"Add a basket of wings. No, two. And some cheesy tots." I glance at Dex. "You hungry?"

Dex's mouth twitches. "I could eat."

"Two barn burgers with everything, as well. Food's on my tab, thanks." Okay, I just ate pizza at Mac's, but it's eat, workout, or f.u.c.k away this tension. As I'm at a bar, I go with the only feasible option.

I sit back and watch the show that's turned Dex into a social zombie. Well, more of a social zombie. Truth is, astrophysics isn't my sweet spot, not like quantum mechanics, but I still find it fascinating. Silence falls as we listen to scientists explain the mysteries of s.p.a.ce on a simplified level.

At my side, the waitress is all but hovering. I'm about to ask her why she isn't moving when she finally stirs and then walks away.

Dex takes the moment to look over. And he smirks.

"What?" I ask.

"You totally ignored her."

"Who?" I glance back at the TV. "Man... They're explaining a theory that's three years out of date."

"Yeah, that's because this was filmed in 2011," Dex drawls, still staring. "The waitress. You ignored her."

"No, I didn't. I placed my order."

Slowly he shakes his head. "She had her b.r.e.a.s.t.s thrust right under your nose. Not to mention that she was clearly expecting you to respond."

"Seems kind of stupid to just stand there," I mutter with a shrug. "So I didn't notice. What's the big deal?"

"She's hot, available, and waiting?"

"You f.u.c.k her, then." Is it too much to ask to watch TV in peace?

Dex's feet hit the floor with a thud as he turns in his seat and leans his elbows on the table. "I've been your teammate and friend for four years, Gray-Gray, and I've never seen you turn down an opportunity like that."

"Maybe she's not my type."

"If you'd even looked at her, I might buy that, dude."

"Are we having a girl chat here? We gonna braid each other's hair next?" I reach forward and try to ruffle Dex's hair, but he swats me away.

"Here we go," says a chipper female voice. "One Shiner."

A frosty bottle is set on the table, and I look over. Jay-sus. Okay, now I get what Dex is saying, because the waitress is smoking. And the t.i.ts she apparently thrust under my nose are so huge they're practically falling out of her low-cut top. How in the h.e.l.l did I miss that?

She gives me a smile filled with promises I know will be delivered with much enthusiasm. And what do I want to do? Drink my beer, eat my food, talk to Dex, and then go home. In that order.

"Thanks," I tell her before taking a long pull of the beer and tuning her out. Dex's eyebrow lifts in emphasis. Yeah, I know. I'm f.u.c.ked.

The waitress huffs off.

"You know it isn't going to go away just because you won't acknowledge it," Dex says.

"What isn't going away?" Johnson asks, suddenly at my side.

f.u.c.k. Me.

He, Thompson, and Diaz are here and they cram into the booth without ceremony. Diaz takes the seat next to Dex, while Johnson and Thompson shove me to make s.p.a.ce for their ma.s.sive bulk. Which means I'm squished into the corner. Though Johnson is pure Iowa farm boy with straw-colored hair and pale blue eyes and Thompson is an inner-city kid from Detroit with a retro fade, there's a similarity about their size and the way they move and talk in unison. Brothers from another mother, we call them.

"What we talking about?" Johnson tries to grab my beer but he's too slow. Linebacker speed is sad.

"Nothing."

"Gray's special needs," Dex says over me as the waitress comes back and proceeds to dole out the food. I take possession of my burger before it's gone. As it is, Thompson shouts, "Wings!" and claims a basket.

"You mean how he's hot for Ivy?" Johnson dives into the cheesy tots. f.u.c.ker. Those are my favorite.

"Man," Diaz drawls, shaking his head, "don't do it."

"Why not?" Johnson asks around a mouthful of tots. "She's wicked hot. I'd hit that."

"Hey," I snap with a death glare. Johnson shrugs in apology but doesn't look too sorry.

"She's his potential agent's daughter, knucklehead," Thompson says to Johnson. "You do not f.u.c.k with the daughters."

Dex watches us between bites of his burger. "Every girl is some guy's daughter. What if she wants to be with Gray? It's her life, not her dad's."

"True that," says Diaz.

"Whatever," I cut in. "She is my friend. Which means off limits."

"But you want her." This from all of them. In unison. And they laugh at that.

Yeah, f.u.c.king hi-larious. The burger is starting to land hard in my gut. I've got to start eating better.

"Come on, Gray-Gray, you know you do."

"Kiss the girl, already." Johnson begins to sing. Badly. A cheesy tot hits his cheek, and he chucks a wing at Diaz in retaliation. It goes wide.

"Isn't that the song the little crab sings in The Lion King?" Dex asks.

"It's The Little Mermaid. And stop playing like you don't know."

"Says the dude who knows the lyrics."

"Please. My little sister watched it five million times when we were kids."

"Whatever you have to tell yourself, Johnson."

And then they're back to me.

"You really should admit to it. Probably make you feel better."

"You want her baaad."

"Fine," I snap. "I do. But it's not happening, so shut the f.u.c.k up and let a man eat."

Johnson gives me a once-over as he swipes Dex's beer. "Man, this is bad news. Soon you'll be so jacked up for it, you'll get distracted on the field."

"I'd like to think I'm a better player than that," I say, truly offended, because what the f.u.c.k? Football is my life's focus.

But Johnson shrugs, unconvinced. "When's the last time you got any?"

"Why do you care?" Nope, I'm not going to squirm in my seat.

Diaz looks me over and rubs the fuzz he likes to think is a goatee as if he's contemplating. "Not since he's been driving that car."

They all stare in obvious shock. I can't blame them. Has it been that long? s.h.i.t, it has. My skin p.r.i.c.kles, a sinking sensation tugging at my gut. I haven't touched a girl since I started texting Ivy. It wasn't even a conscious decision, because I can't remember making it. And the realization freaks me out. So much so, I take a bite of my burger to keep my shaking hands occupied.

Unfortunately, Johnson isn't through with me. "Why don't you just f.u.c.k her and get some relief?"

I roll my eyes. "That has got to be the dumbest idea in the history of s.e.x."

"Explain."

"Okay, just for s.h.i.ts and giggles, let's a.s.sume that I make my move and Ivy agrees to let me into her bed. What happens afterward? She. Is. My. Friend. I don't want to lose that." h.e.l.l no. A world without Ivy in it would be like a world without the sun-cold, dark, devoid of gravity. I'm pretty sure I'd drift aimlessly. A shudder hits me just thinking about it. h.e.l.l, it's bad enough that I have to face her leaving for London in a few short months.

"So no to the friends with benefits?" Dex asks in a subdued tone, as if he's truly curious.

"Oh, that's always a great idea," I snap. "It never works. And then I'll be out a friend just because I can't keep my d.i.c.k in my pants."

"You never know unless you try," Dex says. "Maybe once will be enough for both of you."

I toss my half-eaten burger into its basket. "Why do you think alcoholics don't take another drink after they're sober? Drug addicts a hit? Because just once is never enough. Not when it's the only thing they crave." And G.o.d help me, because the truth is Ivy has become a craving in my blood, racing through me hot and thick.

Around the table my friends look slightly horrified, and more than a little sorry for me. It burns, and I pick up my beer, avoiding their gazes. "Can we please talk about something else now?"

"Yeah, all right," Thompson says. "You hear about Marshall's little stunt last night?" Already he's snickering.

"What did that fool do now?" Dex asks.

"Tried to perform a Cool Hand Luke." Thompson tears into another wing.

"What? With the eggs?" I ask.

"Yeah."

We groan as one.

Johnson leans in, taking up the tale, an evil grin lighting his face. "He got some sorority chick to boil him up a s.h.i.t-ton of eggs. Swore he could down like sixty of them or something."

Diaz shakes his head as he listens. h.e.l.l, we all do. Marshall is a f.u.c.kwit of the first order.

"How far did he get?" I ask, knowing the outcome won't be pretty.

Johnson starts snickering. "Man, he ate around two dozen, turns white as chalk, and then bolts."

We're laughing now.

"He make it out of the house?" Diaz asks.

"s.h.i.t no. Got tangled up in a bunch of girls," Johnson says, still laughing. "f.u.c.king barfed all over them. You should have heard them squeal."

I'm laughing so hard, I have to wipe my eyes. "He's never gonna get laid again."

"They're already calling him Big Barf."

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 gla.s.s. "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 s.e.xcapades, 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."