The Friend Zone (Game On 2)

“Hmmm?” Eyes closed, he’s running his fingers slowly up and down my back.

“I wanted to ask you something.” Despite the light tone I use, butterflies war in my belly.

“Lay it on me, honey.”

“Will you marry me?”

Gray’s eyes snap open, his big body going utterly still. Beneath golden lashes, his deep blue gaze narrows as if he’s misheard. “What?” It comes out like a croak.

My heart still hurts from sorrow. But I reach for what happiness I can. Because marriage to Gray no longer sounds crazy. It sounds exactly right.

So I smile and ask again, using his words. “Gray Grayson, I want to marry you. I want you to be my family. And I’ll be yours.” I look up at him with all the hope and fear and longing he’d once shown me. “Say yes?”

A slow, wide smile breaks over his face. “Holy shit, you’re serious.”

“Of course I am— Ack!”

Gray has me on my back in an instant. Leaning over me, he grins, looking so happy that I’m in danger of tearing up. “You gonna put a ring on me, Mac?”

“Let me guess, you want a big, gaudy knuckle-buster covered with diamonds.”

His chest rumbles on a chuckle. “Oh, I’ll be getting one of those soon enough, honey.”

I don’t doubt it. “You’ll look good wearing a Super Bowl ring.”

“Mmm,” he agrees, dipping down to nuzzle my ear. “Don’t distract me, Ivy Mac. I want a ring. Platinum. Wide band. Engraving optional, but preferred.”

I laugh. “Bossy much?”

“Just know what I want.” He lifts his head to gaze down at me. His smile is lopsided, bittersweet, but growing. “That would be you, if I wasn’t clear.”

I thread my fingers through his thick hair. “Me and a ring. Crystal.”

“Then, yes, Ivy Jane Mackenzie,” he says in a hoarse voice, “I will marry you.”

Grinning like loons, we stare at each other for one long moment, then he’s kissing the hell out of me. And I don’t mind a bit.

Lounging on the couch, we kiss and talk and pet each other, eventually falling into a lazy comfortable silence. I’m hungry, and I’m sure Gray is too. We probably should have something to eat. But he doesn’t leave my side, and I don’t want to move.

“You won,” I say, thinking about his playoff game. “I never got to congratulate you.”

Spooning me from behind, his hand slides up my waist to cup my breast. Not sexual but comforting. “I did. And thank you.”

He doesn’t sound like he’s talking about the game. I smile a little and rest my hand on his forearm, stroking the silky skin along the edge of it. “I’m proud of you, Cupcake.”

Gray snuggles closer, and his lips press against the crown of my head. When he speaks, his voice is low and soft. “And that’s what makes it all worth it.”

Epilogue

Two years later…

Ivy

GrayG: Big Daddy has landed. Are shenanigans in play tonight?

Looking down at the text I snort but can’t hold back a smile. My thumb taps away at my phone as a woman’s voice buzzes over the speakers to announce the arrival of Gray’s flight from New York City.

IvyMac: There will be no shenanigans if the use of ‘Big Daddy’ comes into said play. That’s a personal foul. 15 yard penalty. Do not pass Go to collect your prize.

GrayG: Aw, but, baby…

IvyMac: NOPE.

GrayG: Just to clarify, putting the perfectly reasonable and technically correct name aside, shenanigans are a go?

Laughing now, I lean back more comfortably in the ugly plastic airport seat and answer.

IvyMac: All night, Cupcake. I can’t wait to taste your frosting.

A couple seconds pass and then,

GrayG: Mac, you sent a dirty text. I just shed a tear of pride. I also have a hard-on. I think the little old lady sitting next to me is checking it out.

IvyMac: *Snicker*

GrayG: Revenge will be mine. Almost out.

Putting my phone away, I haul myself to my feet. Around me, an endless stream of people flow past, all of them either headed somewhere or coming home. For most of my life, I was the one coming or going, drifting without realizing it. Now I’m in California, holding down the home fort. Gray and I have lived here ever since he was drafted to play with the 49ers.

I love the Northern California coast. Wild and rugged, with chilly weather and fog that reminds me of England. Gray isn’t so fond of the damp, but he loves soup and deems this the perfect place to make it constantly. Who am I to argue when he’s the one cooking it?

And I love having a home with Gray. While it isn’t exactly close to the stadium, we settled on a renovated Victorian townhouse in the Pacific Heights section of San Francisco. We love the place. To my surprise, it was Gray who had the most fun combing through flea markets and antique shops to find vintage furniture for our home. Fi helped decorate, and after listening to the two of them squabble over Eames verses Knoll, I bowed out of the project and kept my sanity.

I turn my attention back to the domestic arrivals gate. In the distance, one golden head bobs over all others. My cheeks pull tight with a grin. Slowly, Gray comes into view. His gaze meets mine. As always, I’m suddenly breathless, joy and anticipation fizzing like champagne through my veins.

I’m practically dancing in place, watching him walk to me, his smile as big as mine. He quickens his pace until he’s almost jogging. Those long legs of his eat up the distance between us.

Then his hand is wrapping around my neck, drawing me as close as I can get—which isn’t very.