Page 15 of The Game Plan (Game On #3)

Dex

Patience. I have it in spades. I’ve trained myself to use patience as a tool, knowing that the right moment will come, and

when it does, I’ll take it. But right now, patience is wearing thin. Because Fiona has yet to give me an answer.

Back at Point Reyes, she kissed my cheek and told me she’d have to think about being with me. Not because of my past, she

was quick to reassure, but because she’s afraid to start something that has a clear expiration date.

Frustration rolls through me. I don’t see an end to us, just how good we could be together. I should have stated my case all

those years ago, when I first wanted her. When we lived in the same damn town. Only she had a boyfriend then. And I was too

wary to step in between that. Stupid of me.

Maybe we’ll always be off with our timing.

But fuck it, I’m not giving this up. No fucking way.

Not when I’ve gotten a taste of her. Not when she’s heard my ugliest truths and accepted them without judgment.

We can be real together, which is something rare and precious in my world. So, I’m regrouping.

First step: we go out with Ivy and Gray. If I can’t get a date, a double date will do for now. One of Gray’s teammate’s nanny

is watching Leo.

We go out for dinner first.

Ivy and Fi entertain us with stories of their childhood and how their dad brought home athletes who are now our heroes.

“Tell them how you won a bet with Jordan when you were six,” Ivy says to Fi.

My girl’s green eyes sparkle as she laughs. “Oh, God.” She takes a drink of her cocktail. “I bet him I could jump higher than

he could.”

“No way did you beat Jordan,” Gray insists, shaking his head.

“I did so!” Her cheeks flush a pretty, soft pink. “The stakes were a dozen donuts. He went first. And man, he has ups.”

We all nod at that. Fi leans in closer, her voice dropping. “I acknowledged his awesome skills, then took my turn.”

Ivy cuts in. “The little stinker waltzed into our kitchen, so we all followed. And as bold as you please, Fi climbed on the

counter, looked Jordan in the eye and jumped.”

“What?” Gray exclaims. “That’s totally cheating.”

“That’s what Jordan said.” Fi shrugs. “I pointed out that we never said the jump had to start on the floor, and since I did

technically jump to a higher point, I won.”

I laugh at that. “And you call me slick.”

She grins, unrepentant. “Hey, he conceded defeat and brought me donuts. Said he could respect my determination to win at all

costs.”

And so it goes, talking and eating and having more fun than I’ve had in as long as I can remember. Whenever I grow too silent,

Fi pulls me into the conversation, sometimes by touching my elbow and looking my way to ask my opinion—sometimes by saying

something so outrageous, I can’t help but comment.

And I have the strange sensation of something deep inside me clicking into place, as though I’m becoming the person I was meant to be. It’s both a relief and kind of unnerving.

Sitting next to Fi, close enough to catch the fragrant scent of her hair, feel the brush of her arm against mine whenever

she turns to say something to Gray—who’s on her other side—both settles me and makes me crave more.

I want to have the right to put my arm across the back of her chair the way Gray does with his wife. To lean in and kiss her

smiling lips whenever she says something cute, which is pretty much all the time.

We end up going to a bar, and it’s karaoke night. Which means it’s crammed full of slightly drunk and extremely exuberant

off-key singers. We’ve managed to get a table up front and center. I’m thinking it’s because the owner is a huge football

fan; I’m pretty sure the table was occupied when we walked in.

But the hostess insists we sit here and hurries off to get us drinks.

“Excellent,” says Gray, rubbing his hands together, a gleam in his eye. “The last person to sing gets to buy the drinks.”

Ivy grins wide. “You’re on, Cupcake. I’m going to sing the house down.”

We all pause, our gazes darting back and forth as a certain sense of terror falls over the table.

Ivy sees us and slaps her palm onto the table. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. I know what you twats are thinking! If I suck at dancing,

I’ll suck at singing? Well, I don’t. I’m awesome.”

Awkward silence ensues, and she snorts.

“What? You think I don’t know I suck at dancing? I just don’t give a shit.” She glares at Gray, though there really isn’t

any anger in the look. “So you can stop dancing like an ass now.”

A strangled sound leaves him. “You knew?”

“Of course.” She tosses a lock of her hair over her shoulder. “You’re too coordinated on the field, and you kind of forget to suck when you do those victory dances.”

He gapes at her for a long second, then gives a bark of laughter. “I fucking love you, Special Sauce.” With that, he hauls

Ivy into his lap and kisses her.

Fi, however, finally snaps out of the trance she’s been in since Ivy confessed. “You sneaky shithead,” she shouts over the

music. “All these years I’ve been covering for your craptacular dancing, and you knew!” She shakes a fist. “I swear to God,

Ivy Weed...”

“Oh, please,” Ivy counters. “You pretend you suck at baking so you don’t have to do it for family holidays.”

Fi sniffs, looking guilty as hell. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ivy leans in, her eyes narrowed. “Midnight cookie baking ring a bell, Tink?”

Fi’s cheeks flush, and she studies her nails with undue interest while muttering something about traitor sisters under her

breath. “Those are for PMS cravings and nothing more. I was baking under duress.”

“Right then,” Gray says, smart enough to interrupt before they can go down the dark road that is discussion of their periods.

“We’re going to do a duet, Mac.”

Ivy bounces up. “I get to pick the song!”

She runs off, and Gray shoots out of his seat. “No chance in hell, Ivy Mac. Mac!”

Fi rolls her eyes. “She’s going to go all Beyoncé-Jay Z on him.”

I laugh hard at the thought of them singing “Drunk in Love.”

“I’m filming the whole thing.” I pull out my phone and get it ready.

They don’t sing “Drunk in Love.” It’s worse. Much, much worse. Or maybe equally horrific.

“Oh. My. God.” Fi’s eyes go wide before she bursts out laughing.

Gray and Ivy have decided on “You’re the One That I Want” from Grease . Oh, they own it, belting out the lyrics just slightly off-key—well, completely off-key in Gray’s case—and totally working

the crowd, who are all shouting and lifting their phones to film them. It’s clear Gray has been recognized.

But still, it’s terrible.

Fi and I howl with laughter until my sides hurt and I have to gulp down half my bottled water.

“I can’t believe she knew she sucked at dancing,” Fi mutters, watching them, a smile still pulling at her lips.

“Well, when you think about it, she’d have to be blind not to know,” I counter. “I mean, the arm flailing alone...” I shudder

dramatically, and Fi snickers, just as I’d hoped.

“Watch it,” she says, her gaze on the stage and a smile in her eyes. “That’s my sister you’re talking about.”

“Hey, I love her like a sister too. Does that count?”

Fi turns, and her green eyes hold me captive. “As long as that doesn’t make us like brother and sister.”

I lean in until my lips nearly brush hers. “Not even close, Cherry.” I steal a quick, soft kiss and have the satisfaction

of hearing her breath hitch.

My satisfaction grows when I pull back and she gazes up at me with a slightly dazed expression. I run the pad of my thumb

over the smooth curve of her lower lip. My groin tightens with heat and want.

“You gonna give me an answer soon?”

Her lashes sweep down, and she reaches for her drink. “We’re out now, right?” Green eyes peer up at me. “This is a double

date, isn’t it?”

“Yep.”

Her lips purse like she’s trying not to smile. “Slick.”

“Not really.” I lean closer, pressing my arm against hers. “Look, I know I’m asking you to go out of your comfort zone—”

“Yes, how about that?” Fi counters. “I mean, do you often do the same? Because, from where I sit, you seem to play it safe.”

My brows lift. “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing safe about going after you.”

She smiles, shaking her head. “But you know I’m attracted to you.”

Love hearing that. I sit back and watch Gray get on his knees in a sad John Travolta parody. Running my hand over my beard, I turn back to Fi.

“Okay. How about this? I hate being the center of attention. If I get up there and sing my ass off, will you give us a go?”

She laughs. “You’re serious? Are you bribing me for sex?”

“First off, I’m not talking about sex. I’ll never withhold that from you.” I grin, touching my forehead to hers. “We can go

home right now and fuck, Cherry, if that’s what you want.”

Hell, tell me that’s what you want. I can take it. I’m a big boy. Part of me is growing bigger by the second at the thought of finally having Fiona.

She goes so pink, I can see it in the dim of the club.

“I’m asking for a relationship,” I say. “Or at least taking a leap of faith.”

Fi looks me over as if she’s trying to figure out if I’m crazy or not.

I let her look, sitting back, my hips low in the seat. Her slow inspection has my skin tingling. I have the mad urge to haul

her on my lap and kiss her into compliance, lose myself in that sweet, plump mouth of hers. But I stay still.

“You’re really going to go up there?” She nods toward the stage where Ivy and Gray are now bowing—the hams.

“And sing my ass off,” I add. My gut roils at the idea of performing in front of all these people. It’s not something I want to do. But I will.

I ignore the small twinge of guilt that follows when she gives me an evil grin. I know she’s looking forward to seeing me

make an ass of myself, just as we laughed at Ivy and Gray.

“Before you answer,” I say above the applause that follows our friends’ performance, “I’ll warn you now. I will never lie

to you, Fiona. But I don’t intend to fight fair either.”

Her cheeky grin just grows. “Playing me again, are you, Slick?”

“Maybe.”

She cups the back of my neck and gives me a quick, hard kiss. “Bring it, Dexter.”