The Friend Zone (Game On 2)

Jonas leans against my truck, hands tucked in his pockets, his legs crossed at the ankle. And somehow he still manages to make the pose look threatening. Maybe it’s because I know he won’t hesitate to damage my truck if he thinks it will upset me. The fucker.

He’s enormous, the small gut he’d been sporting four years ago now a full barrel. But his arms are still built for brutality. Then again, every inch of Jonas has been crafted and forged for aggression. The bottom drops out of my stomach as our gazes clash. It’s been four years since I’ve seen my brother and still I feel sick just looking at him.

“About time you showed,” he says by way of greeting. “Fucking sick of hunting you down, Gravy.”

Asshole. “I wasn’t aware we had a date.”

He sneers at the word date, but his eyes ooze over Ivy. My grip on her tightens. She hasn’t said a word, but she’s clearly lost her buzz. Tense and alert next to me, her fingers slide along my back and then curl around the belt loop of my jeans. I want her away from here like I want my next breath, but her simple hold grounds me in a way I haven’t felt in years, if ever.

“I’m not discussing shit in front of your piece of ass here,” Jonas says.

My breath comes out in a rush. But I stay still. I’m good at locking it down in front of Jonas.

“Ivy isn’t going anywhere. So I guess you’re shit out of luck.”

Jonas smiles. I used to see that smile a lot. Right before he struck. And while every old fear in me is shouting to lower my eyes, or better yet, get the fuck out of here. I’m not that little boy anymore.

“You’re getting mouthy with freedom,” he says with a frown. When I don’t answer, he goes on. “You haven’t returned my texts.”

I don’t bother to tell him that I’ve blocked him. If he didn’t look like a burly version of my dad, I’d think Jonas was adopted because he got neither of our parents’ intelligence.

“What do you want, Jonas?” I ask in a bland voice. At my side, Ivy is quiet but close, her hand yet to leave my back.

“You’re two games away from being draft eligible. It’s time to make plans.”

“As touching as that sounds, I’ve got it covered.” Not that I think my brother has any interest in looking out for me.

His look of disdain tells me as much. “Yeah, well, my agent says you haven’t returned his calls either.”

Which is because I have no interest in signing with Jonas’s soulless bloodsucker. Not that he’s Jonas’s agent anymore. They’d parted ways when Jonas fucked up his career. But I’m guessing this is a way to get in good with his old cronies.

“Didn’t want to return them,” I say.

He scowls. “You’re an embarrassment to this family. You will call him.”

Suddenly, I’m just worn out. I hate this. Hate that my remaining blood relatives are nothing to me. “No, Jonas,” I say in a low voice, “I won’t. I’m signing with Mackenzie.”

“That weak-ass fucker?” Jonas barks out a laugh. “He doesn’t have the balls to get shit done.”

“Hey!” Mac snaps, stepping forward. “That’s my father you’re talking about, so shut your mouth.”

Inside I groan, cursing this whole situation. But my awareness goes on high alert as I sling an arm around Mac’s slim waist and haul her back against me. Every inch of her vibrates like she’s about to throw a punch, and she doesn’t know who she’s dealing with.

“Ignore him,” I murmur. Not because I disagree. But I know Jonas.

Jonas’s leer isn’t a shock. “I can’t believe this. He has his daughter riding cock to get clients? I underestimated the guy.”

Mac lurches in my arms, unable to get free but trying. “You disgusting fucker, you don’t know dick.”

That shuts him up. He pushes off my truck, rage in his eyes. “Watch your mouth, girlie.”

Blood races through my veins, and it feels ice cold. Not taking my eyes from him, I firmly set Mac behind me, telling her, “Don’t move.”

Something in my voice must convey the seriousness of the situation, because she does what I say. Jonas, on the other hand, takes a step toward her. “I should shut that mouth for you.”

“You need to get the fuck out of here,” I tell him, standing in front of Mac. “Now.”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Gravy. You fucking obey. As always.”

It burns that Mac hears my shame. That I ever obeyed this asshole. But no more.

“You’re making a fool out of yourself,” I tell him. “Go on. We’re done here.”

Jonas’s nostrils flare. Instinct has me transferring my weight onto the balls of my feet, my thighs clenching, prepping for a tackle. Jonas is a big motherfucker, but he’s been out of the game for years, and I’m stronger, faster, with better balance. He’ll go down and stay down.

Because he is, at heart, still a lineman, he reads my intent with perfect clarity. It’s in the eyes. We’ve been trained to broadcast “I’m gonna fuck your shit up” with one look.

“You think you can take me, little bro?” Jonas smirks like there’s no chance.

“I can bench four-thirty, so that just might be enough to toss you.” I shouldn’t taunt Jonas but he brings out the worst in me.

He bares his teeth at me. “I shit bigger than you.”

“I believe it.”

When he makes a noise as if he’ll soon charge, I clench my fists. But Ivy’s cool hand lands on my stomach. “He isn’t worth it, Gray.”