Page 42 of Play the Last Card
He nods, taking the napkin in his hand like I just passed over a hundred dollar note.
I meet Ivy before she can make it to the counter, worried she’ll question why the kid is watching me so closely looking like he might cry, and steer her toward the theater.
Tonight might be too close of a call.
Still, when she lifts the armrest between us about fifteen minutes into the movie and then proceeds to curl into my side the anxiety of the kid outing me seeps away.
Just like any negative emotion tends to do when Ivy is touching me.
She sighs and laughs, and brings a few M&Ms to her mouth every so often, but she never leaves my side. After the movie, I keep her tucked into me as we walk back to the car and I lead her to the passenger side, opening her door to the SUV and helping her in.
When we get to her house, I kiss her against her front door for at least thirty minutes before letting her slip inside.
***
Just thinking about the flavor of Ivy and her lips has me itching to see her again.
“You have a dopey ass look on your face, man. Thinking about Ivy?” Flynn’s voice cuts through my thoughts and the towel he throws hits my shoulder before falling to my feet.
“Shut up.”
He grins. “No way. You’re so into this girl, I’ve never seen you like this before.”
I reach into my bag for my phone, glancing at the notifications and pretending it doesn’t bother me that Ivy hasn’t texted me back yet.
“So …” Flynn smirks, glancing around the locker room at the few dwindling teammates left after the game. We won but it was a hell of a game. A few of the wives had flown in to watch the game so most of the team were headed out for dinner with them all. The perks of playing a Sunday afternoon game. “Have you told her who you are yet?”
“Yes.” I have. Technically. She asked my last name and I told her.
Flynn raises an eyebrow. “Oh? And?”
“She was … fine.”
“And you sealed the deal finally?” he questions. I scowl as I pick up the towel he threw earlier and pitch it back at him.
Smug bastard.
Flynn’s smile only grows wider.
He studies my expression for a beat, and try as I might he's known me since college and knows when I’m hiding something or lying.
He used to tell me to ‘go get some’ whenever I started being too harsh on the field or in practice because he could tell I needed to relax and work out some frustration.
The bastard is annoyingly perceptive for such a man whore.
His eyes shine and seeing that look on his face makes me groan. He knows. I turn away because I’ll be damned if I have to face whatever fucked up comment he’s about to come out with.
“Woah. This Ivy must be some girl.” I can practically hear his smile widen. I hope it stretches his face and gives him wrinkles. “Imagine knowingly dating one of the number one quarterbacks in the country and still not having sex with him. What’s wrong with you, Scotty? Trouble downstairs?”
His own laughter fills the now empty locker room, and when I glance back at him over my shoulder I see him doubled over and wiping tears from his eyes.
At least he makes himself laugh.
“No, you asshat.” I grab another towel lying on the bench, twisting the fabric in my hands while Flynn continues to be doubled over, distracted by his own laughter. “We’re just … taking this slow.”
“Taking … taking things slow?” he says through bursts of laughter. He looks up at me, whipping under his eyes again.
“Yes.” I keep the twist in my hands ready.