“There ain’t nothing short on me. And when I make a lady come, it takes all night.”

“Takes all night to make her come? Yeah, I’d buy that.”

As Rolondo and Johnson bait each other, I glance back at Drew, who is still eyeing his phone and being awfully quiet. “Seriously, Baylor, I’m about to confiscate that thing.”

He raises a brow at me, and gives me his old, innocent grin—which I am not falling for. “You really are a mom, aren’t you?”

“As I recall, you played the role of Mom. I was Dad.”

“Doesn’t that mean we’re on a date now? And all I get is this lousy dinner?” Drew leans his arms on the table. “Where are my flowers?”

“I’ll make it up to you with sweet talk later. Now answer the question, Battle. What the hell is up with the phone?”

As if I’ve activated it, the damn thing lights up, and Drew glances down. He fights to hide his smile. “What can I say? I’m totally pussy whipped by my wife to be. That’s right, I’m replacing you with Anna.” With that, he presses his palms to the tabletop. “Gentlemen, time to wrap this up. I have a phone date to get to.”

Oddly, the guys don’t go the obvious route and give Drew shit. They glance at me and then at each other—not exactly subtle, though I know they think they are.

“What now?” I ask, glaring around.

“Nothing, man,” Rolondo assures. “Stop being so uptight. It isn’t all about you, D.”

His expression says different, but I let it slide.

Johnson pulls out some bills. “My treat this time, yeah?”

“Excuse me while I take in this moment,” Rolondo says expansively, his arms open wide. “Johnson—punk ass, cheap motherfucker Johnson—is paying.”

“Man, shut the fuck up,” Johnson says with a laugh. “We meeting up for coffee in the morning?”

“Yeah, man,” Rolondo says. “I’ll pay that.”

“Talk about cheap.”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, boy.”

“And the cheapest.”

“I’ll pay every meal for the season’s meet-ups if you two will shut up now,” Drew says.

Since graduation, we’ve made it a point to meet up a few times a year. Sometimes there are more of us, sometimes less. Mostly we meet when we’re playing a game against each other. But the Red Dog team will always be brothers.

Drew is hurrying us along, all but pushing Johnson toward the door.

I’ve always envied what Drew has with Anna. Not the sex, but the knowledge that there was someone he belonged to. Even when he was suffering when they first got together, I envied him. Because his emotions with her were real. Honest.

My whole life feels like one long fog of numbness, punctuated by manufactured pain. The tats, the piercing, hard hits on the field—all of them ways to make me feel something other than bland indifference.

But with Fi, I’m alive. I anticipate every single breath because it’s another moment closer to getting back to her.

I follow the guys out, but my mind is on Fi, and the ache around my heart grows. I miss her so much that at first I think I’m imagining her leaning against the side of a black town car.

A balmy southern breeze drifts over the road, lifting the ends of her golden hair and making the skirt of her dress sway. She’s wearing a white sundress dotted with brilliant red cherries. That dress with the little teasing red bow just below her breasts. That dress has haunted me for what seems like an eternity. I’ve dreamed of sinking to my knees and lifting its skirt to find the prize beneath. She’s wearing that dress for me.

I’m frozen in place, surely gaping at her as the guys walk past. Out of the corner of my eye, I see their smug faces. Drew gives Fi a nod.

“Thank you, Drew Bee,” she says to him, drawing out the initial in his last name with affection.

“Any time, Fi-Fi.” His smile is wide and satisfied.

I remember that they know each other and live in the same town and hang out. I’m instantly jealous of Drew for that. But he clearly helped set up this meeting with my girl, so I can’t hold it against him.

My attention is on Fi anyway. On her hesitant smile, the shine of happiness in her eyes. She lifts her arm, holding up a plastic produce bag full of something lumpy.

Her slightly husky voice drifts over the space between us. “I know guys bring girls flowers, but I figured you’d be more into food. So I brought you some cherries—”

Her words cut off with a squeak as I wrap my arms around her slim frame and lift her high. I kiss her without hesitation, opening her mouth with mine, my tongue sliding along hers. She tastes of cherries and Fi, and smells of joy.

My joy. My Fi.

Like that, I’m overwhelmed. Fuck, I’m almost weepy. And I’m all but mauling her on the street.

My voice is rough when I pull back and smile down at her. “Did you eat some of my cherries?”

Her nose wrinkles. “I had to see if they were okay. I’m not going to give you subpar cherries.”

“You’ve got a whole theme going here.”

“I’m not very subtle, Ethan,” she says with a goofy grin. “Better get used to it now.”

“Don’t ever change.”

She’s still in my arms, her feet dangling around my shins, those sweet tits of hers pressed against my chest. I can’t help kissing her again, on the warm spot just below her ear, the corner of her mouth, which always makes her shiver.

Hell, I can’t stop kissing her period.

And she’s running her fingers across my nape, massaging the tight muscles there as if she knows how badly I need it.

“Fi…” I can’t even talk.

“Show me your home, Big Guy.”

Problem is, I don’t think I’ll be able to let her go once she gets there.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Fiona

Ethan insists on walking. It’s a nice night; the air almost balmy. And though it’s November, it’s in the 70s—warm enough to wear this silly cherry sundress and a cardigan. But it was worth it to see Dex’s wide smile unfurl when his gaze slid over me. Yeah, he knew I wore the dress for him. And it lit him up with happiness. So. Totally. Worth. It.

“Aren’t you afraid of being spotted?” I ask as we amble along, his arm around me, my head resting against the warmth of his chest.

He stops and kisses me—soft, seeking, a smile on his lips as he pulls away. “Not really. No one’s around. I got my cap on.” He gives the brim of gray his newsboy cap a tug as he winks. “And I don’t exactly look like myself.”

No. He’s not in his standard jeans and tee, but wearing soft black slacks and a light knit dress sweater that covers his trademark tats. He looks more dapper-New-Orleans gentleman than football player now.

Drew and his friends have driven off, making a lot of noise that I suspect was designed to bring attention to them and away from Ethan. They’re good friends, loyal. I know they’ll do anything to protect him. And yet I sense there’s a wall between Ethan and, well, everyone but me.

“Your friends never call you Ethan. Always Dex or Dexter. Why?”

He shrugs. “I’ve always been Dex to them. I’m not even sure some of them know my first name. It’s who I am.”

The casual way he accepts that bothers me. I want to shout, wave my fist in the air, something. As it is, my voice comes out fierce and angry. “You’re more than that. So much more.”

“Only for you.” He touches my face, runs the blunt tips of his fingers along my temple, as he looks at me with such tenderness my heart hurts. “No one else gets all of me, Cherry.”

This man. I know he isn’t trying to do it, but he always says the one thing guaranteed to turn my world on its head. My ire on his behalf dissipates, leaving behind the soft warmth of contentment.

Smiling, I rest my cheek in the palm of his hand. “Just so you know, no one else gets to call me silly fruit names.”

The white of his teeth flashes in the shadow of his beard. “I know.” His thumb caresses my cheek. “I’ve missed your face.”