Page 13 of The Game Plan (Game On #3)

Dex

There’s a slight tremor in my hand as I saw the knife through a sesame bagel. I grip the handle tighter when, really, I want

to chuck it, bagel and all, across the kitchen.

Because I left Fi—gorgeous, delicious Fi—alone in the bedroom.

Jesus Christ, I’m an idiot. She’d been lying there, flushed and panting, the rosy tips of her nipples glistening from my mouth.

And I left her like that.

The sweet sounds of her coming, those breathy whimpers, ring through my head. The bagel splits in two, and I set the knife

down, take a slow breath.

I made Fiona Mackenzie come. Hard.

She doesn’t know hers is the first pussy I’ve fingered. I had no idea she’d be so slick and warm, so tight. My teeth grind

at the memory.

I want to fuck her so bad it hurts. My dick fucking aches. And though I’m familiar with repressed need, this is a new level. I’m so jacked up now, my hips push against the edge of the counter like they have a mind of their own.

“Fuck.”

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? She was ready for me to fuck her, practically panting for it. And so was I. Only I can’t

do it. So, I left her like a coward.

I don’t expect Fi to come down. She’s probably pissed. Maybe even disgusted with me. And for good reason.

My eyes squeeze shut, and I draw another slow breath through my clenched teeth.

Such a fuckup.

“What kind of bagels did you get?”

I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of her cheerful voice. She breezes into the kitchen, her hips swaying. She’s dressed

in tight black jeans and a fitted gray sweater that reaches midthigh and looks soft, touchable.

It’s all I can do not to stare at her pink, kiss-swollen lips. I’ve completely lost my voice.

Fi stops at my side and picks up the halved bagel before moving away to pop it into the toaster. “You get any good cream cheese?”

She looks up at me with wide eyes the color of new leaves. No judgment, no anger.

Waiting, it seems, for me to hand her cream cheese.

“Fi...” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard. “I... uh...”

The front door opens. Gray and Ivy are home.

“Hey,” Ivy calls as she sets the baby car seat down on the kitchen table. “Did you get bagels? Thank God. I’m starving.” She

leans down to unhook Leo. “A certain evil husband thinks it’s cool to hike at freaking 7:00 a.m.”

Gray ambles in looking better rested than I’ve seen him since before the baby. “We were up anyway, and I was going stir-crazy

in this house. Ooh... is that poppy seed?”

I try to catch Fi’s eye over Gray’s head, but she’s already taking her nephew from Ivy’s hands and kissing the top of his fuzzy little head.

A weight settles on my chest. I feel like I’ve lost my chance. Like she’s slipping away.

But then her head lifts. Bright eyes look straight at me. “Let’s go for a ride after we eat.”

I take her to Point Reyes, find a spot where we can park, and we walk along the cliffs. The mountainside, covered in a blanket

of browns, greens and soft purples, rolls toward the Pacific. Sunlight glints off the deep blue ocean. Yet all I can focus

on is the girl at my side.

She’s taking it all in with wide eyes, the sea breeze whipping at her hair. The top of her head reaches my shoulder. And even

though we’re nowhere near the edge of the cliffs, I have the overwhelming urge to haul her close and hold on tight—to protect

her from any potential harm.

Shit, didn’t a hiker die in a landslide a few years ago? Has it been raining? I’m ready to tell her we should go when she

gives a happy little sigh.

“God, it’s beautiful here.”

“Yep.” I keep a sharp eye on the path.

She turns, and the soft California sunlight sets her skin aglow. “You’ve been to San Francisco many times before?”

I snap a sage leaf off a nearby patch, rubbing the velvety leaf between my fingers. “Grew up in Santa Cruz.”

“Really?” She smiles. “California, huh? Were you one of those dudes who hung out under the boardwalk and surfed all day?”

She’s grinning as if the idea amuses her.

“Well, not all day. Mostly before practice or when I had some free time.”

Her green eyes go round with surprise. I’m guessing I don’t really look like a surfer. I silently laugh at what she’d make of my dread-wearing phase.

I tap the tip of her little nose. “It’s great for balance, strength, focus and stamina. Kind of like football training. Only

more fun.”

“Athletes,” she mutters, shaking her head, then looks me over again. “I did not have you pegged for a California boy.”

I laugh at that. “Where did you think I was from?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Somewhere rugged where dudes rope steers. Montana or Wyoming or Texas maybe.”

I laugh again. “The only bullshit I’m familiar with is trash-talking on the field.”

Fi grins wide and picks a sage leaf as well, bringing it up to her nose to draw in its scent. “Somehow I can’t imagine you

talking shit.”

“No. But I’m well versed in it from defensive linemen trying to get into my head.”

“And you just let it roll off like water on a duck’s back, don’t you?”

“Pisses dudes off more than any words can.”

I love the sound of Fiona’s laugh. It’s loud, free and unashamed. Her entire face lights up when she laughs. I clench my hands

so I don’t grab hold of her, capture that sound with my lips and swallow it down. I imagine that laugh might fill me up, warm

all the cold places in my chest.

She comes to stand beside me, and her slim hand finds mine. Instantly, I thread my fingers with hers.

“Your parents live pretty nearby, then?” Her fingers tighten just a bit. “Or are they divorced?”

“They’re still together. The house is about an hour’s drive down the coast. But they’re in Europe right now with my little

brother, doing a group tour.”

“But he’s got to be... what? Eight?”

“Yep. They homeschool him so they can all travel the world.” The corners of my mouth twitch. “They’re probably sampling bratwurst in Germany about now. Dylan, my brother, is probably whining for an American hot dog.”

“I think that’s lovely.” There’s a sigh in her voice.

From Ivy, I know their parents are divorced and have been for years. Sean Mackenzie spends most of his time in New York or

Atlanta, and their mother lives in London.

“Do you miss your mom?” I ask.

She squints into the sun-dappled ocean. “Yeah, sometimes. I spent most of my summers with her, either in London or traveling.

But it’s become forced over the years.” Her blond hair whips in the breeze, and she brushes it back with her free hand. “I

don’t know... we’re just not very much alike. She’s focused, organized. I’m...”

Fi doesn’t finish.

I give her hand a squeeze, tug her against my side. “Creative. Full of life.”

“Sweet-talker,” she scoffs, but her head rests against my shoulder.

We’re silent for a minute, just watching the ocean, my hand in hers. I run my thumb along her palm and find a callus.

She notices and gives me a wry smile. “Not very soft, I know.”

Taking my time, I follow a path of small, new scars and rough patches. Her hands are torn up. “What have you been doing to

yourself?”

She moves to pull away, but I hold fast, catch her gaze with mine.

“Nothing bad,” she says, giving up on the little tug-of-war we’ve got going. “I’ve been...” Her plump cheeks flush. “I’ve

been making furniture. I wear gloves for some things, but you need to have a feel for the wood.”

“Furniture?” I find myself smiling. “That’s... Well, it’s fucking cool.”

Her color rises. “I haven’t really talked about it with anyone. It’s just something I do to relax. But I like it.”

“So those are hard-earned scars.” I hold up my own hand, knuckles swollen, nails cut to the quick so they won’t tear out during

a scuffle.

She leans in closer to me. “Yeah. I guess they are.” Fi pauses. “I made Ivy and Gray’s kitchen table.”

I hadn’t been paying attention to the table then because Fi had been in the room, but I can recall it well enough. “That’s

a substantial piece. Beautiful.” I look down at her, my chin resting near her cheek. “You should be proud.”

“Thanks.” Her voice is quiet, almost shy as she stares out at the sea.

She’s shared a confidence with me. One she obviously has trouble embracing. I don’t know if she did it to let me know I could

trust her, or she simply found herself exposing a truth. Either way, it humbles me.

Fi’s soft, feminine warmth at my side is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. And I know I need to tell her everything if I

have any chance of making her mine. I take a breath, smell the sweet mix of sage, eucalyptus, salt and sun. “Fi...”

“I’ve heard there’s a creamery around here that sells cheese.”

I frown, my eyes staying on the scene before us. People are easy for me to read. Fi is no exception. I get her on a bone-deep

level. The problem is she reads me easily as well. I’m not used to that. No one ever really bothered before.

All day I’ve been expecting her to demand an explanation. But never once has she made mention of my cut-and-run. At first,

I didn’t know what to make of it. Now I’m thinking she’s purposely avoiding it because she knows I’m struggling.

She moves to go, but I tug her back. “I know I fucked up, leaving you this morning.” A cold sweat breaks out over my skin,

and I swallow hard, run a hand through my hair, only to have my fingers snag because I have it all bound tight.

Cursing, I look out over the ocean. “I...”

“Hey.” She touches my arm, and I feel it at the base of my spine. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“Yeah, I do.” I force myself to face her.

“Is it the virgin thing?”

My breath halts.

But she doesn’t notice and keeps talking. “Because I don’t mind that. At all.”

Fuck if my cheeks aren’t burning.

“You’re right, Gray does gossip more than a flock of old ladies.” I squeeze the back of my neck. “Yeah, technically, I guess

I am. It’s not like I’m going around hiding it. I just don’t really mention it either.”

“Well, why should you? Your sex life isn’t anyone’s business.”

“I’d like it to be your business.”

She blushes at that. Sweet Fi who, by all accounts, doesn’t fluster easily. I love that I can make her blush, can leave her

tongue-tied.

“Look,” I say, “I didn’t want to make this a big deal, but I thought I should tell you because I know there are guys who freak

out when a girl doesn’t have experience and they weren’t informed, and—”

Fi’s mouth shuts me up. Her kiss is firm, as if she’s trying to tell me it’s okay, yet it’s also tender, which makes my entire

body clench with some weird, uncomfortable emotion.

She lowers from her tiptoes and looks up at me with solemn eyes. Her slim, warm hand takes mine again. “I meant what I said.

You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But I can see that it bothers you. So if you want to tell me, Ethan,

I’ll listen.”

The last thing I want to do is talk. But I take a deep breath and try. For her.