The Hook Up (Game On Book 1) (53 page)

I won’t laugh
… I crack up.

“You’re a fuckstain too,” Gray mutters.

“Whatever, Glamour.”

Reluctantly, Gray grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Seriously, though,” I say, “good on you for not selling out.”

“You should consider Mackenzie too. I know he’s interested.”

My laugh dies on a breath. Mackenzie had been my top choice, mainly because he seemed a straightforward guy, and Gray’s story certainly nails that down. But I can’t stop the uncertainty within me from rearing its ugly head. I force myself to nod. “Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Yeah, he sounds like a good fit.”

We go quiet, the faint sounds of activity from within the stadium filling the space between us.

“About last night. I’m sorry.” I can’t look at him. Not yet. A hot pressure builds behind my nose and lids. “I was a dick.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Gray turn his head my way. “Yeah, well, you’re a pretty good dick as far as dicks go… Fuck.” He grimaces. “That did
not
sound right.”

We both laugh, strained. And then I face him. “I mean it, Gray.”

He colors, his mouth going into a straight line. “I know.”

“I never thought you’d make a play for Anna. Never.”

Absently, he nods. “I know, man. And I know you’re freaking. I’d be doing the same.”

“I…” Words get stuck in my throat, and the prickling pressure grows. “You’re… Hell.” I grab onto him, likely shocking the shit out of him, and haul him close. My hug is hard. “I love you, all right?”

He hugs me back, just as hard, a fist pounding into my shoulder. And then we both shove each other away with a laugh.

“Shit,” he says, surreptitiously wiping at the corner of his eye, “you’re going to have me bawling like some stupid man-baby.”

“Cuz you are a man-baby,” I answer, rubbing my forearm over my own eyes.

The wind blows again. It’s too cold to be standing around.

“Well come on, then.” Gray goes to his Barbie car and grabs something from within. My insides dip but my heart speeds up when I see the football.

Gray gives me a challenging look and throws me the ball. I either have to look like an idiot and let it fall or catch it.

I catch it.

“We’re tossing around the ball.” Gray’s tone brooks no argument.

The ball feels so good in my hand that I want to clutch it to my chest like it’s a baby. “You going long?” I ask.

“You gonna throw down?”

My arm tightens with the need to let the ball fly. “Like a hammer.” Some of my cockiness leaves as I glance back at the stadium. “But not here.”

“We’ll go to the park.” Gray moves to the passenger side of the pickup.

“Not in the glamour mobile?” I say as we both get in the truck.

He looks disgruntled as hell, but he’s smiling. “You owe me big for that car, you know.”

I do. I owe him for more than he’ll ever know.

“Anna’s making bourbon pecan pies. I told her to bake four.” And she’d called me a pig, as if that would be some kind of deterrent. “I’ll give you two of them.”

Gray grins wide. “That’s a start.”

THE CAR ENGINE ticks as we sit in front of the brick townhouse. Neither of us moves to open a car door. Drew takes a slow breath. His profile is to me as he stares out of the window. “Last night,” he says, “I had a nightmare. I was in the house, trying to find you. But you were gone. Your stuff was gone. Like you’d never been there.”

His mouth quirks bitterly. “Suddenly, I’m tearing through campus trying to find you, when I realize that I’m running. My leg is perfect, there’s no pain. Coach appears and he tells me it was all a dream. The bad sack, my leg getting trashed. It never happened.”

I turn toward him in my seat, and he swallows hard.

“Then I see you. You’re with Mr. Yuck, and you just look at me like I’m scum.”

Shit. I reach for his hand, and his warm fingers link with mine. He gives me a little squeeze of reassurance, like I’m the one who needs comfort. He’s gone silent, just looking down at our hands, his so much bigger than mine that all you can see of me are my pale fingers threaded through his darker ones.

“You should know,” I say, “I left Mr. Yuck at the bar. He never stood a chance. I was in love with you.”

A sad smile plays on Drew’s lips, but it grows into one of satisfaction. He pulls our linked hands onto his thigh and his thumb glides over mine. “Well, in the spirit of sharing and honesty, I hung around all those girls to make you jealous.”

My eyes flick up. He has the grace to look sheepish. “It was shitty, I know.” His expression grows somber. “But I never touched them.”

But then his lashes sweep down, hiding his eyes. “One of them kissed me, and—” he shakes his head, “I couldn’t stand it. You don’t know how much that pissed me off at the time,” he says with a wry laugh.

“I bet,” I say sourly, but I’m not really pissed, and he knows me enough to get that. Because he’s smiling at me now. The smile turns tender, and his thumb continues to stroke mine.

“The thing is, when I saw you in the dream, walking away from me like we never were and never would be…” He goes pale. “It tore me in half, Anna.”

“Drew, no…” I cup his cheek with my free hand.

He leans into it a little as he keeps talking. “I felt so empty. Even when I woke up. Like I’d never experience happiness again.”

“I’m here,” I say softly. “I’m here.” I hate that he’s felt that sinking empty pain again.

“That’s the point, baby,” he answers. “Ending my college football career the way I did? Facing the fact that eventually an injury might end everything one day? Yeah, it’s doing a number on me. It scares the shit out of me. Football made me what I am. But I’ll have to deal with it regardless. No one plays ball forever. And at the end of the day, when the game is over?” His golden eyes hold mine. “I’d rather have no football and feel whole with you than play and feel empty and at sea like before.”

“Drew.” I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him hard. And he hugs me back, his breath warm against my cheek as he nuzzles it, breathing me in like he always does.

I press my lips against his temple. “You’re wrong about one thing. Football doesn’t make you. You make football.”

He grunts in wry disagreement, and I shake my head, brushing my lips over his ear. “Anyone can pick up a ball and throw it. But you? You turn the act into something magical. Something wonderful.”

He shudders, a sigh escaping him. The sound is equal parts sadness and relief. I hold him tighter, kiss his jaw. “It’s you, baby. Your light. Your joy. Your soul. You bring that to everything you touch. To the game, your friends, me. It won’t end with football, I promise.”

“Anna.” He drags me across the armrest and into his lap to bury his face in the crook of my neck. “I love you so much. It’s like my life truly started when you walked into it. I want what my parents had, Anna. I want it with you and only you.” He strokes my hair, his breath a burst of heat against my skin. “I’m going in there today to get my shit together for me and for us.”

“Drew,” I kiss his cheek, his mouth, his nose, slowly softly, and he lets me, closing his eyes as if each touch is a balm. Cupping his jaw with my hands, I press my forehead to his. “You are the best man I’ve ever known. You helped me become the person I’ve always wanted to be. You’re everything, Drew.” My breath leaves in a shudder of frustration. “I don’t even know how to tell you how much you mean to me.”

He smiles as he kisses me, a gentle easy kiss, as if he’s finally breathing free. “Just be with me and I’ll know. Just be with me.”

How could I not? He is part of me now. “Always.”

Two Years Later…

IT’S SUNDAY NIGHT and I’m bathed in brilliant white light. The air is crisp and fills my lungs with a sweet burn as I take in the scents of fried food, beer, and human sweat. Electricity buzzes around me, created by the joy and cheers of eighty thousand people. This is high theater. It’s human drama, and we’re all riveted to the twenty-two men on the emerald green field.

But my attention is drawn only to one. His helmet obscures his face but he’s still gorgeous to me. Tall and strong. He is poetry and grace in motion. He owns the ball. He throws and it listens.

And I’m so excited I barely can keep still.

“Keep bouncing around like that,” says a voice in my ear, “and you’ll fall out of your seat.”

Gray laughs as he says it, and I can’t help but grin. He’s flown in from San Francisco, where he was drafted to play, to be here.

“He’s blowing it up, Gray.”

“Yeah, he is,” Gray says with his own grin.

Two years of working towards this moment. Rehab, the fear of not getting signed, then trying to fit in as a rookie, and tonight Drew finally gets his chance to start, filling in for the team’s injured starting quarterback. As if he’s been waiting for it, he explodes out of the gate. He’s born for this, and his team knows it. They respond to his confidence, playing with precision and verve. Already they’re up three touchdowns against the better team.

And though he’d once insisted it was okay if he never played again, I know what this means to him. Tears blur my vision as I scream his name, my voice lost among the many.

“Everything is going to change,” Gray warns me, though he doesn’t really look worried.

“I know.” It will be
more.
More press. More pressure.

But we’ll weather it. We still can’t keep our hands off each other. Do we fight sometimes? Of course. Drew has his dark days and I have mine. I barely saw him when I began to intern at a cable production company on a whim. I’m now an associate producer for a cooking show. It’s something I’d never envisioned for myself but love with a passion.

Our stress levels rose to a pitch during the days before the draft. Would he go quickly like some thought? Or languish in the third, fourth, or fifth rounds as Drew secretly feared? When he was the fourth pick in the first round—to New York, thank God—we celebrated for an entire week.

But it full-out sucked living in New York City those first few months before his draft. Because I refused to let Drew dip too far into his savings, we could only afford a walkup in the Lower East Side. I can’t even think about the number of roaches Drew smashed without shuddering. We both cried a little in relief when we finally bought our apartment in Chelsea. But the dark days are few. We have more fun than anything else.