Our conversation moves on from there. Until Dex catches my eye, leaning in across the table as the guys discuss their NFL fantasy leagues. “I gotta ask. If you want Ivy, why not make it real?”
Heat rushes over my face. Real. As in girlfriend. The idea makes my heart pound and my palms go cold. I kind of hate Dex for asking. But he’s like that, always finding your underbelly and poking at it. I run a hand over my jaw. “Who says I want a girlfriend?” Just saying the word makes me cold. I’m not a look-forward guy. Live now. Play hard. Those things are safe. Fun.
The look Dex gives me says he reads me like a playbook.
I sigh, picking up my beer to mutter into the bottle before I gulp the rest down. “Thing is, Dex, this isn’t football. That’s easy. Friendship is easy. Relationships?” I push my empty bottle away. “It’s not my game.”
Slowly he nods, his fingers tight around his glass. “Yeah, only you want her. Which means your game is already in play. Only way to go is forward, man.”
Sometimes, I really hate talking to Dex.
Nine
Ivy
Tonight, I met Gray at Palmers again to hang out with his teammates. Because their coach has a strict no-excessive-drinking policy, the guys limit themselves to one beer each. Also in effect is a no-partying rule while they train for the post-season. So sitting around, talking smack, and telling jokes is as wild as they get for the moment.
I prefer this, actually. I like hearing their stories and seeing the obvious love they have for each other. They’re now talking about Thompson, Johnson, and Marshall’s sexcapades, which are varied and a bit disturbing.
“What about the time Thompson left us stranded in some seedy bar in Cancun because he took the car to drive some co-eds to a party?” Gray glares at Thompson. “Without telling us.”
“So wrong,” Marshall says with a shake of his head. “Bros before hos, man.”
“You cut us deep,” Gray adds.
“Don’t let him fool you, Ivy,” Thompson tells me as he rolls his eyes. “Gray is as crazy as any of us.”
Gray shoots up straight in his seat. “Oh, no. Do not be putting me in your neighborhood of Crazy Town.”
“Look at Mr. Nightly Hookup, trying to play like he’s a saint. Boy, please.”
Drew too makes a noise of disbelief. “Are you forgetting the stripper who went down on you in front of everybody at your birthday party?”
Anna elbows Drew’s ribs, and he does a double take, his gaze shooting to Anna and then to me. Understanding sets in, and his eyes widen in obvious chagrin. He coughs and looks away.
Gray, however, waves a hand. “Please, that is nothing compared to these chuckle-heads’ antics.” Despite his light tone, he resolutely doesn’t look at me.
Marshall takes the moment to add, “Man, that chick had a mouth on her. Sucked me off that night too. Bless her heart.”
Only then do all the guys pause and glance at me, wincing a bit as if they know they’ve gone too far. And what can I say? Yay, I’m so glad Gray got a blowjob from a stripper! I sure hope she washed her mouth out in between blows! I take a hasty sip of my soda. Rolondo looks at me for a second, his dark eyes serious. Then he pulls a grin.
“Did your boys ever tell you about Cheerio?” he asks Anna and me.
Instantly all the guys groan. Drew ducks his head into the crook of Anna’s neck, while Gray simply starts to laugh and shake his head as if to say, “No, no, don’t do it.” But how are we supposed to resist that tease? Even more, I’m desperate to hear any story that doesn’t involve Gray and sex.
Anna and I demand that Rolondo enlighten us. But it’s Johnson who answers. His eyes gleam as he settles more comfortably in his seat. “This was back when most of us were freshmen. Dude was a senior. Defensive end.”
“Crazy-ass motherfuckers,” Diaz mutters, though he looks amused.
Yeah,” Johnson says. “Cheerio decided to have a party. You know, introduce us newbies to the team. It’s all cool until the end.”