But I can’t avoid looking him in the eye forever. Especially when he utters a husky, “Hey.”
He’s giving me a small, hesitant smile. As always, when I meet Gray’s eyes, I’m hit with warmth and a fuzzy happiness that pushes past any other thoughts.
“Hey. I’m here!” God. Smooth. Real smooth.
Gray’s face lights with a full grin. “Yes, you are. Come on.” He gestures with a jerk of his head. “Get out of that cold.”
Instantly, I’m greeted with the overwhelming scent of funk, like gym socks and men’s deodorant and old house. The floorboards are scuffed and stained. And I have to smile because there’s a broom in the corner of the hall with a sticky note that says, Use me, dickwads, before I paddle your ass!
Gray notices and rolls his eyes. “Dex’s sad attempt to domesticate us.”
We walk past a pyramid of duffle bags tucked against the hallway wall. To our left, the living room opens up. Two mismatched couches that look in danger of snapping under the weight of six massive guys are positioned around a giant TV. Some war-zone video game is playing, but the guys all turn as one when I walk in.
“Ivy!” they shout in unison, their deep voices bouncing over me.
“Boys,” I shout back. I get a few head nods, a couple of smiles, then they’re back to their game. The sounds of war blare throughout the room.
At my side, Gray takes my elbow. “Let’s go to my room.”
The stairs squeak beneath our feet. Gray’s room is a welcome surprise. At the back of the house, it’s simple but clean. Orderly. His desk is spotless, as is the floor. A king bed takes up most of the space. A chest of drawers by the door and a worn blue IKEA armchair in the corner make up the rest of his furniture.
I peer up at the only artwork in the room. “Wow. Where did you get that?”
Hanging on the wall opposite of the bed, the painting is massive. Done in tones of grays and blues, it’s a close-up of a man’s arm holding onto a battered football helmet.
“Dex did that,” Gray says, looking up at it. “I loved it so much, I nagged him until he gave it to me.”
“It’s fantastic.” The composition is simple, but the strength in the arm, the way the hand grips the helmet, speak of suffering, perseverance, and love of the game.
“Yeah. He’s ridiculously talented. Not that he lets anyone but us know about it.”
I’m not surprised. A lot of athletes have hidden talents or hobbies they like to do in their down time. “There’s a guy in the NBA who can play the violin like a master. But he only performs for his teammates.”
“Who?” Gray’s voice is curious but subdued. Our fight stands between us, and I hate myself for what I said to him in the heat of jealousy and defensive anger.
I give him a forced smile. “That’s his secret to tell.”
Gray shakes his head. “Tease.”
He flops on his bed, the frame screeching in protest, and promptly lies back, tucking his arm behind his head. Okay then, maybe I’m the one overthinking things. Taking a breath, I sit next to him. Gray has other ideas and tugs me down next to him. I land with an “oof” and he grins.
“So.”
“So,” I repeat, rolling on my side to face him. “You ready for the game?”
While his team is favored to win, anything can happen on the field.
“Fuck yeah. We got this.” His smile fades, replaced by a searching look. “The bus leaves in three hours, so we’ll be heading out soon. I wish you were coming.”
Guilt hits me anew. Because I want to at his game more than anything. But I’m staying put and celebrating Fi’s birthday, which happens to be the night before the game. “I wish I were too.”
“You sure Fi wouldn’t want to celebrate with us? My guys know how to party.”
Sighing, I flip onto my back. “My dad has ditched Fi on her birthday for as long as I can remember. When we were little, it was for a ball game. Then for championship games. It’s a big recruitment time for him.”
“That’s kind of shitty of him.”
I don’t know why I feel defensive of my dad; Gray’s not saying anything I haven’t thought, but nothing in life is straight black and white. “It’s his job. Follow the players. Score the deal. Take care of the client. Talk to sponsors.” I glance at Gray. “When was the last time you weren’t expected to play on or around a major holiday?”
“Fourth of July count?” He gives me a cheeky look but then sobers. “I said it was shitty, not that I don’t understand. Which is another reason I haven’t done relationships.” His blue eyes darken. “I hate the idea of doing that to anyone.”
Sadness sits heavy on my chest. Gray isn’t the type of person who should walk alone through life. But it’s not like I can protest his choices. A selfish part of me doesn’t even want to encourage him to find a girlfriend, something I know would put even more distance between us. Which makes me all sorts of wrong.
I pick a piece of lint off his comforter. “Anyway, Fi’s kind of touchy about her birthday and football. She doesn’t want to be anywhere near a game during her time. I’m not going to ask her to change her plans. No matter how much I want to.”
Gray’s voice is soft and low. “I get that too.” He sighs as well. “Fuck, how I get it. Aside from my mom, I came second—hell, more like fifth—to football.”
“And yet you love it.” I glance at his strong profile. He’s frowning up at the ceiling, but as if he feels my stare, he turns.