Page 64 of Play the Last Card
There is some shuffling, a few muffled hugs and then there she is.
Ivy turns the corner, heading in the opposite direction from me. They didn’t notice me standing against the wall, hardly breathing. Ivy loops her arm through Brooke’s and is led away.
The pink dress swishes around her legs. The same legs that I'd thrown over my shoulders just last night. The same that had locked around me when I’d slid inside her.
Shit.
No. Stop.
Game thoughts only.
No Ivy thoughts.
No. Ivy. Thoughts.
“Harvey? What are you doing, son?” I jump, flinching hard.
“I-uh.” My eyes follow the girls, now so far down the corridor I can’t even hear their footsteps echoing anymore.
“You see the physio?” Coach slaps my shoulder and jerks his head as he walks in the direction I’d been going. “Feeling alright?”
“Yeah. I—” I clear my throat.
I need to forget about Ivy for now and focus.
I have a game to win.
I recover, shaking my head and matching Coach’s pace. “Yeah. I thought we could run over those plays we worked on for their O-line?”
“Let’s walk.”
Chapter Thirteen
Ivy
I missed cooking formore than just me.
When I was little Nan and I would cook all the time. I’d come home from school, run off the bus and into the house to find the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies or Pops’ favorite red velvet cupcakes or double fudge brownies on the kitchen bench. In no time, the kitchen would smell like sugar and chocolate.
Eventually Nan taught me to peel the potatoes and carrots for dinner. Then how to marinate the chicken. Suddenly I was the one cooking while she sat at the island listening to how my day went.
It was my favorite time of the day, just being in the kitchen with her while we laughed and fended off Pops whenever he’d come to steal a taste.
I couldn’t give it up after she passed. I felt connected to her when I cooked, especially when it was still in the same kitchen I’d grown up in. I imagined that other girls grew up learning to cook and to bake from their mothers. I guess I may have too. But it was special to me that I had something to hold on to with Nan.
I put the pasta bake in the oven when Scott texts that he’s only about ten minutes away. It will be in there for at least twenty-five minutes but that gives us the perfect amount of time for him to give me a proper, delicious kiss hello.
I have missed him the last few days.
He has been away with the team and I am determined to finally find out his actual role with the organization. He still doesn’t talk about hisjob much and, as he works for a football team, I’m not all that fussed about knowing the ins and outs of his role in the football world but I should at least know his role title. Right?
Yes. I need to know.
At the very least, I need to know so that when someone asks me what my boyfriend does for a living I can give them an answer.
I spent the last few nights lying in bed alone, dreaming up all sorts of different scenarios in my head. All of them involve Scott. All of them end up with us in bed, or on a kitchen counter, or the couch, or the back seat of his car.
All without clothes.