The Friend Zone (Game On 2)

“You should know,” I say slowly, because I can never seem to let anything go, “I’m fairly crap at expressing gratitude. I’m always saying the wrong thing.”

At this, Gray sets down his spoon and leans back in his chair before running a hand through his hair. The action has his biceps bunching. There’s a slight smile playing about his lips. “I kind of like that about you, Mac.”

I like everything about Gray. “All I meant was that I’m happy you’re here.”

He grins wide. “Me too.” But he pauses, his brows knitting. “And I don’t hook up with someone every night. To clarify.”

“Just every other night, then?” I tease.

His lips quirk on a reluctant smile. “Yeah, maybe.” Deep blue eyes stare at me. “And friends always come first.”

“Bros before hos?” I say, remembering Marshall’s line earlier.

Gray chuckles. “Something like that. Only my mom taught me never to call women whores.” His gaze lingers on my breasts just long enough that I feel it, then he catches my eyes. “And you’re definitely no bro.”

“Glad you noticed.”

“Hard not to notice, Mac.” He says it in a dry tone, but all I can see is that assessing, interested glance he gave me earlier, and it’s messing with my head, making my body too warm.

Frowning, I take a bite of soup to cover my disquiet.

Oblivious, Gray soldiers on. “I’ve never had a girlfriend before. So I’ll probably act like a douche now and then.” Color paints his cheeks pink. “I mean, a friend who’s a girl.”

“And a girlfriend?” I can’t help but ask. “You ever have one of those?”

“Nah. I’ve never had the inclination.”

“Never?” The word rings hollow in my chest. “That’s a tragedy. You’d make someone a great boyfriend.”

His cheeks darken, but he shakes his head as if I’m missing the point. “Pretty sure monogamy is a key factor in a relationship.”

My spoon clatters to the table. “You’d cheat?”

Gray frowns. “No. Never. But that’s kind of the point. I’ve never wanted to stay with just one girl, so why put myself in that situation?”

“I guess that makes sense.” The hollowness grows. Which is ridiculous. Gray’s an awesome friend, and that’s all I need.

“What about you?” he asks far too casually, as if this conversation has grown uncomfortable for him too, but he can no more stop than I can. “I’m guessing you’re pro-boyfriend.”

“That such a bad thing? I’m not into hookups.”

He flashes a quick, tight smile. “I can see you, Miss Monogamous, going through a string of boyfriends.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ve had one boyfriend, smart ass. Senior year of high school.”

Gray’s brows lift. “One boyfriend? That’s it?”

“Yep.” I steal his beer and take a long sip. He watches me do it, amusement dancing in his eyes. It hits me anew, the way he makes me feel utterly at home, yet excited. Which is strange; we’re just sitting here, talking and eating. And all I want to do is drink in the sight of him, the way the corners of his mouth curve upward in a perpetual little smile, the strong cords of his neck, or how his evening beard dusts his jaw like raw sugar glinting in the lamplight. My tongue can almost imagine how it would feel to lick that stubble—rough, delicious.

Wait. What? No. There will be no licking of Gray’s jaw. As if he notices my sudden flush, he peers at me, inspecting my face. “What?” I ask in a sad attempt to escape my inappropriate thoughts.

“Nothing.” Gray gives the back of his neck a scratch, and I ignore his flexing muscles. “I just find it hard to believe you’ve been single all this time. You’re…well… You’re great.”

“Thanks, Cupcake,” I say in the face of his blush. It’s cute. And because he’s Gray, I feel comfortable enough to tell him the truth. “I’ve had guys interested. But it soon becomes apparent that they were just as interested in my dad, or rather, who he knew. It would always come up. Could I get them tickets to such-and-such sporting event? Did I know Peyton Manning? Or Eli? Was that really my dad in a picture with LeBron James? Had I met him? And when I answer yes, it’s all they can think about.” I shrug. “I know, I know, hard problems to have.”

“That’s not what I’m thinking,” Gray says softly, his expression somber. “I was thinking that those fuckers missed out.”

Again I shrug and pick at my food, unable to face Gray just then.

“So,” Gray says, “this high school boyfriend not into sports?”

“He was. But his father was a record producer so he had his share of fame.”

Gray’s brows rise and I feel the need to explain further. “We lived in Manhattan at the time. Life is kind of different there.”

“I bet.”

Not wanting to go on with my tired, poor-little-rich-girl tale, I hurry to finish it. “My boyfriend was fine. We hung out. He took my virginity. The act sucked enough that I didn’t ask for a repeat. I left for college. End of story.”

“Sounds awesome,” Gray deadpans.

I leave that one alone.

“No one in college or London, either?” Gray presses, looking shocked.

I resist the urge to toss my spoon. “I met guys, sure. But no one that I wanted to start a relationship with, okay?”

“Okay.” He says it as though he’s placating me. Which makes me want to snarl more. But I don’t.