In vain, I search to say something other than, Your body is irresistible to me and I had to stroke it. I fall back on, “I’m sorry. I’m… I don’t know, twitchy. Did I mention how much I hate being sick?”
His laugh rolls over me. “Once or twice.” Almost absently his thumb draws a slow S over the back of my hand. “I get it. You want to move, but it hurts. You want to get up, but you’re too tired.”
A sigh escapes me. “Tell me a story.”
“Oh, God, like The Three Bears or something?” He sounds horrified.
“No. Ass.” Smiling, I poke his side, and get a nice yelp out of him. “About you. Something to take my mind off the fact that I hurt everywhere.”
“My poor little Special Sauce.” His big hand spreads over my hip, a comfort and a brand on my heated skin. “All right.” He’s silent for a moment. “When I was seventeen, I shit myself.”
A shocked laugh breaks free. “Gray! That’s disgusting.” I laugh again. “What kind of story is that?”
“The kind that will stop you from thinking about being sick, and me from thinking about you stroking my stomach?”
Well, that kills my laughter. Me and my damn roaming hands. “So, you were saying… About your lack of bowel control?”
He snorts, a good-natured sound. “I had the stomach flu. Something fierce. But, back then, I was also a starting offensive lineman—”
“Of course you were. Like I said, overachiever—”
“Hush.” He gives my butt a light smack. “Anyway, I had it in my mind that I’d suck it up and play, do it for the good of the team. Man, it was bad. I could barely stand. My guts were cramping up in pain. And then a big fucking defensive end smashes into me.” He pauses, and I feel him cringe. “He literally knocked the shit out of me.”
I bite my lips to keep from snorting. “Oh, Cupcake.” And then I lose the battle and laugh, hard. “Just…no…”
Gray’s body shakes as he presses his lips against my forehead, his breath coming out in gusts as he clearly tries to control his laughter, and then it hits me: He’s trying not to jostle me. Deep inside my chest, my heart makes a tiny flip.
“Want to know the worst part?” he asks after a moment.
“There’s something worse?”
“Our uniform pants were white.”
“God.” I clutch his lean waist. “Cupcake.”
“They called me Stain from then on.” He makes a sharp, quick snort. “Some of those fuckers still call me that when I go back home.”
“Fuckers,” I agree vehemently.
He glances down and his eyes crinkle at the corners. “I would think you’d have been one of the first in line to call me that.”
I press my grin against his pecs. “Can I?”
“Not if you want to live,” he says darkly.
“With the way I’m feeling now, chances of living are touch and go.”
Instantly, his body stills, and his hold on me grows more secure. “Don’t say that, Mac. Not even as a joke.”
And then I remember his mother. Horror has my heart skipping a beat, and I cling to him. “You’re right, it was a stupid joke.”
His lips brush the top of my head. Not quite a kiss but as if he’s drawing in my scent. “It was a stupid story. I should have said something else. Something nice to put you to sleep.”
Tenderness swamps my chest, and I swallow with difficulty. “It was perfect.” He is perfect. And I am so grateful he’s here with me that I nestle down, wanting to sink into him and never let go. “I love you, Gray.”
It slips out without warning, the words hanging in an awkward silence. Gray’s chest lifts on a sharp breath, and my skin prickles with mortification. I will myself not to tense, not to make my gaffe any worse.
Then he sighs and rests his chin on the crown of my head. “I love you too, Ivy.”
The lightness of his tone and the gentle way in which he says it, makes it clear that we’re talking about the love of friends.
In silence, his hand glides down my thigh, a slow stroke designed to comfort. Suddenly I am too tired to keep my eyes open. And as I drift off to sleep, I count myself lucky that he hadn’t taken my words the wrong way. And I ignore the small part of me that kind of wishes he had.
Fourteen
Ivy