The Game Plan (Game On, #3)(59)

“It’s gourmet,” Rolondo says, picking up his spoon.

“Who picked this place, anyway?” Johnson complains.

“I did.” I slide a spoonful of dark chocolate mousse into my mouth and almost groan. Damn. Fi needs to come here with me. And like that, I’m missing her again. I ignore the emotion and glare at my guys. “It’s delicious. Just order another one if you’re still hungry.”

Rolondo just laughs and eats while Johnson mutters about me being some sort of metrosexual.

“Lumbersexual,” I counter, getting a look of horror from Johnson. I shrug. “That’s what Fi says, anyway.”

“Why would she say you like having sex with lumberjacks?” Johnson asks with a confused frown.

Rolondo throws a napkin at his head. “Man, you don’t know jack about jack.”

“Lumberjacks?”

We all groan.

Except Drew, who doesn’t say a word. He hasn’t even noticed his dessert. He’s way too fidgety and practically glued to his phone screen, which isn’t like him.

“Why do you keep looking at your phone?” I ask him. “Shit, is there more bad press? Am I now up for grabs for both sexes?”

“I’d do you,” Rolondo puts in with a grin.

“You’re too high-maintenance for me.”

“This is true.” ‘Londo nods and looks me over. “I’d most definitely make you shave that beard. I’m not into bears.”

I shrug. “We were never meant to be.”

Johnson rolls his eyes. “I don’t care if I sound like a dick. This whole exchange is bizarre.”

“You always sound like a dick,” Rolondo says. “So we’re used to it.”

He ducks a chunk of bread Johnson pings at him. An older couple across the way turns to stare.

“Ladies,” I say mildly, “mind your manners. This isn’t the college bar.”

“Yes, Mom.” Johnson sits back and looks around. “Why is it that we aren’t in a bar? I mean, yeah, we got money now. But this place is making my shoulders itch.”

“I’m checking the place out,” I tell them. “It’s for sale, and Gray, Drew, and I are thinking about investing in restaurants.”

“Seriously?” Johnson looks surprised.

“We need something to fall back on. We aren’t going to play forever.”

Since the three of us love to eat, we thought about the restaurant business. Gray and Drew have been looking at places on the west and east coasts, respectively.

I glance at Drew. “If a certain QB would get his face out of his phone and taste the food, it would be much easier to do.”

Drew lifts his head. “The atmosphere is a little staid, but the food is good, and the place is packed.”

“Agreed,” I say. “It always is, but I’d make changes.”

Drew nods, then drifts back to his phone.

Rolondo shrugs. “As long as we don’t go to one of Johnson’s strip bars, I’m cool with anything.”

“You’d rather we go to one of your strip bars?” Johnson asks.

“Naw, wouldn’t want you to develop a complex about your shortcomings, man.”

“There ain’t nothing short on me. And when I make a lady come, it takes all night.”

“Takes all night to make her come? Yeah, I’d buy that.”

As Rolondo and Johnson bait each other, I glance back at Drew, who is still eyeing his phone and being awfully quiet. “Seriously, Baylor, I’m about to confiscate that thing.”

He raises a brow at me, and gives me his old, innocent grin—which I am not falling for. “You really are a mom, aren’t you?”

“As I recall, you played the role of Mom. I was Dad.”

“Doesn’t that mean we’re on a date now? And all I get is this lousy dinner?” Drew leans his arms on the table. “Where are my flowers?”

“I’ll make it up to you with sweet talk later. Now answer the question, Battle. What the hell is up with the phone?”

As if I’ve activated it, the damn thing lights up, and Drew glances down. He fights to hide his smile. “What can I say? I’m totally * whipped by my wife to be. That’s right, I’m replacing you with Anna.” With that, he presses his palms to the tabletop. “Gentlemen, time to wrap this up. I have a phone date to get to.”

Oddly, the guys don’t go the obvious route and give Drew shit. They glance at me and then at each other—not exactly subtle, though I know they think they are.

“What now?” I ask, glaring around.

“Nothing, man,” Rolondo assures. “Stop being so uptight. It isn’t all about you, D.”

His expression says different, but I let it slide.

Johnson pulls out some bills. “My treat this time, yeah?”

“Excuse me while I take in this moment,” Rolondo says expansively, his arms open wide. “Johnson—punk ass, cheap motherf*cker Johnson—is paying.”

“Man, shut the f*ck up,” Johnson says with a laugh. “We meeting up for coffee in the morning?”

“Yeah, man,” Rolondo says. “I’ll pay that.”

“Talk about cheap.”