The Game Plan (Game On 3)

I swallow hard, and it feels like I’m drinking down chunks of glass. When I talk, my stomach turns over.

“Let me know when you want to go, and I’ll book you a flight.”

Chapter Forty-Two

Dex

I go to bed first and wait in the dark for Fi to finish up in the bathroom. I used to sleep sprawled out, dead center in my bed. No more. I have a side now—the left, which is closest to the door. I chose it because of some deep instinctual need to place myself between Fi and any possible harm that might come into the room.

Won’t matter much when she goes to London. I know I should suck it up. It’s just a trip. But it feels like failure. She’s going because I fucked up.

I run a hand over the center of my chest. It’s constricted, not letting me breathe properly. I hear the sounds of running water stop and then Fi flicking off the bathroom light of as she comes into the room.

I stare up at the ceiling. I used to love watching her walk toward the bed, her hips swaying, a smile touching her lips. God, I loved that sight, loved seeing the heat in her eyes. Most nights, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. It’s too hard looking at her these days, knowing she doesn’t want me to touch her anymore.

The covers lift, and I steel myself for that inevitable moment when she whispers “Goodnight” and curls in on herself.

But she doesn’t do that. She moves across the bed, toward me, the action so surprising that I turn her way to question it just as she snuggles up against me. I automatically wrap her in my arms, my body reacting before my brain can catch up. But then I feel her smooth, warm skin against mine and realize she’s naked.

Hell.

She hasn’t come to bed naked in what feels like forever. A tremor goes through me as my hand runs down the small of her back. I’ve missed this. Just holding her. I want to roll her over and push into her, but I keep still, afraid to break this spell that finally has her back in my arms. Her face burrows into my neck as her hands grip my shoulders.

“Thank you, Ethan.”

I frown down at the crown of her head, her wild hair shining silver in the darkened room. “For what?”

Fi leans back a little, lifting her face to mine. “For letting me go.”

It’s hard, looking her in the eye. I don’t want her to see my grimace. Having her stay because of guilt is absolutely out of the question. So I distract her, and myself, by caressing her arm. “You’ll go…” I clear my throat. “You’ll go and have some quality time with your mom. It will be good.”

That’s about as much as I can say without caving and begging her not to leave me.

Fi’s bright eyes shine in the lantern light streaming through the windows. Her expression is thoughtful. “I know you’re unhappy,” she murmurs, running her fingers through my beard.

“I’m happy when you’re happy.” It’s as simple as that.

She sighs and leans close, pressing her forehead to mine. I close my eyes and just breathe, soaking in as much of her as I can. And she does the same, breathing deep and slow, her touch roaming over me, petting and stroking.

Before Fi, I had no idea how much I needed to be touched. It isn’t something you can fully understand until you have it. Fi’s hands on my skin eases me in an elemental way, down to my very core. I crave it now, want it always.

And she’s leaving me. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon. I don’t know if she’ll come back, because I wonder. She’s told me she loves me. I’ve told her too. But is that enough? I want to tell her again, now, but the words get stuck in my throat. To say them at this moment feels like it would be another plea. I can’t do that. Not when agreeing she should go to London has her more relaxed and herself than she’s been since the pictures were released.

But it doesn’t stop the aching weight that’s settled in my chest.

Fi threads her hands through my hair, and little shivers run down my spine. It feels so good, I lean into the touch. She does it again and again. “The first time we met,” she says, “you were wearing faded jeans and a white button-down shirt.”

I exhale in a ragged rush. “You remember that?”

Soft lips brush over my cheekbone. Scooting closer, she kisses my temple, the spot right before my ear. “Your hair was shorter then, but you had that thick beard and kind, knowing eyes. You sat next to me at dinner, staring at me.”

A half-laugh lifts my chest, even as I stroke along the curve of her waist. “Jesus, you must have thought I was a total creeper.”

I can feel her smile against my skin. “No. It turned me on.”

“It did?” Shit, did that sound like a squeak? No. I don’t squeak.

Her smile grows as she nuzzles my neck. “Of course it did. You were this big, solemn guy looking at me like you’d rather have me for dinner. How could it not make me hot?”

I had wanted her for dinner. I’d wanted to place her on the table and sink my tongue into her pussy and discover her taste. Had I any idea at the time how sweet she’d truly be, I’d probably have had to excuse myself from the table.

Fi keeps talking, even as she pets and kisses me everywhere she can find. “But I had a boyfriend…” —Fucker. If he let Fi go he had to be one— “…And I was too young for you.”

I have to chuckle. “I’m only three years older, Cherry.”

She lifts her head. Hair mussed, cheeks flushed, she’s perfection. Her gaze is soft and tender, and it kicks me right in the heart. “I was a child then, spoiled and not ready to grow up. You were a man. You’ve always been a man, Ethan. Strong and steady, watching over everyone. I knew that just by looking at you.”