“All babies’ eyes are blue. His will turn. And they look like mine.”
Anyone can see that Leo has Gray’s eyes. Down to the exact shade of blue. But I don’t argue. “How’s the business?” I ask instead. My mom owns a chain of bakeries. Ivy was supposed to go into partnership with her but chose to be an agent like our dad instead.
I don’t know who was more shocked by that—Mom, Dad, or me. Ivy hated how Dad’s business pulled him away from our family almost as much as I did. Yet here we are, Ivy as an agent and, hell, me falling for a football player.
As my mom talks about her shops, the image of Dex’s grin—so rare but so gorgeous, framed by his lush, dark beard—pops into my mind. My palms tingle with the need to run over it, to smooth over the massive swell of his hard, hot chest.
I swallow and focus on Mom. She’s telling me about a yeast delivery gone bad, her voice breathy with exasperation, and I blink hard. I miss her. I miss Dex. I miss everyone.
I clutch my phone, feeling lost and abandoned, which is ridiculous. No one has left me behind. I’m here because it’s where I chose to be. This is life. Like some messed-up game of Boggle, it shakes us all up, and we land where we fall.
This isn’t even close to the first time I’ve felt this way. But usually I’m able to distract myself with friends and parties and laughter. Only I can’t find it in me to laugh anymore. And I wonder if this is the only way life can be. Because I want some fucking control back.
Chapter Nineteen
Dex
“Look, it’s Sinatra!” Delgado, my fellow lineman, shouts when I walk into the locker room.
I’m greeted with a rousing chorus of “Gold on the Ceiling,” all of it off-key and loud. I’d been informed by a cackling Gray that video of my karaoke performance had gone viral. If that hadn’t been enough, the ESPN highlight, complete with accompanying jokes, made it clear I’d get my fair share of shit come Monday morning.
“Yeah, yeah,” I wave an idle hand. “Laugh it up, fuzzballs.”
Sampson, a nose tackle, makes an attempt to roar like Chewbacca but ends up choking, which cracks the guys up even more.
Grinning, I sit down and kick off my shoes. Finn Mannus, my QB, saunters over, a smile wide on his face. He gives my shoulder a hearty slap. “So, Dexter, have a good week off?”
“Say what you’re gonna say, Manny, and fuck off,” I tell him lightly.
He’s still grinning at me like a smug fuck. “I must say, I enjoy seeing you hang your balls out, Dex. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Pretty sure there’s a lot you don’t know about me.” I’ve stripped down to get in my gear when I catch his eye. He’s no longer smug but serious.
“That’s kind of the point,” he says. “You’re my center.”
His words give me pause. I like Finn. He’s a rookie, which especially sucks for him because he has to carry the team without the freedom to ease into his job. But he’s also a good quarterback, and it’s my job to protect him. But I don’t know him like I know Drew. I haven’t taken the time. Guilt tilts in my belly.
“Come out for a beer with me later,” I suggest. “And I’ll tell you all about my wild week.”
He looks at me with those famous baby blues that have women all over America sighing and throwing their panties in his direction. Doesn’t do anything for me, but I’m comfortable enough in my manhood to see what chicks dig about him. I guess I’m doomed to always cover pretty boys.
“Yeah,” he says. “Sounds good.” He moves to go but then halts. “Hell. We’ve got that photo shoot at four.”
A scowl works across his face, and now I’m the one who’s laughing. “Ah, the charity calendar. Thought that would be right up your alley, GQ.”