Page 110 of Playing for Keeps
Nash tries to convince us to start drinking again once we’re back at Cade’s place, but Dad shuts it down immediately. It’s obvious Mom gave him clear orders, and he’s not about to risk ignoring them, so he sends us all to bed like we’re teenagers again.
I end up on an air mattress in Hunter’s nursery, but I don’t mind. I’ve gotten used to sleeping just about anywhere after years of bouncing between hotel rooms during the football season. Still, it’s different now. That was before I spent every night for a week with Ivy curled up against my chest. Before I knew what it felt like to fall asleep with her in my arms.
I reach for my phone and fire off a quick message.
Me:Hey, baby. You in bed yet?
I watch the screen, waiting for the message to deliver. It goes through but remains unread. Maybe she’s already asleep. I hope not, I really want to hear her voice, even if it’s just through a text.
Lying back, I stare at the ceiling, the plastic blades of Hunter’s helicopter light fixture motionless above me. My thoughts drift to earlier, when I saw Ivy holding him, her face soft with affection. My heart squeezes just thinking about it.
We’ve only been official for a week, but it doesn’t feel new. It feels like something that’s always been there, waiting for us to finally wake up and see it. I’ve known Ivy nearly my whole life, and this now, it feels like what we have could last forever. Watching her with Hunter only confirmed what I already knew. I want everything with her. The whole future. The late nights, the lazy mornings, the family, the forever.
Ash once told me that when I met the right person, I’d fall fast. I didn’t believe her. She never predicted Ivy, of course, and I never saw it coming either. But now I get it. And damn, she was right.
My phone buzzes, and I grab it instantly, smiling when I see Ivy’s name.
Ivy:Hey. Just finished helping your mom clean up. In bed now. Missing you.
My smile grows at her last words. God, I miss her too. I’m about to type out a reply when another message drops in, and it nearly knocks the breath out of me.
It’s a photo.
She’s lying in my bed, wearing just my jersey, the hem bunched high around her hips, revealing the black lace of her panties that I can’t stop staring at.
“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath, my pulse spiking, and my mind instantly imagining what it’d feel like to be there, touching her instead of just looking.
I quickly tap out a reply.
Me:God, Ivy. You’re so sexy. I wish I was there.
Her response pops up almost instantly:
Ivy:I wish you were here too. Do I get a picture?
I grin, about to reply, when another message comes through:
Ivy:A shirtless one, please…
Laughing under my breath, I push off the comforter and snap a quick photo. I hit send, then watch the screen, waiting for her reply.
Ivy:I want to touch you so badly.
Seconds later, another message comes through
Ivy: I wish you were doing this again.
Another image comes through and it’s one I know by heart. It’s the photo I took of us in the backseat on the way to The Velvet Club, the one I’d taken to mess with Ash. I’ve stared at this photo more times than I’d like to admit to. She might have thought we were faking it back then, but I wasn’t. That was thefirst time I kissed her, albeit not her lips, but I knew then I didn’t want it to be the last.
But then I remember what she’d said after I took that picture, that she loved how she saw herself in it. She never told me why.
Me:You never did tell me how you saw yourself in that picture.
I watch the message deliver and then be read, and then the typing bubble flickers… then disappears. This happens a couple of times, and I wonder if she’s writing a novel or rethinking her reply.
Finally, her answer appears.
Ivy:It doesn’t matter now.
