The Friend Zone (Game On 2)

So we eat. Until Gray starts shifting in his seat, getting antsy, his thumb tapping out an agitated rhythm on the table.

“What now?” I ask him.

Gray bites down on his lush bottom lip then blurts out, “If you’re not into hook ups, and you haven’t had a boyfriend in five years…”

I snort. “Are you trying to ask about my sex life, Cupcake?”

It’s cute the way his nose wrinkles. “Please tell me I’m wrong in thinking you haven’t had sex in all this time.”

“You’re not wrong, Gray.”

The room goes silent as he gapes at me.

Annoyance crawls along my skin. “God. Your expression. You look like I’m in danger of damaging my vagina.”

“Not damaging it, but maybe depressing it. This revelation sure as hell is depressing my dick.” He visibly shudders.

I throw a napkin at him and it skims his head, making his hair stick up. “For Pete’s sake, Gray, it’s no big deal. I’m not suffering. Or,” I talk over him because his mouth opens to make another protest, “abstaining because of some greater purpose. I’m not waiting for a husband, or afraid of dick, or whatever. It just is what it is. I’ve been busy with school and—”

“No one is too busy for sex, Mac.”

“Oh, please, I’m only twenty-two. I’ve fooled around with guys, done plenty of things to satisfy me just fine. I just haven’t got to the point of having sex again. And, anyway, five years isn’t that long…”

“It’s long enough. What are you waiting for? Your lady-parts to go on strike and completely shut down? I’ve heard it happens.”

His scoffing hurts. Everything hurts suddenly, as if he’s ripped off a bandage and taken a good chunk of skin with it.

“So you’re saying I ought to go out there”—I wave a hand toward the door—“right now and find a guy to fuck before my lady-parts stop working? You know, you’re right. That’s a brilliant idea.”

At this, Gray’s brows rise as his lips part. “What? No, I’m not telling you to go fuck someone right now.” He actually looks appalled. “Just that—”

“That what?” I snap, leaning forward. “You’ve made it abundantly clear that I’m a sorry sack for not having had endless sex all this time.”

Gray’s massive hands slap the table between us. “I’m just saying that sex is awesome, so excuse me if I’m shocked that you’re going without it. If it were up to me, I’d do it ten times a day.”

And I can picture it, Gray screwing an endless parade of girls. “Tell me something this entire town doesn’t know, Gray.” As soon as the words lash out of my mouth, horror floods me. The feeling grows when Gray’s head snaps back as if I’ve slapped him, his skin leaching of color.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he whispers.

But we both know. A sick lurch goes through my stomach, and I stand, my chair scraping across the floor. “I shouldn’t have said that.” I run my hand over my eyes as I back away. “I have to go.”

Gray stands as well, his face a mask of outrage and hurt. “Go? It’s your fucking house. Where the fuck are you going?”

I’m already halfway out of the kitchen, headed for the hall. “I’ve got to get some air, okay?” I’m losing control, a rarity. And one I avoid because I usually say something I later regret.

“Ivy,” Gray shouts.

“Just lock up behind you.”

“Fuck this.” Gray’s snarl is the only warning I get before his hand wraps around my arm. He’s angry. Clearly hurt too. Yet when he spins me around, his touch is careful, as if he absolutely knows his own strength and will never use it against me.

“What the fuck, Ivy?” His blue eyes are denim dark beneath the slashes of his brows. “You just say that shit and then walk out on me?”

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, the back of my throat prickling. “I have to… Shit. I’m judging you, Gray. And I don’t want to do that.”

His grip tightens. “So don’t.”

“I can’t help it. And what the hell? You’re judging too.”

His lips purse but he doesn’t let go. “Because it’s stupid, you not having sex. Stupid to make it more than it needs to be.”

“I can’t be like you, like my dad. I can’t treat sex like it’s nothing—”

“Not nothing,” he interjects, his brows still furrowed. “Just not some holy event that you need to send out invitations to. It can be simple, you know. Dirty, hot fucking.”

Hearing Gray’s deep, creamy voice say those words is not what I need right now. Not when they lick along the back of my neck and cause a hot little shiver to break out over my skin. I ignore the sensation in favor of anger. It’s easier than useless longing.

“It’s always ‘fucking’ to you. A basic act, like getting a bite to eat or playing football—”

“Now, that I resent,” he says with a bit of levity. “Football is a holy act.”

“Right.” I wrench out of his grip. “Football means more to you than being intimate with someone.” He snorts, his eyes rolling at the term intimate as if it’s a joke, and I poke his rock-hard chest with my finger. “Right there. That disdain. What’s wrong with intimacy? What’s wrong with treating the act as something more? You’re taking all the beauty out of it. All the meaning.”