The Game Plan (Game On #3)

by Kristen Callihan

“What’s the pot for, man-mountain?” Fi asks him before gently taking it from his hand.

  He blinks down at it. “Right. I was going to put that in the sink.”

  From a flight above comes the irate squall of a baby.

  “The tiny overlord demands his due,” Gray says. But he stops to kiss Fi on the cheek. His expression lightens a bit as he pulls back. “You smell like cologne, Fi-Fi.”

  Hot pink washes over Fiona’s cheeks. “I smell like a nightclub.”

  “Cologne,” Gray counters as he trudges toward the stairs. His gaze lands on me. “Dex’s cologne. And don’t bother denying it. I roomed with the guy for years.”

  So much for keeping things from Gray. The guy might love to joke, but he’s an outright genius, so I’m not really surprised he caught me.

  He doesn’t say anything more about it, though. His shoulders slump as he starts up the stairs. “I swear to God, I’d give someone five—no ten—million dollars right now if Ivy and I could just get one solid night’s sleep.”

  Fi and I exchange a sympathetic look. It might be awkward between us, but at least we can escape to our beds and sleep.

  “I’m going to go earn ten million dollars,” I say to her and head for the stairs.

  She follows behind. “This I have to see.”

  We find Gray in a nursery that would fit right into a design catalog. I know Fi decorated it, and she’s clearly talented. Gray’s slumped in a glider trying to give his agitated son a bottle. But the little guy is screaming, his tiny fists beating against Gray’s arm.

  “It’s my turn to feed him,” Gray says without looking up. “So bottled breast milk it is. He hates it. I know, little dude,” he says to the baby. “I love Mommy’s boobs too, but she needs to sleep.”

  From the far room, a muffled groan rings out. “Mother guilt has killed my sleep,” says Ivy’s disembodied voice. “And don’t discuss my boobs with my son, Cupcake.”

  I glance through a connecting door and see her long legs sprawled over a massive bed. Fi is short, but Ivy is a good six feet tall. At the moment, she’s totally wiped.

  “Hand him over, Grayson,” I say.

  Gray looks at me as if I’m nuts, then shakes his head and offers me his son. His trust is something I will never take for granted. And guilt hits me anew for touching Fi. But now I have a wiggling, screaming one month old in my hands.

  Walking over to the changing table, I pull out one of the many swaddling blankets they have stacked—unused—on the shelves. Leo turns a nice shade of angry red as I wrap him up tight, tucking his arms against his body. The result is a securely swaddled baby with only his head sticking out.

  Gray and Fi come to watch, clearly curious. But when I pick Little G up and loudly shush him, they both flinch.

  “Dex, dude, what—”

  I give Gray a quelling look and shush the crying baby again, right in his ear. Finally he hears me and abruptly quiets as I gently jiggle his little body, all the while shushing.

  Ivy’s head pops around the doorway. Her dark eyes are wide with shock.

  “What—”

  Gray waves a frantic hand to quiet her, but I shake my head and walk back to the glider. “Don’t be afraid of noise,” I tell them. “Little man has been hearing it his entire existence. Well, until he was born and you guys started going silent on him.”

  I give the baby his bottle, and he begins to drink as I rock.

  Fi comes to stand next to me. “And how do you know so much about babies?”

  “My little brother was a surprise. My parents had him when I was seventeen. I know about babies.”

  I glance at Ivy and Gray, who are both gaping at me. “If you have a white-noise machine, I suggest you turn it on now and keep it on high.”

  Gray scrambles to get it, and Ivy comes closer. “Dex, I’m this close to crying at your feet right now. Don’t ever leave me.”

  “Can we share him?” Gray asks as he turns on the machine.

  I get up and hand Gray the baby. “Keep him swaddled. Do the shushing and jiggling thing if he wakes. I’m going to send you some video links in the meantime.”

  Ivy flings herself at me. “I love you, Dex.”

  “He’s half mine,” Gray reminds her. His bleary eyes meet mine. “I’ll send you a check when I can see straight, man.”

  “I took your X-Box into my room. That’s payment enough.”

  Gray waves a hand as he tucks his son close to his chest. “You can have the damn thing. I still might kiss you.”

  “Promises, promises.” I do give the top of Ivy’s head a kiss. She smells of breast milk and baby. But deep beneath that, there’s a strange similarity to Fi. Nothing as potent, but enough to make me aware that she’s Fi’s sister.

  I am aware of Fi as well, following me out of the room. We’re quiet as we walk up the next flight of stairs to the guest level. Together. Alone.

  Every touch, every slow glide of lips, tongue, fingertips. Every breathy sigh. All of what she did to me plays through my head like a footage reel.

  Her cheeks are flushed now, her nipples pointing through the thin, silky ivory top she’s wearing. I want to push my thumb against one of those buds. Pull her shirt over her head and…

  I clear my throat as we reach our doors, one on each side of the small landing. She hesitates, obviously searching for something to say.

  I know what I’d like to say. Kiss me again. Let me in. Just…let me. I keep my mouth shut. Fiona Mackenzie isn’t for me. Hell, I can’t even tell her that what we did tonight was the single most erotic experience of my life. I’m sure it was just a strange encounter with a guy and a beard on her part.

  I run a hand over my mouth, my fingers digging into my scruff. I suddenly resent my beard. It’s as if she wanted it more than she wanted me, and I can’t stand that. “Well,” I say before she can speak. “Goodnight.”

  “Dex,” she says as I open my door.

  I pause, my heart thudding against my ribs. But I don’t turn. I don’t want her to see my expression. “Yep.”

  “Thanks.” She takes an audible breath. “For helping my sister and Gray. It means so much to them.”

  Disappointment punches through my chest with the force of a lineman. I manage a nod. “It was nothing.” Which I guess sums up my entire night.

  Chapter Three

  Fiona

  Breakfast at Ivy and Gray’s house starts at 11 a.m. Which is fine by me. After I went to bed last night, I tossed and turned far too long, the ache in my nipples and slick throb between my legs demanding attention I wasn’t willing to give. Not with Dex across the hall. Not when I’d have thought of Dex while doing it. That would only have made things worse.

  As it is, I’m grumpy and chomping on a slice of buttered whole grain bread like I’m trying to annihilate it. Worse? Ivy is watching me.

  Her dark eyes track my movements as I pick up my coffee and take a bracing drink. “You’re staring.”

  “Well, duh.”

  “Are you asking for me to ping you with this bread?” I say before taking another bite and talking with my mouth full. “Because I totally will.”

  She looks semi-rested now. Her hair, at least, is washed and combed. And she smirks before drinking her orange juice. “Gray says you smelled like you’d rubbed yourself all over Dex last night.”

  “Gray can sit on it and spin.” I swear, these two are the worst gossips.

  She snorts into her glass. “Colorful. Now tell the truth, Fi-Fi. Were you rubbing yourself all over Dex?”

  Like a cheap suit on a sultry day.

  As if reading my thoughts, she leans her elbows on the table and gives me a sly smile. “He’s totally hot, in a bad-boy rocker kind of way. Which is weird considering his job.”

  “Bashing into people?” I laugh without humor. “Yeah, totally bizarre that he looks like a bad boy.”

  “Sarcastic is not a good look on you.”

  I stick my tongue out at her.

  “Spill, Fiona May.�
��

  “Shit,” I drawl. “You pulled out the middle name. That’s harsh.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest and waits.

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  Unlike Ivy, I actually have a poker face. That’s one thing I learned from our dad. Never let them see you flinch.

  But Ivy knows me well, so maybe I’m not fooling her. Or maybe she simply decides to give me a break, because she suddenly shrugs and grabs a slice of bread, slathering on blackberry jam.

  “Dex is kind of…” She pauses, knife in mid-air. “Different.”

  “Different?” Okay, I know he’s quiet. And obviously whip smart; he managed me with a deftness that scares me. But different?

  Ivy sets her bread down, and her voice lowers. “He’s really sensitive. In a good way, but…Gray thinks he might be a Tebow.”

  “What the fuck do you mean ‘a Tebow’?” And why am I so annoyed? “You mean that whole kneeling and praying thing?”

  She leans forward. “No. A virgin.”

  I swear all the blood rushes out of my face. “What? No way. He’s…well, he’s fucking hot.” Okay, that slipped. “And he…” I bite my lip to keep from saying he sure as hell didn’t kiss like a virgin.

  Only it’s been so long since I kissed a virgin, I’m not sure how one kisses, or if the way someone kisses is even a marker of sexual experience. I mean, sex is a lot more than inserting peg A into slot B—at least it should be.

  I cover my slip with another truth. “He’s got to be twenty-four. How on earth could he be a virgin? Is it for religious reasons?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t think he’s at all religious. Honestly, I don’t know why he’d be a virgin either. And it’s not something that Gray or his college teammates ever openly talked about, which is saying something.”

  “Then maybe we shouldn’t be gossiping about it now.” I know I sound snappish, which is unfair to Ivy; we gossip about everything. But it feels wrong talking about Dex this way.

  Ivy blinks as though I hurt her, and I feel worse. But then she gives a small nod as if she understands. “Look,” she says in a low voice. “I’m only mentioning it because… Hell. If you did fool around with him last night, or whatever, just be careful with him.”

  I can’t help but laugh, though it hurts my throat. “What? Am I some sort of man-eater now?”

  “No. Of course not. But Dex isn’t hookup material.”

  “I think you should let Dex decide that for himself, seeing as he’s a grown man and all. And before you start in on me again, I’m not going to do anything with him. Jesus. We only hung out an hour at most.” And kissed like we were dying for it. “That’s all.”

  Liar, liar, liar.

  Ivy knows I am. I can see it in her eyes. Maybe motherhood has softened her, because she doesn’t push, only takes a sip of her coffee and goes silent.

  For a long moment, I sit there, silent as well. Then my fingers start to tap on the table.

  “How do you stand it?” I blurt out.

  “What? Your weak little innocent act?” she asks with cheek.

  I stick out my tongue. “Funny, bunny. I meant, well… How do you stand being left behind while Gray travels to all his games?”

  We grew up with a dad who left his family to play professional basketball, then later as a sports agent. And we’ve dealt with it differently. Ivy is the fixer, always trying to soothe ruffled feathers.

  Me? I went out and partied, cracked stupid jokes, and shut down any and all deeper connections. It’s worked so far, but seeing Ivy so gone on Gray and still she has to live this life? I don’t understand it.

  Ivy’s long fingers wrap tight around her mug. “It was better when I could go with him. It sucks when we’re apart. I won’t lie about that, but…” She worries her bottom lip with her teeth. “I don’t know how else to explain it except to say that Gray is my heart. Life simply doesn’t work without him in it so…” She shrugs. “We do what we have to do during his season.”

  “And that’s really enough?”

  Her smile is almost secretive. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Gray is more than enough.”

  The way she says it, like he’s the joy that begins and ends her day, hits me square in the chest, and I have trouble breathing. Loneliness is this cold, drafty thing blowing over me, making me want to hug myself tight.

  How must it feel? To be a part of someone else? And they’re a part of you? Someone to have your back no matter what?

  My knuckles press against the table. I should be enough for me. I shouldn’t feel lonely. Fuck. Maybe I’m getting hormonal or something.

  Thankfully, I don’t have to wallow in my weird maudlin mood because the front door opens, and Dex and Gray amble in. My heart rate kicks up, seeing Dex’s massive frame outlined in the doorway.

  Gray zeroes in on Ivy. “Is he sleeping?”

  “I put him down twenty minutes ago.”

  Baby G might not sleep at night, but he naps like a champ, a good two hours at a stretch. Something Gray knows better than I do.

  He grins. “Shenanigans are go.”

  Yeah, I don’t even want to know what that means, though I can guess.

  Especially when Ivy blushes. “Seriously?”

  “As a Hail Mary on Super Bowl Sunday. On your feet, woman. Time’s a wasting.”

  Ivy grumbles under her breath about perverted cupcakes—again, don’t want or need to know—and then gets to her feet. She’s hauled off by Gray a second later. He carries her up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  “I got to give it to him,” I say to Dex, who hasn’t left the kitchen. “His stamina is impressive.”

  “Motivation helps,” he answers dryly. God, he has a nice voice. Smooth, deep, even. “But, then, you know, we do train for stamina.”

  There’s a gleam in his eyes that goes straight to my sex, gives it a teasing tweak.

  I lurch up from my seat and refill my coffee cup because I’m not falling for that one. “You want a cup?” I ask.

  Dex still hasn’t moved from the entrance to the kitchen. Steady as always, I suppose. While I’m fluttering around like a fool.

  He nods and walks to the heavy pine farm table that sits beneath a wall of windows. The table fills me with pride because I made it. I never intended to make furniture, but my two friends Jackson and Hal are furniture designers and cajoled me to give it a try. I love creating something with my own hands, going from concept to completion.

  This table was my first try, and while I see where I could improve things, the design works well here, counterbalancing the modern, gleaming white cabinets and copper-covered appliances—because Ivy thought steel was boring.

  And because veritable giants live in this house, the seats are large and sturdy. Even so, Dex’s frame swallows up the chair as he sits in it.

  I bring him a cup, and then I notice: he’s wearing his hair down. Holy hell. It falls in thick, brown waves to the top of his collar. The sun has left streaks of gold running through it. And while the combination of full beard and flowing hair should be too much—call to mind an iconic Jesus or something—it isn’t. It just looks hot. Wild. Touchable.

  I sit and curl my fingers around my mug.

  He does the same, and the late-morning sun shines through the window, illuminating his tattoos. Black and red roses, a clock, a sugar skull, an indigo dragon, a 1940s battleship—there’s a lot to look at. They run up his arms and under his sleeves, making me wonder if his chest and torso are covered too.

  “Do they have meaning?” I ask, because I’m clearly looking.

  “Some do.” His rich voice is almost a shock to my system, as if by speaking, he’s flicked my senses into overload. But he doesn’t notice. “Some of them just came to me while I was drawing.”

  “You drew these?”

  He nods, takes a sip of his coffee. “It relaxes me.”

  “I like to draw too. Mostly room designs nowadays.”

  “You did a great job
with the house,” he says, not bothering to look around. I have no doubt he’s already made a study of the entire place.

  “Thanks.”

  I’d like to think we’re just making chit-chat. That we’re just like any other casual acquaintances who happen to be houseguests at the same time and place. But that’s not what’s happening. Because Dex’s gaze never leaves mine.

  It’s unnerving. Hot. As if behind his light conversation, what he’s really saying is, You loved it, didn’t you? Sucking on my tongue, grinding on my cock. You want it again, don’t you?

  Heat washes over me, and I struggle not to shift in my seat.

  I realize we’ve stopped talking and are simply staring at each other. Every place he didn’t touch last night—every place I want him to touch—is hot and achy.

  I take a deep breath. Watch him do the same.

  I’m about to bolt when he leans forward, his muscled forearms sliding a bit closer. “Go out with me. On a date.”

  “What?” I push back from the table. But I can’t make my legs lift me. “I thought last night was…”

  “A mistake?” He slowly shakes his head. “Not for me.”

  I know I’m gaping. I can’t seem to stop. “But, but…”

  His eyes crinkle. In the full sun, I see that they’re a striking blend of colors—blue, green, gold, and brown—like polished agate. “Speechless?” he says. “I like it.”

  My mouth snaps shut. Then promptly opens. “You like me speechless. Well, there’s a great motivator for going out with you.”

  “Like that I made you speechless. That I flustered you.” He tilts his head as he looks me over. “You do the same to me. Get me all worked up. Only it seems to make me talk more than usual, not less.”

  A fresh wave of heat washes through me.

  “Dex—”

  “Ethan,” he interjects softly. “Will you call me Ethan? At least some of the time?”

  “Ethan,” I say quietly, and it feels intimate. Especially when his lids lower as though I’ve stroked his skin just by saying his name. I swallow hard. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t seem like the hookup type.”

  “I’m not.” He clenches his mug again. “I don’t think you really are either.”