The Game Plan
Page 75
He pushes off from the doorway. “Found a guy who was retiring. Bought up the whole lot. Had some guys deliver it yesterday.” He looks around and then back at me. “You like it?”
“Like it?” A laugh gurgles in my throat. “I love it. I love you.”
Without another word, I launch myself at him, and he catches me, holding me secure as I wrap my legs around his waist and kiss his neck. “Thank you, Ethan. It’s the best surprise ever.”
He kisses the tip of my nose, before nipping it. “I love you too. Happy birthday, Cherry.”
His words bring me up short. “How did you know?”
Ethan gives me an exasperated look. “Ivy wouldn’t go to our last division championship game because it was your birthday. That was two years ago today.”
“You remember that from two years ago?”
“You think I’ve forgotten a single thing about you?” With a sigh, he leans his forehead against mine. “What I want to know is why you didn’t tell me it was your birthday.”
My gaze skitters away as I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m just not used to waving my own flag about stuff like that.”
With a firm but gentle grip, he turns my face back to meet his. I find it totally hot that he can hold me up with one arm. His expression is soft. “You don’t have to wave your own flag anymore, Fi. That’s my job now. My privilege.”
My lips wobble on a smile. “Okay.”
He kisses me, lips to lips, then pulls back. “My birthday is June second, by the way.”
I laugh and wrap my arms around his neck, bringing myself closer. “Duly noted. Expect furniture. Maybe a console for that monolith you call a TV.”
Ethan gives my ass a squeeze, looking smug once again. “Sounds perfect.”
Perfect. For the first time in my life, everything is perfect.
Dex
Arizona is…fucking dry. I suck down Gatorade as I get into the elevator and push the button for my floor, my suite. Yeah, I upgraded to a suite with the hope that Fi would come with me. But she informed me last night that she was “riding the crimson wave” and there was no way she would be traveling. It took me a moment to figure out what a crimson wave was, then I promptly blocked the image from my mind. Or tried to. Some things can’t be unimagined, unfortunately.
And yet I love that she was comfortable enough to tell me so bluntly. I love having bras hanging to dry in my laundry closet, the multiple bottles of shampoo, conditioners, and body wash—sweet Jesus, girls have a lot of fucking body washes— cluttering up my shower. Hell, I even love the boxes of tampons invading the sink cabinet.
And I don’t give a shit if that makes me weird. Because all of it affirms that Fi is living with me. That she’s claimed my home and me.
So when she looked at me yesterday with pained eyes, I manned up, asked for a list of what she needed, and went to the store to buy her brownies, Midol, and, yes, more tampons and pads—what the fuck “wings” are I don’t really want to know.
I did it without one word of complaint, and then I left for my game, a man content.
Now I’m going to sleep and looking forward to getting back home. For the first time in what feels like forever, I think of my townhouse as home, and ain’t that a beautiful thing?
I’m smiling as I pull out my phone and check my messages while the elevator takes me up to my floor.
CherryBomb: I ended up working on a piece today. Tired now so I’m going to sleep. Good game, baby. You were great! See you soon. XOXO
I still can’t believe she watches my games. Fi has never hidden her dislike of football. Now she not only watches, but she sleeps in my jersey—when I don’t strip it off her.
I let myself into my room and am greeted with light instead of darkness. Did the maids turn on the lights? For some reason, the little hairs at the back of my neck rise.
I hear a noise, and I realize I’m not alone.
Instantly, every muscle tenses, my senses going on high alert. Then I see the bra on the floor. Lacy and pale purple, it lays like a heap of discarded flower petals, and my heart stops. I’ve seen a bra like that before.
Fi? Is she here? Was she trying to surprise me? I set my phone down on the table and move across the room toward the bedroom door. A tiny pair of underwear dangles from the door knob.
I cross the small living room in two steps, a smile blooming.
The smile dies a swift death when I reach the bedroom.
“What the fuck?” My shout echoes through the suite.
The naked girl in my bed winces but puts on a brave face. “Hey there. I…ah…”
“How the fuck did you get in here?”
I’m trying real hard not to shout again or lose my shit; I’m a big dude, and there’s a very naked chick alone with me. I’m aware of her vulnerability and her sheer stupidity, even if she isn’t. I could be into beating women for all she knows.
And I’m also aware that she could spin this any way she wanted. Suddenly I’m afraid of her. Of what she represents.
I back up, my shoulders hitting the wall. “You need to get out. Now.”
The girl rises to her knees, her tits pointing straight at me. The sight does nothing but send a rush of frustrated outrage through my chest.
“But, Dex, honey, it’s okay. I want to be here! I want help you.”
I laugh without humor. “I don’t think you’re getting it. I don’t want you here, and the only way you can help is to get dressed and go.”
“Like it?” A laugh gurgles in my throat. “I love it. I love you.”
Without another word, I launch myself at him, and he catches me, holding me secure as I wrap my legs around his waist and kiss his neck. “Thank you, Ethan. It’s the best surprise ever.”
He kisses the tip of my nose, before nipping it. “I love you too. Happy birthday, Cherry.”
His words bring me up short. “How did you know?”
Ethan gives me an exasperated look. “Ivy wouldn’t go to our last division championship game because it was your birthday. That was two years ago today.”
“You remember that from two years ago?”
“You think I’ve forgotten a single thing about you?” With a sigh, he leans his forehead against mine. “What I want to know is why you didn’t tell me it was your birthday.”
My gaze skitters away as I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m just not used to waving my own flag about stuff like that.”
With a firm but gentle grip, he turns my face back to meet his. I find it totally hot that he can hold me up with one arm. His expression is soft. “You don’t have to wave your own flag anymore, Fi. That’s my job now. My privilege.”
My lips wobble on a smile. “Okay.”
He kisses me, lips to lips, then pulls back. “My birthday is June second, by the way.”
I laugh and wrap my arms around his neck, bringing myself closer. “Duly noted. Expect furniture. Maybe a console for that monolith you call a TV.”
Ethan gives my ass a squeeze, looking smug once again. “Sounds perfect.”
Perfect. For the first time in my life, everything is perfect.
Dex
Arizona is…fucking dry. I suck down Gatorade as I get into the elevator and push the button for my floor, my suite. Yeah, I upgraded to a suite with the hope that Fi would come with me. But she informed me last night that she was “riding the crimson wave” and there was no way she would be traveling. It took me a moment to figure out what a crimson wave was, then I promptly blocked the image from my mind. Or tried to. Some things can’t be unimagined, unfortunately.
And yet I love that she was comfortable enough to tell me so bluntly. I love having bras hanging to dry in my laundry closet, the multiple bottles of shampoo, conditioners, and body wash—sweet Jesus, girls have a lot of fucking body washes— cluttering up my shower. Hell, I even love the boxes of tampons invading the sink cabinet.
And I don’t give a shit if that makes me weird. Because all of it affirms that Fi is living with me. That she’s claimed my home and me.
So when she looked at me yesterday with pained eyes, I manned up, asked for a list of what she needed, and went to the store to buy her brownies, Midol, and, yes, more tampons and pads—what the fuck “wings” are I don’t really want to know.
I did it without one word of complaint, and then I left for my game, a man content.
Now I’m going to sleep and looking forward to getting back home. For the first time in what feels like forever, I think of my townhouse as home, and ain’t that a beautiful thing?
I’m smiling as I pull out my phone and check my messages while the elevator takes me up to my floor.
CherryBomb: I ended up working on a piece today. Tired now so I’m going to sleep. Good game, baby. You were great! See you soon. XOXO
I still can’t believe she watches my games. Fi has never hidden her dislike of football. Now she not only watches, but she sleeps in my jersey—when I don’t strip it off her.
I let myself into my room and am greeted with light instead of darkness. Did the maids turn on the lights? For some reason, the little hairs at the back of my neck rise.
I hear a noise, and I realize I’m not alone.
Instantly, every muscle tenses, my senses going on high alert. Then I see the bra on the floor. Lacy and pale purple, it lays like a heap of discarded flower petals, and my heart stops. I’ve seen a bra like that before.
Fi? Is she here? Was she trying to surprise me? I set my phone down on the table and move across the room toward the bedroom door. A tiny pair of underwear dangles from the door knob.
I cross the small living room in two steps, a smile blooming.
The smile dies a swift death when I reach the bedroom.
“What the fuck?” My shout echoes through the suite.
The naked girl in my bed winces but puts on a brave face. “Hey there. I…ah…”
“How the fuck did you get in here?”
I’m trying real hard not to shout again or lose my shit; I’m a big dude, and there’s a very naked chick alone with me. I’m aware of her vulnerability and her sheer stupidity, even if she isn’t. I could be into beating women for all she knows.
And I’m also aware that she could spin this any way she wanted. Suddenly I’m afraid of her. Of what she represents.
I back up, my shoulders hitting the wall. “You need to get out. Now.”
The girl rises to her knees, her tits pointing straight at me. The sight does nothing but send a rush of frustrated outrage through my chest.
“But, Dex, honey, it’s okay. I want to be here! I want help you.”
I laugh without humor. “I don’t think you’re getting it. I don’t want you here, and the only way you can help is to get dressed and go.”
