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 s.h.i.tty, 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. "f.u.c.k, how I get it. Aside from my mom, I came second-h.e.l.l, 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.

Joy fills his expression. "I do love it, Ivy. It gives me a high unlike anything else."

He says it with such reverence, I find it hard to swallow. I've never loved anything that way. A strange sort of yearning fills me. To love something with that intensity. To be loved in turn, put first above all things. How would it be? If Gray's love of football is anything to go by, it would be the best thing in the world.

"I envy you," I say, my eyes focused forward so I don't have to see his face.

But I feel him watching me. "Why?"

"I want that out of life, that excitement."

"And you don't have it with baking?" Gray sounds genuinely surprised, but his voice is gentle, almost hesitant. Does he pity me?

I shrug. "Not in the way you love football."

His shoulder moves against mine as he takes a breath. "What excites you, then?"

You. "Sports. Interacting with others..." I shake my head. "Nothing concrete. Nothing flashing a big sign that says, 'Here is your pa.s.sion!'"

He seems to soak this in before responding. "I don't know, Mac. I still think you'd make a kick-a.s.s agent. Maybe not the sharky parts, but life planning. Marketing and coaching athletes through their social issues." The comforter pulls as he rolls fully on his side to face me, and I can't help but turn my head. A shock of dark gold hair flops over his forehead as he peers at me. "You should have seen the way you lit up when you talked to the guys about that stuff." The corner of his lip curls upward. "It was beautiful."

My fingers dig into the worn comforter beneath me. "I don't know, Gray... I've grown up hating my dad's job half the time."

"And what about the other half?"

My free hand lifts in a helpless gesture. "Fascinated, jealous that he got to do those things while I was left behind." I sigh and shake my head again. "It's complicated."

Gray nods. "Family stuff usually is. Just remember, you're not your dad."

"Thank G.o.d for that," I quip, earning a snicker from Gray.

"Oh, hey..." Gray leans over me as he reaches for his bedside table, and his chest presses against mine. I suck in a breath so my b.r.e.a.s.t.s aren't touching him, but he moves away just as quickly, now holding his phone. He flops back down next to me.

A few swipes and he draws up his email, then hands me the phone. "Check it."

I scan the email, not understanding at first. Then I truly read it, and I feel a little sick. "Gray..."

He talks over me. "See? Totally clean."

I click off the screen, not wanting to look at his s.e.xual health report. He's healthy, and I feel like s.h.i.t. "W-why did you get a health check?"

His shoulder moves against mine as he shrugs. "You got me thinking. I mean, I've never done it without a condom, but like you said, oral..." He shrugs again. "Just thought it was a good idea."

"Jesus." I toss Gray his phone, and he catches it against his stomach, frowning as he turns.

"What's wrong?"

"Wrong?" I press the heels of my hands against my eyes. "f.u.c.k."

"Mac." Annoyance and worry color his voice. "Why are you freaking out? I'm clean."

I turn and find his face inches from mine.

"Because I feel like a total a.s.shole, that's why." I hold my palms to my hot face, blocking him out. "You got a checkup because I shamed you-"

"Oh, please," Gray says with a forced laugh. "I get checked out once yearly. Just moved it up on my things-to-do list, was all."

I don't lower my hands. "Uh-huh."

"Mac..." Gently, Gray pries my hands away from my face. A groove runs down either side of his mouth. "Come on. It's no big deal. In fact, it's pretty cool. I'm healthy, and believe me I plan to stay that way. No more stupid s.h.i.t for me."

"Gray." I lick my lips, and his gaze follows, his brow furrowing. And the uncomfortable tension that began with our fight grows even more. Suddenly, I'm tired. Down to my bones. My hand feels heavy as it lifts and cups his cheek. "Win this game, and I'll make you any dessert you want."

I don't know what else to say. Or to do. Something broke between us when I let my jealousy get the better of me. Now our friendship has shifted. He's my favorite person in the world, but I no longer feel at complete ease with him. I don't know what the f.u.c.k I want, but it isn't this strange new thing that we have going.

I sit up as Gray grins wide, oblivious to my unease. "Anything, Mac?"

I keep my back to him, making a pretense of smoothing my hair. "You saying there's something I can't make?"

The bed dips as Gray sits up too. "I was gonna win the game regardless, but now? Icing on the cake, baby."

I roll my eyes and stand. "On the cupcake, you mean." Quickly, I bend over and give him a peck on his forehead. "Give 'em h.e.l.l, Gray."

I pull back to go when a touch on my cheek stops me. Gray's callused fingertips are gentle on my skin. "Ivy," he says with hesitation.

"Yeah?" I don't know why my heart is pounding. Only that the look in his eyes is intent yet almost afraid, like he's struggling, and I'm not sure I want him to say whatever it is he's going to say. But then slowly his hand glides over my cheek. It's such a tender caress that my heart gives a little flip.

"Every inch, Ivy."

My brows knit as I search his face. "What does that mean?"

Gray shakes his head, his mouth tilting with a faint smile. "Nothing really. Just something I say before a game. For luck."

Swallowing hard, I touch his face. His jaw is warm and rough with stubble. "Well, then," I say. "Every inch."

The broad line of his shoulders sags on a sigh, and he nods as if I've given him a rare gift.

I leave him then, relief mixing with a strange sense of wrongness within me.

Eleven.

Ivy

With Gray out of town, I find myself struggling with an excess of restless energy. I don't know what to do with myself. And, really, I should be figuring it out. I'm a college grad without a job. I know what I want to do, but I dread telling my dad, who's been footing my bills until now.

Skin twitching and gut clenching, I soothe myself the only way I know how. I bake.

Hours later, the house smells of golden, b.u.t.tery-sweet goodness. I have enough donuts to feed Gray's entire team. Which sucks since they're not around to feed.

Fi arrives just as I finish glazing the last batch.

"Hermey, Rudolph, and Yukon Cornelius, what the h.e.l.l smells so good?" Like a tracking dog, she stalks into the kitchen and nearly sticks her nose into a tray of donuts. "Is that bacon on the top?"

"Yup. Honey-chili bacon. I'm trying to break out from the standard maple bacon."

She picks up a donut and takes a bite, groaning as she does. "You done good, Iv."

I select a raspberry-filled with a toasted marshmallow topping. The flavor combination is reminiscent of peanut b.u.t.ter and jelly, but not as heavy and more creamy. Fi steals a bit of it and groans again.

"Hey," I say with a laugh. "Don't go getting me sick."

"Bah. I'm not sick any longer, and if you were going to get sick, it would have already happened. Ooh...What's that one?"

"Christmas donut. Eggnog flavor with a burnt rum-sugar crust like you'd get on a creme brulee."

"Yum." Fi continues to munch on her bacon donut and speaks around a mouthful of food. "So what's with all the baking? You channeling Mom?"

Hedging from answering Fiona, I reach for the bottle of red wine on the counter. "Want a gla.s.s?" I ask instead.

She eyes me for a moment then shrugs. "Red wine with donuts? Why not?"

I don't talk until we both have a full gla.s.s of wine. "I like baking. It relaxes me."

"Of course you do. It's in our blood. I mean, I hate it but..." She grins, her cheeks plumping, before becoming serious. "Seriously, Ivy, why are you cringing like a guilty convict over these donuts?"

I take a sip of wine and glance away. "I realized today that I bake best when I'm tense."

The kitchen wall clock ticks away as Fi watches me. "You bake a lot, Ivy Weed."

"I know." Before me is a sea of donuts, each perfectly frosted. "I've always thought that I should join Mom because I was good at baking. I like working with my hands, working the dough and coming up with new flavors. I like feeding people. But lately, I've started to think about how I want to live. The thing is, Fi, I want to be excited."

"And baking doesn't excite you?" She glances at the donuts.

"It inspires me, makes me feel good. But running a bakery? I hated it." A flush washes over me as I confess. Because I did hate that part. I'd hated getting up before dawn, always being on my feet, worrying about the store and customers. Before, I'd pushed that concern to the back of my mind, but now it's too close to ignore.

"So don't do it."

Setting my gla.s.s down, I start to wipe away a glop of honey glaze on the counter. Fi watches me do it.

"If you don't want to run one of Mom's stores," she asks carefully, "what is it that you want to do? Not that you have to know or anything."

My fingers curl around the damp rag and I toss it aside. "I don't know."

But I do. I just can't seem to voice what I want because it sounds too crazy. And I'm not ready to face it.

I take a large gulp of my wine, letting the mellow smoothness warm my blood. I feel foolish, frustrated. Doubt creeps over me with sticky feet. Maybe this is just a stupid flight of fancy.

"Mom and Dad are going to think I've lost it."

"Hey," Fi says softly, "I've changed my major about six times in two years."

"You're a soph.o.m.ore. You have time. And you love decorating. Why not do that?"

Absently, she nods. "Yeah, maybe."

For a moment, we're silent. Then Fi sets her gla.s.s down and reaches for another donut. "I'm gonna regret you," she says to the donut. "But I can't seem to care." Her gaze finds mine. "I'm calling a frat boy I know to pick the bulk of these up before we go into a sugar coma. Then we're going to celebrate my birthday in style, which will include drinking more wine and telling our deep dark secrets to each other."

"Fi," I'm trying not to laugh. "That basically sums up all our nights together."

"Does not! What we drink and eat always varies."

I grin and start packing up the donuts.

Much, much later, we find ourselves sprawled on my bed among the copious throw pillows. The wine has been ditched in favor of mojitos, and my head is swimming.

"Red wine makes me sleepy," I complain.

"It's my birthday. You can't fall asleep." Fi rolls over and glares at me.

"Mmmhmmm." My lids grow heavy. I start to drift off, but that strange restless feeling returns as soon as my mind wanders. I think I might be coming down with a cold. But that's not what's bugging me now. "Fi?"

"What?" she mumbles, her face stuffed into a pillow.

"Can a person...I don't know...be overs.e.xed when they aren't having any s.e.x?" The instant the words are out of my mouth my face flames and I want to call them back. As it is, they hang over our heads, dancing around like mocking pixies as Fi's mouth drops open.

Her stare drills into me, and I resist the urge to squirm. Before I break, she shrugs, all casual as if I haven't blurted out something ridiculous. "Explain."