Page 24 of The Game Plan (Game On #3)

Dex

“Look, it’s Sinatra!” Delgado, my fellow lineman, shouts when I walk into the locker room.

I’m greeted with a rousing chorus of “Gold on the Ceiling,” all of it off-key and loud. I’d been informed by a cackling Gray

that video of my karaoke performance had gone viral. If that hadn’t been enough, the ESPN highlight, complete with accompanying

jokes, made it clear I’d get my fair share of shit come Monday morning.

“Yeah, yeah.” I wave an idle hand. “Laugh it up, fuzzballs.”

Sampson, a nose tackle, attempts to roar like Chewbacca but ends up choking, which cracks the guys up even more.

Grinning, I sit down and kick off my shoes. Finn Mannus, my QB, saunters over, a smile wide on his face. He gives my shoulder

a hearty slap. “So, Dexter, have a good week off?”

“Say what you’re gonna say, Manny, and fuck off,” I tell him lightly.

He’s still grinning at me like a smug fuck. “I must say, I enjoy seeing you hang your balls out, Dex. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Pretty sure there’s a lot you don’t know about me.” I’ve stripped down to get in my gear when I catch his eye. He’s no longer

smug but serious.

“That’s kind of the point,” he says. “You’re my center.”

His words give me pause. I like Finn. He’s a rookie, which especially sucks for him because he has to carry the team without

the freedom to ease into his job. But he’s also a good quarterback, and it’s my job to protect him. But I don’t know him like I know Drew. I haven’t taken the time. Guilt tilts in my belly.

“Come out for a beer with me later,” I suggest. “And I’ll tell you all about my wild week.”

He looks at me with those famous baby blues that have women all over America sighing and throwing their panties in his direction.

Doesn’t do anything for me, but I’m comfortable enough in my manhood to see what chicks dig about him. I guess I’m doomed

to always cover pretty boys.

“Yeah,” he says. “Sounds good.” He moves to go but then halts. “Hell. We’ve got that photo shoot at four.”

A scowl works across his face, and now I’m the one who’s laughing. “Ah, the charity calendar. Thought that would be right

up your alley, GQ.”

Apparently not, if his disgusted look is anything to go by. “Charity, yes. I’d just rather do it talking to a bunch of kids

or something, not offering my ass up like a side of beef.”

“Aw, Manny,” says Sampson, walking past, “but it’s such a big ass. Almost as big as your head.” With that, he snaps a towel

at said ass and takes off as Mannus lunges for him.

“Keep running, dickhead,” Mannus calls.

I suit up, more than happy for the attention to slide off me and back to Mannus, where it belongs.

Only that isn’t the case. For the rest of practice, guys serenade me.

On the sidelines, when I’m gulping down Gatorade and stretching out my burning quads, Dean Calloway, the offensive line coach, stands beside me, his gaze on the other players, but his mouth twitching.

“Guess I know who’ll be the lead in our annual team musical, Dexter.”

“Didn’t know we had a musical, Coach.” I toss my empty bottle into the trash.

He turns to me. “Maybe we should start one now.” Giving me a slap on the back, he ambles off with a “Good work, Dex.”

I watch him go, and it occurs to me that although I’ve played for this team for going on two years, I haven’t really engaged.

It’s too easy for me to hide away from the world. But laughing with my team, not taking shit too seriously, feels good.

I could be happy, genuinely happy. There’s only one thing missing, and she’s over a thousand miles away.

Fiona

I’m headed out for drinks when Dex calls. Which has me grinning even before I answer the phone. “Hey.”

“Hey, Cherry.” His deep voice gives me a little thrill. Every single time. “What you up to?”

“Going out for drinks with Anna.” I dart across Fifth and weave past a slow-strolling tourist family.

“Drew’s Anna?” Dex asks in obvious surprise.

“Yep. We’ve gotten to know each other over the years. Gray always invites her and Drew to spend Christmas with us.”

Drew lost both his parents when he was in high school, and Gray lost his mother to cancer around the same time. Gray has made

it a priority never to let Drew go a holiday without family. Family being him, and now Ivy and me.

“Right, I forgot about that. Kind of kicking myself for going home to my parents’ instead of to Gray’s Christmas party last year,” Dex says with a wry laugh.

Because he’d been invited too. Every year.

“You were being a good son,” I say.

“I was avoiding the temptation of you,” he answers.

It makes me stumble. Frowning, I quicken my step. “Why did you avoid me?”

He sighs, and I can imagine him rubbing a hand along his beard the way he does when he doesn’t want to admit something. “Well,

last year you were still in college, and I was a rookie in the NFL. There was absolutely no hope of us ever seeing each other.

And, besides, you were Gray’s baby sister-in-law.”

“I’m still that. Although I object to the term baby .”

“Fine, younger sister.” There’s a smile in his voice before his tone goes serious. “I asked him, you know. If he objected to me making a

play for you.”

“What?” I practically shriek.

“He’s one of my best friends, Fi. It’s man code. And you don’t mess with the code.”

“And what if he’d said no?” The idea of Gray lording over my sex life does not sit well with me.

“Then I’d have laid out a perfectly logical and irrefutable argument for him to change his mind,” Dex says. “Or I’d have pounded

on him until he said uncle .”

I laugh. “So much for the man code.”

“Punching out an argument is an accepted form of conflict resolution in the man code. It’s part of our bylaws.”

“And you say women are confusing.” I laugh and hurry along so I’m not late. “What about you? What are you doing tonight?”

“Same thing. Going out with my QB.”

“Finn Mannus?” I give a little sigh. “He’s dreamy.”

Okay, I’m still a little irked by Dex’s archaic “man code” thing with Gray, and payback is a bitch.

Predictably, Dex makes a noise of disdain. “Thought you didn’t follow football.”

“There’s a difference between following the sport and following a hot player,” I tease.

“Never thought I’d be the jealous type,” he drawls. “But I guess I am because I have the sudden urge to punch the little shit

in the face right about now.”

“Don’t do that! You’ll ruin the pretty!”

“Fi.” Dex sounds ominous. And pained.

Laughing, I put him out of his misery. “Baby, you know I only have eyes for one guy. And he is way sexier than some skinny

quarterback.”

“Yeah?” He’s practically purring now.

All my pleasure points stir. “Yeah.”

I hear him sigh, and his voice lowers. “I want to look at that pic you sent me. I want that so badly my dick hurts. But I

know if I do, it’ll hurt more. I can’t beat off to thoughts of you anymore, Fi.”

My breath hitches. “Why?”

“I’ve had the real thing. Imagination no longer cuts it.”

“Have you... You used to think of me when you touched yourself?”

I swear I hear him swallow down a groan. “You know I did.”

“We could...” I sidestep a woman running toward the subway. “We could talk through it.”

Another groan from Dex. “No,” he says. “It’ll kill me, Cherry. Not being able to touch you.”

“I can touch myself. Pretend it’s you.” I don’t know why I’m pushing this. I’m in the middle of Manhattan and can’t do a thing.

But teasing Dex is fast becoming one of my favorite things. Only because I know he likes it. Even more, he needs it. Dex is too closed off. Which wouldn’t really matter, but I’ve seen that spark of life in him that’s aching to come out

and play.

I can hear it now when he gives me a dark chuckle. “Babe, the thought of you touching yourself is even worse. That’s something

I need to see, not hear.”

“We could FaceTime.”

“Fi.”

“Ethan.”

The smile in his voice remains, but he sounds tight. “I don’t have smooth words. I’d fuck it up by saying the wrong thing.

You don’t need to hear how today I thought of backing you into a quiet corner of my locker room so I could shove my hand up

your skirt and fuck you with my fingers, knowing my guys walked around a few feet away. I’d tell you to be nice and quiet

while I did it, not make a sound, even though you were dying to.

“Of how I’d pinch one of your perky little pink nipples with my other hand. Nice and firm the way you like it.”

I’ve slowed to a complete stop, my skin on fire, my breath short and rasping, as the world passes me by. Jesus. My nipple

throbs as if he were here now, tweaking it with a rough touch; my sex aches, the ghost of Dex’s thick, long fingers pumping

into it.

I clear my throat. “I think you got the talking down pat, Big Guy.”

He pauses and takes an audible breath. “I never got to taste you, Fi. I regret that. I have no idea what a pussy tastes like,

and all I can think about is yours. God, I want to spread you wide and take my time, savor every inch, see if your flavor

changes when you come.”

“Ethan,” my voice cracks.

“See? It’s too much, isn’t it?”

Somehow, I manage to laugh. “Any more and I’m going to spontaneously combust right here on Fifth Avenue.”

“Yeah?” He sounds surprised. Poor, deluded, sexy center.

“I think you’re right,” I say, forcing myself to walk again. “No more sex talk. It’s killing me too.”

A sad sort of half chuckle rumbles through my phone. “I know. So...” His voice strains as if he’s reaching for lightness.

“Tell me something else to take my mind out from under your skirt. How’s work?”

Yeah, right there is an immediate buzzkill.

Fuck, my throat hurts again. I want to tell him everything, right down to the bone-deep agony I feel in failing once again.

But I don’t want him to see that side of me.

Flighty Fi who can’t keep her shit together. I can’t stand the thought of being diminished in his eyes.

“It’s fine.”

He’s silent for a moment, and for the first time, I’m grateful for the physical distance between us. He can’t see my face.

“I thought you had to leave because of a work issue,” he says carefully.

Great. Either I’m lying about work, or I lied about why I left him. Silently cursing, I grind my teeth and search for an answer.

“It’s all settled. Not as big a deal as I’d thought.”

“Well,” he says. “That’s good.”

He doesn’t sound like he buys my story. God, I’m fucking up already, building this house-of-cards relationship on a shifty

set of lies. But I can’t tell him. I can’t. I’ll start crying here and now.

“I’m at the bar,” I tell him with false levity. “Call you later?”

“Always, Cherry,” he says softly. I hear him take a breath. “Fi?”

My heart pounds as I grip the phone like a lifeline. “Yeah?”

“Just know I’m with you. Even when I’m far away, I’m with you.”

It’s all I can do not to sob. I stand on the corner of Fifth and Twenty-fifth, the world flowing by me like rippling water,

and feel such loneliness I hug myself around my middle. “Thank you, Ethan.”

I hang up then, because I can’t say anything more without breaking my heart wide-open.