree more.

He gives me a sidelong look. “So what are you going to do about it?” He knows me too well.

I fight to keep my face neutral. “What I do best. Assess the defense, find another angle.” Because I’ve had a taste of Fiona, and I can’t give her up without a fight. Unfortunately, until inspiration strikes, I have to retreat, give her space, or risk acting like a stalker, which no guy in his right mind should do.

Gray gives my arm a nudge. “Hey. Last one to Fisherman’s Wharf buys breakfast.”

Little f*cker. We both are good for quick bursts of speed. But Gray is better at longer distances. So I do what any self-respecting competitor would. I shove him into the grass and take off.





* * *



Fiona



Airports suck. As soon as I step into one, I get tense. Someone is always watching you somewhere. You’re treated as cattle. Annoying cattle at that. And all you have to look forward to is a cramped seat and paying for a crap meal wrapped in plastic. Yay-hay.

My eyes are gritty, and I have a sore throat. Maybe I’m coming down with something. Because I’m finding it really hard to breathe too.

I’ve been this way pretty much since I left Ivy’s house. Ivy who looked at me with such disappointment, I felt lower than shit on a shoe. Gray didn’t even bother to look my way. He shut down completely and muttered something about taking a run.

The ticket agent informs me that I have a seat on the last row of the plane. Another bonus: all the people waiting to use the bathroom will stand there, shoving their asses in my face.

If you weren’t such a chickenshit, you’d still be in bed with Dex. Which is now officially the best place in the entire world.

I tell myself to shut up.

Boarding pass in hand, I turn, pulling my carryon bag behind me, and nearly smack into a couple kissing.

Fuck a duck.

They’re going at it. Not in a gross, slobbering way, but…shit, in a romantic, you’re-my-air way. Dude holds his girl’s cheeks with care as he tilts his head and goes in deeper. She clutches his back as if she’ll never let him go.

And here I am, staring like a perv. I can’t help it. I now know how it feels to kiss like that. The consuming fire of it, the way your entire body sways into your lover’s with the need to sink into his flesh and bones and become part of him.

The pain in my throat swells outward, lodging hard in my chest. I stalk around the couple and blindly race for the TSA line.

But it’s no use. I can’t stop my thoughts. Or the pain.

Like a zombie, I wait at the gate. Like a zombie, I board the plane, find my seat. It isn’t until yet another couple settles into the row in front of me—the guy helping his girl put her bag in the overhead before giving her cheek a kiss—that I break.