The Game Plan
Page 20
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 fuck up.
“So 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 mid-thigh and looks soft, touchable.
It’s all I can do not to stare at her pink, kiss-swollen lips. Because 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 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? So you were 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 you like oil 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. And I have to clench my hands not to 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.
“So 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.”
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 fuck up.
“So 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 mid-thigh and looks soft, touchable.
It’s all I can do not to stare at her pink, kiss-swollen lips. Because 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 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? So you were 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 you like oil 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. And I have to clench my hands not to 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.
“So 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.”
