The Friend Zone
a Game On novel
Kristen Callihan
Contents
Also in this series
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Thank You!
Author Note
The Hook Up —Book One in the Game On series
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Also in this series
The Hook Up —Book 1 —Out Now
The Game Plan –expected release—Fall 2015
This one is dedicated to you, dear reader.
Prologue
4:13 am. Text to Gray Grayson from unknown source.
Unknown: Mr. Grayson, my father tells me he lent you my car. I don’t really care if he’s going to sign you or not. As said agent’s daughter, I know football players and their ways. So let me be clear. There will be no shenanigans taking place in it or you’ll answer to me. You want to hook up with one of your women, do it in a bed and not in my car.
Sincerely, Ivy Mackenzie.
GrayG: Hey, Miss Mac. You do realize your car is a bubblegum-pink Fiat 500, right? Even if I could get it up surrounded by all that heinous pink, the car is better suited for Lilliputians. So don’t worry, there will be no shenanigans (Shenanigans? Srsly? What are we, 80?) anywhere near the car. I’m not about to pull a hamstring in the pursuit of pleasure.
—Btw, beds are overrated. Branch out a little.
IvyMac: You’re schooling me on my use of shenanigans? Really, Mr. Lilliputian? I don’t know whether to choke on the hypocrisy or be impressed that you know what a Lilliputian is.
I won’t make mention of your pink phobia, and I don’t care where you do your business. Just so long as it isn’t in my car.
GrayG: Yes, I read. Contain your shock. Or maybe chill. I think you’re developing a fascination with my bzness.
IvyMac: Ok. Fine. I was an ass. Or course you read. Read this: one scratch on that car and you bought it.
GrayG: It’s a tempting offer. I mean, who wouldn’t want this car? I’m assuming you take gumdrops as currency?
IvyMac: Sure do, Cupcake. But the car’s not for sale.
GrayG: I see you’ve discovered my inherently sweet and tasty nature. Wait until you taste my frosting.
IvyMac: Eew…Keep your frosting to yourself!
GrayG: Heh. So why are we having this conversation at 4 in the morning? Don’t you sleep?
IvyMac: Sorry. I’m in London. It isn’t four in the morning here. Hey, shouldn’t you be sleeping? Why are you answering my texts anyway? ;-)
GrayG: I don’t know. Some previously unknown masochistic need to argue over a powder-puff car?
IvyMac: I always thought tight ends loved pain.
GrayG: Naw, we bring on the pain, Mac. And have awesome asses. Obviously.
IvyMac: Okay, I’m going now.
GrayG: K. Bye.
IvyMac: Bye.
GrayG: See you.
GrayG: Or not. Because you’re in London.
IvyMac: Gray?
GrayG: Yep.
IvyMac: Go to sleep.
GrayG: K. Night. Or morning. Or whatever.
GrayG: Mac? Hello? Right. You’re gone.
A few hours later…
GrayG: Mac? How do you feel about 18” chrome rims? Pretty sure when you see the result, you’ll love them.
IvyMac: What? You’re shitting me, right?!?
GrayG: Foul language, Miss Mac? I am appalled. Keep that up and I’m going to have to call shenanigans.
IvyMac: Gray! What the fuck did you do to my car?!?
GrayG: Ha! Gotcha. You freaked. Admit it.
IvyMac: I admit nothing!! Are you waking me up to terrorize me as payback for waking you up the other morning?
GrayG: Mac, it’s 8 p.m. in London. Why are you asleep?
IvyMac: Gotta get up at 3:30 a.m. I’m an apprentice at my mom’s bakery
GrayG: Pastries and shit? Oh, God, I’m having a moment.
IvyMac: Like the sweets, big guy?
GrayG: Are you talking dirty to me, Mac?
IvyMac: *eye roll* Is there a real reason for this text?
GrayG: Guess not. Sorry to bug you. Night, Mac.
IvyMac: You aren’t bugging me. I’m just grumpy because I hate getting up early. People say I’m…prickly. I don’t mean to be.
GrayG: Prickly? Naw. You’re…saucy. Like that sauce on a Big Mac.
IvyMac: If you call me special sauce, you lose a nut.
GrayG: I knew it, you’re talking dirty to me! Shenanigans!!
IvyMac: lol. Dork.
GrayG: That’s Cupcake to you, Special Sauce. Go to sleep, Mac. I’ll get to work on the rims.
IvyMac: >:-P
And the next morning…
IvyMac: I was walking down Jermyn Street today. Saw a guy in a bright pink suit, very flash. Thinking of buying you one to match the car. You could make a whole pink power statement.
GrayG: Great! But I’m pretty sure that’d have to be custom made. Extra-long, too. I dress left, btw.
IvyMac: Is it just me, or do you mention one of your body parts in every convo we have?
GrayG: You’re the one who brought up my nuts last time.
IvyMac: Only in regards to kicking them.
GrayG: But you’re thinking of my nuts. That’s the important part. ;-)
IvyMac: Sure I am, Cupcake. *pats cheek* keep dreaming the dream.
GrayG: I knew it!!! You want me bad. It’s okay, all women do.
IvyMac: Right.
A bit later…
IvyMac: Why are you borrowing my car, anyway? I find it hard to believe you don’t have your own. Is it in the shop? For-like-ever?
GrayG: My best bud Drew (he’s our QB) broke his leg. His car has a stick shift. My truck is auto. So I lent him mine and borrowed…The Pink Nightmare.
IvyMac: Gray. That’s really nice of you.
GrayG: Told you I was sweet.
IvyMac: You actually are. Totally sweet.
GrayG: Now you’re just embarrassing me. I lied. I’m a hardened thug. For realz.
IvyMac: Aw, Cupcake.
IvyMac: Gray?
IvyMac: Hello?
IvyMac: Fine, you’re a stone-cold killa. Happy?
GrayG: Yes. Although I’d prefer lady killa.
IvyMac: How about Sir Fucksalot?
GrayG: Hi-larious! Really. Night, Special Sauce.
IvyMac: Night, G-Man. ;-*
Several text exchanges after that…
GrayG: I’m bored. Talk to me. Again. Heh. Heh.
IvyMac: Soup has got to be the best thing ever. It’s an entire meal in a bowl! But in hot liquid form.
GrayG: Hot liquid form…? Unh. I’m pretty sure you’re my dream girl, Ivy Mac. Or did someone tell you that
soup was my favorite meal?
IvyMac: You love soup too?!? Soup-lovers’ fist bump! Booyah!
GrayG: Booyah! And, baby, I make the best soup you’ll ever taste.
IvyMac: Oooh, talk to me, Grayson. Just. Like. That.
GrayG: Marry me, Mac.
IvyMac: Okay, but only for the soup.
A few minutes later…
GrayG: Why is six scared of seven?
IvyMac: Why?
GrayG: Because seven “ate” nine.
IvyMac: Hur! How do you count cows?
GrayG: How?
IvyMac: With a cowculator.
GrayG: So awesomely bad. I think you have to marry me now. No one else likes my jokes.
IvyMac: Good to know my bad taste in jokes is a selling point.
GrayG: It’s fucking sexy. I’m actually sporting wood.
GrayG: Mac?
GrayG: Hey, I was kidding. I’m not trying to hit on you, I swear.
GrayG: Mac?!?
IvyMac: I’m here. Sorry! I’m on the tube. Lost you in a tunnel.
GrayG: Okay. Cool. Got worried.
IvyMac: Naw. I know you were just being you.
GrayG: That’s me, always joking. Gotta head out to practice. Txt U when I’m done.
Later that day…
IvyMac: I spent the entire morning baking bread and thinking about your name.
GrayG: My name? Honey, if you’re going to think about me, concentrate on my gigantic…hands. Magic hands, baby. The things I can do with these hands are mind-boggling.
IvyMac: Like palm balls all day long?
GrayG: >:-(
IvyMac: Heh. Heh. Your name is way more interesting than your penchant for ball handling.
GrayG: Har. Gray Grayson is a special kind of torture to inflict on a kid. What can I say? My mom was reading The Pelican Brief right before I was born. Decided to name me after the hero Gray Grantham. No one could change her mind. I used to hate it. But now I love it because she picked a name she loved.
IvyMac: It’s a cool name. Bounces in my head: Gray-Grayson. Gray-Grayson!
GrayG: Hands, Mac. Think about the hands.
IvyMac: Gray-Grayson, grabbing balls with his big, strong hands…!
IvyMac: Hello?
IvyMac: Hello?
IvyMac: Spoilsport.
And a few hours after that…
IvyMac: I can’t sleep. Talk to me.
GrayG: Why can’t you sleep?
IvyMac: Because it’s nine-fucking-thirty. I have to go to sleep early because I have to get up early. Have I mentioned how much I hate getting up early?
GrayG: Aside from the three times in that text? Yeah, a bit. ;-) I run plays through my head when I can’t sleep.
IvyMac: Yep. That should do it. I’m glazing over just thinking about it. Thanks, Cupcake.
GrayG: Glad to be of service, honey. You can always count on me.
IvyMac: You’re starting to be the first person I turn to. If that freaks you out, tell me. I’ll dial it down.
GrayG: What? No. Don’t take this wrong, but I’ve kind of become addicted to your texts.
IvyMac: Me too. Talking to you is like talking to myself. Only better.
GrayG: It’s scary that I get that.
GrayG: I feel like I can tell you anything.
IvyMac: You can. That’s what friends do.
GrayG: I’ve never been friends with a girl before.
IvyMac: I’m honored to be your first.
The next morning…
GrayG: So as friends, can I still say inappropriate, sex-related things?
IvyMac: Sure. Think of me as just another guy. With a vagina.
GrayG: A. Shudder. B. Yeah, no. C. I had this dream that you were sucking my 8==> But when I looked down, I discovered it was actually a goat…you know. Then I really woke up because I yelled so hard, I fell out of bed. And now I live in mortal terror of goats.
IvyMac: LMFAO! Gray got it from a goat!
GrayG: >:-[
IvyMac: Goat-on-Gray action! Heeeee! *Falls down ded*
GrayG: You suck, you know that?
IvyMac: No, the goat does! *Dies again* My sides. My sides!
GrayG: Laugh it up, Chuckles.
IvyMac: Okay. I’m good now. Aw, Cupcake, I’m so glad we’re friends. It means a lot to me. I feel safe with you. Like I can be me without worrying about sex getting in the way of things. Or something.
IvyMac: I’m rambling. Ignore me.
GrayG: Honey, your friendship is a fucking gift. Don’t ever doubt it.
After a few more texts, and a few hours of going without…
GrayG: So I got into it with Drew. He accused me of trying to fuck his girl. I would NEVER fucking do that. Whatever people think about me, I would die before I did that shit.
IvyMac: I’d never believe that of you, Gray. I’m sorry you’re hurt. :-(
GrayG: I’m not hurt. You wouldn’t? How do you know for sure? I’m kind of known as a player. Shit, maybe I should call myself Sir Fucksalot.
IvyMac: Stop it. Any guy who crams into a tiny pink car and willingly drives it around town as a favor to his friend wouldn’t turn around and stab that friend in the back. Player or not, you’re a good guy. And I’m the only one who can call you Sir Fucksalot! >:-[
IvyMac: It’s okay to be hurt, btw. I’d be hurt if my friend accused me of that. Do you want me to come home and kick his ass? Cuz I got skillz. Mad ass-kicking skillz.
GrayG: lol. Not necessary. I know Drew doesn’t really mean it. He’s going through some stuff with his leg being broken. Just. Okay, yeah, it hurt that he took it out on me.
IvyMac: :-( {{{{hugs}}}}
GrayG: Ivy, is it weird that I kind of wish you were home? That I kind of miss you?
IvyMac: No. I wish I were there right now. I miss you too.
IvyMac: Okay. About to go into another tunnel. Txt me later, Cupcake
GrayG: Will do. Thanks for listening, Mac.
Next day…
GrayG: Everything is cool with Drew. He apologized for being a dick. We tossed around the football today. He hadn’t touched one in a while, so that was good.
IvyMac: Good. I’m so glad. I know how much he means to you.
GrayG: I’m going over to hang out with him and his girl, Anna. You’d like her. She’s saucy too. But, you know, not *special* saucy.
IvyMac: You’re risking your nuts, calling me special sauce. Don’t think I won’t make good on my threat whenever we meet.
GrayG: There you go, talking about my nuts again. One day, we gotta address this fascination you have with them.
IvyMac: Sure, we can address it, and then you can limp away.
GrayG: Empty threats, Mac. You know you couldn’t hurt me. You love me too much.
IvyMac: Whatever, Cupcake. Have fun tonight. Helpful party tip: don’t mention your nuts <—basic rules of polite society 101
GrayG: Damn, you’re telling me this now? The topic of my nuts has always been my go-to conversational opening. O.o
IvyMac: The more you know, Gray.
GrayG: What would I do without you to guide me?
IvyMac: Best not to think about that, Cupcake.
GrayG: Yeah, the idea is too terrible to contemplate. Stay safe, Ivy. I’ll txt later. You gonna be up?
IvyMac: Yes. Don’t think I can fall asleep anymore without your nightly text.
GrayG: Miss you.
IvyMac: Miss you too.
A few days and several texts later…
Gray
If life has taught me anything it’s to appreciate what you’ve got. Take something for granted and it could be gone before you even realized what you had. I learned that lesson from my mom, though I wish every day that I hadn’t. One day she was baking me apple cake and reminding me to study after football practice, the next day she’s pulling me into the den to tell me she had cancer. Hell, I remember every word of the conversation. Every fucking word punched into my flesh as if they were nails. But particularly I re
member how she ended it: Live every day to the fullest, Gray. Appreciate life to the fullest, promise me that.
And I have. I still do. Enjoy the moment. Revel in it. Soak up life and fuck the rest.
It’s simple, really. I party because it’s fun. Enjoy women because I love them. Love their sweet scent, their musical laughter, and their soft curves. Play football because it’s the greatest fucking game on earth. And it’s worked for the most part. I’ve had fun.
Only now living in the moment is getting harder to do. I find my attention wandering to the future. I find myself wanting that distant future now. Here. Because of Ivy Mackenzie.
It’s strange. I have friends. Some guys on my team I’m so tight with, I’d throw down for them no matter what the cost. Drew? He’s like a brother to me. So why do I feel this intensity in my new-found friendship with Ivy? I’m not sure. It’s only been a little over a week of non-stop texting, but already she’s become essential—a bright spot in my life.
Maybe too bright, because I miss her and want to see her. That’s the truth, as weak as it sounds. I don’t want to be lying on this bench doing endless reps until my pecs burn and my arms feel like thick, wiggling slabs of raw beef. I want to be face-to-face with Mac, actually have a real conversation with her, take her out for a beer and shoot the shit. Mac would love it; she’s like one of the guys, only better. More fun, maybe? I don’t know. I just know I like her. A lot.
I grunt, sweat trickling down my brow and into the corner of my eye, and try to concentrate on now. But it’s hard. The tile ceiling overhead blurs, and I think of my phone in my pocket. The urge to pull it out and text Mac is strong. But I’m supposed to be training, not goofing off. So I push the weight-laden bars up once again and blow out a breath. Shit. I’ve lost count. Doesn’t matter. I know my limit.
And when I’m done, I can text Mac.
As if my thoughts activated it, my phone buzzes against my thigh. I hesitate, weights overhead, my arms quivering. The phone buzzes again. Mac. I let the weights settle into place with a clank and then heave upward, digging in my pocket for the phone. It isn’t a text but an incoming call.