The Game Plan (Game On, #3)(60)

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, boy.”

“And the cheapest.”

“I’ll pay every meal for the season’s meet-ups if you two will shut up now,” Drew says.

Since graduation, we’ve made it a point to meet up a few times a year. Sometimes there are more of us, sometimes less. Mostly we meet when we’re playing a game against each other. But the Red Dog team will always be brothers.

Drew is hurrying us along, all but pushing Johnson toward the door.

I’ve always envied what Drew has with Anna. Not the sex, but the knowledge that there was someone he belonged to. Even when he was suffering when they first got together, I envied him. Because his emotions with her were real. Honest.

My whole life feels like one long fog of numbness, punctuated by manufactured pain. The tats, the piercing, hard hits on the field—all of them ways to make me feel something other than bland indifference.

But with Fi, I’m alive. I anticipate every single breath because it’s another moment closer to getting back to her.

I follow the guys out, but my mind is on Fi, and the ache around my heart grows. I miss her so much that at first I think I’m imagining her leaning against the side of a black town car.

A balmy southern breeze drifts over the road, lifting the ends of her golden hair and making the skirt of her dress sway. She’s wearing a white sundress dotted with brilliant red cherries. That dress with the little teasing red bow just below her breasts. That dress has haunted me for what seems like an eternity. I’ve dreamed of sinking to my knees and lifting its skirt to find the prize beneath. She’s wearing that dress for me.

I’m frozen in place, surely gaping at her as the guys walk past. Out of the corner of my eye, I see their smug faces. Drew gives Fi a nod.

“Thank you, Drew Bee,” she says to him, drawing out the initial in his last name with affection.

“Any time, Fi-Fi.” His smile is wide and satisfied.

I remember that they know each other and live in the same town and hang out. I’m instantly jealous of Drew for that. But he clearly helped set up this meeting with my girl, so I can’t hold it against him.

My attention is on Fi anyway. On her hesitant smile, the shine of happiness in her eyes. She lifts her arm, holding up a plastic produce bag full of something lumpy.

Her slightly husky voice drifts over the space between us. “I know guys bring girls flowers, but I figured you’d be more into food. So I brought you some cherries—”

Her words cut off with a squeak as I wrap my arms around her slim frame and lift her high. I kiss her without hesitation, opening her mouth with mine, my tongue sliding along hers. She tastes of cherries and Fi, and smells of joy.

My joy. My Fi.

Like that, I’m overwhelmed. Fuck, I’m almost weepy. And I’m all but mauling her on the street.

My voice is rough when I pull back and smile down at her. “Did you eat some of my cherries?”

Her nose wrinkles. “I had to see if they were okay. I’m not going to give you subpar cherries.”

“You’ve got a whole theme going here.”

“I’m not very subtle, Ethan,” she says with a goofy grin. “Better get used to it now.”

“Don’t ever change.”

She’s still in my arms, her feet dangling around my shins, those sweet tits of hers pressed against my chest. I can’t help kissing her again, on the warm spot just below her ear, the corner of her mouth, which always makes her shiver.

Hell, I can’t stop kissing her period.

And she’s running her fingers across my nape, massaging the tight muscles there as if she knows how badly I need it.

“Fi…” I can’t even talk.

“Show me your home, Big Guy.”

Problem is, I don’t think I’ll be able to let her go once she gets there.





Chapter Twenty-Seven





Fiona



Ethan insists on walking. It’s a nice night; the air almost balmy. And though it’s November, it’s in the 70s—warm enough to wear this silly cherry sundress and a cardigan. But it was worth it to see Dex’s wide smile unfurl when his gaze slid over me. Yeah, he knew I wore the dress for him. And it lit him up with happiness. So. Totally. Worth. It.

“Aren’t you afraid of being spotted?” I ask as we amble along, his arm around me, my head resting against the warmth of his chest.

He stops and kisses me—soft, seeking, a smile on his lips as he pulls away. “Not really. No one’s around. I got my cap on.” He gives the brim of gray his newsboy cap a tug as he winks. “And I don’t exactly look like myself.”

No. He’s not in his standard jeans and tee, but wearing soft black slacks and a light knit dress sweater that covers his trademark tats. He looks more dapper-New-Orleans gentleman than football player now.

Drew and his friends have driven off, making a lot of noise that I suspect was designed to bring attention to them and away from Ethan. They’re good friends, loyal. I know they’ll do anything to protect him. And yet I sense there’s a wall between Ethan and, well, everyone but me.

“Your friends never call you Ethan. Always Dex or Dexter. Why?”

He shrugs. “I’ve always been Dex to them. I’m not even sure some of them know my first name. It’s who I am.”