Page 7 of The Game Plan (Game On #3)
Fiona
“I wonder what it is that you’re thinking,” Dex says from his casual slouch on the bench across from me. He’s taken me to
the Japanese Tea Garden, a place so utterly beautiful and tranquil I blinked back tears as soon as we’d entered.
Now we’re sitting in the Tea House, me at the railing, idly gazing at the glass-like reflecting pool that surrounds us, and
Dex with sketch pad and pencil in hand. His expression is relaxed, a smile in his hazel eyes.
I can’t help but smile back. “I was thinking you’re a brave man, Ethan Dexter.”
His chuckle is low and easy. “Now why would you say that?” He doesn’t look down at the tiny baby nestled in the carrier against
his chest.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” I drawl.
I admit, when he met me in the front hall earlier, carrying Leo in his car seat, I was shocked. I love my nephew. Fiercely. But I don’t know anything about babies. I’ve never done a babysitting gig, didn’t have friends who did. The idea of taking care of Leo is daunting.
But Dex? I know he wouldn’t have offered if he wasn’t confident he could do the job. Not many men would be willing to give
up an afternoon to look after a baby. It gave me the instant warm-fuzzies.
My ovaries damn near burst into song when Dex pulled out one of those baby swaddlers and tucked my nephew into it to carry
him against his massive chest.
I wasn’t the only one. We couldn’t go more than a few steps through the garden without some woman commenting, how sweet, oh, such a lovely baby! Such a dear man —that from an octogenarian who gave Dex a sly pat on his ass, causing him to blush beet-red.
Now he’s sketching me as I drink my green tea and Leo snoozes on.
“I swear, you’ve got this whole seduction thing down pat,” I tell him, fighting the urge to fidget. I hadn’t realized he was
drawing me until he’d already started. I feel exposed. Naked. And slightly turned on by the way his gorgeous eyes study every
inch of me.
Dex’s lips twitch, but his pencil doesn’t stop making those little scratching noises across the pad. “Seduction thing?”
“You know, the baby, beautiful garden, drawing me. Are you going to pull out a guitar next and serenade me?”
He laughs at that. “No guitar. I may or may not have a harmonica in my pocket to use for later. But I prefer to keep you in
suspense.”
“So you aren’t just happy to see me. Good to know.”
“Cute.”
“It was terrible and cheesy.” I lean forward. “Are you really drawing me? You aren’t, are you? There’s really just a stick
figure giving me an obscene gesture on that page, isn’t there?”
His low bass rumble makes something in my lower belly just hum with pleasure. I love that I can make him laugh. I don’t think he does it often, so each time feels like a reward.
He turns the pad to show me his efforts. And my breath catches.
What he’s drawn isn’t sweet or sentimental. He’s done a close-up of my face, my head tilted, my smile almost secretive.
He didn’t sugarcoat me. My chin-length blond hair shoots out in all directions. He’s drawn the small bump on the bridge of
my nose—a female replica of my dad’s nose, unfortunately—and the tiny crescent-shaped scar on my jawline from when Ivy and
I were jumping on my parents’ bed when we were eight and six, and I crashed into a dresser.
My attention goes back to my expression. It’s seductive and covetous, as if I’m hungry. Heat fills my cheeks. God, have I
been looking at Dex like that?
I glance back at him. He’s patiently waiting.
“Okay,” I say, my voice a little husky. “You actually can draw.”
He runs a hand over his beard as he regards me, then flips the sketchbook back onto his bent knee and starts up again. “I
told you I could.” His gaze flicks up to mine. “Do you find it hard to trust men?”
“Do you often hide behind exposing other people’s insecurities?”
He freezes. A frown pulls at his mouth. I don’t want to look at his mouth. It gets to me every time.
For a moment we’re silent, and then Leo makes a small snirddling sound. Dex goes back to drawing. “Touché,” he says in a low
voice, his body tense in his seat.
I take a sip of my now-cold tea. “I don’t trust men in general.”
His hand makes a short stroke across the page, but his shoulders visibly relax. “When I analyze others, I find it easier to figure out my own bullshit as well.”
“You’re sitting there figuring out my weaknesses while simultaneously thinking about your own?”
“Something like that.”
Finishing my tea, I stand. “Come on, Ethan. Let’s walk.”