Play It Safe

His lips slid from mine to my jaw, my ear, down and started nuzzling my neck as his hand left the back of my knee. My calves shifted to round him, his free hand went up into my hair and he moved our linked hands to press them to his chest, sandwiching them between us.

Finally his head came up but his eyes didn’t come to me. They went to my hair and I watched him watch his movements as I felt his hand sift through it like he was arranging it, fanned across the comforter.

He took his time doing it; his expression absorbed then his eyes came to mine.

“You never cut it,” he noted softly.

“Never,” I confirmed.

“It’s longer now.”

It was. A lot longer.

“Yes.”

His eyes held mine and I saw something flash in his, more pain but understanding.

“You did that for me.”

I did. I never cut my hair except for trims and I did it for him.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Didn’t have me, knew what that meant to me and did it for me.”

I pressed my lips together. His voice was rough, thick, it sounded tortured like he had to push the words out.

“Fuck, Ivey,” he whispered.

I closed my eyes and lifted my head to shove my face in his neck.

His hand squeezed mine then I felt him turn his head so he could say in my ear, “Gonna get off you now, dollface. You need to put your sweet nightie back on. We got shit to talk about and I want you to feel safe while we do it. Yeah?”

I pulled in a trembling breath, nodded, my face moving against his skin then he gently slid out, rolled off me and took me with him. Then he rolled out of bed, taking me with him when he did that too and setting me on my feet in the circle of his arms but he didn’t let me go.

I tipped my head back and looked at him to see he was looking down at me.

“You gotta know, I also want you to put that nightie and those panties back on because I like them a f**kuva lot.”

Then he grinned and gave me the dimple.

I had a nanosecond to make a choice. Take in that dimple for the first time in years, how it made his extreme masculinity so damned cute, remembering how much I loved it, feeling that love still, having it back and burst into uncontrollable tears again. Or take in that dimple for the first time in years while standing na**d in his arms after he told me he still loved me then made love to me and keep my shit and move forward with Gray to put the past behind and move the f**k on.

I chose option two.

And therefore I grinned back. It was tough, the pain wanted to burst through so my grin trembled on my lips. But I did it.

He saw it, a shadow crossed his features but he made the same decision as me. I knew this when his head dipped, his mouth touched mine, he again lifted it and his arms gave me a squeeze.

Then he ordered, “Get dressed, honey.”

I nodded and moved to grab my nightie and panties. I pulled the nightie on over my head then moved to the bathroom, cleaned up, donned my panties and came out.

Gray was buttoning up his jeans, his chest was bare, the TV was off and the minute I moved into the room, his eyes came to me.

“Come here, dollface,” he murmured.

I went there. The instant I made it to him, he picked me up like a groom would carry his bride and he walked us to the bed. Then we were in it. He spent some time grabbing pillows to stack behind his back then he settled with head and shoulders against the headboard, me tucked to his side, my head to his pectoral, his chest all I could see.

God, was I really here with Gray?

To prove it to myself, my arm snaked across his flat abs and my leg lifted and tangled with one of his.

Yes. He was real. I was there with Gray.

“Do you think it’s weird that I sleep with my fake, g*y boyfriend?”

That was me. I blurted it right out and for a second I wished I had the power to shove it back in but then I felt Gray’s body shaking and I knew he was laughing.

I lifted my head to look at his face and again got the dimple.

Damn, but I loved that f**king dimple.

And he was definitely laughing.

I loved that too.

Then he answered, “Yeah.”

I stared at him as it dawned on me.

Then I said, “It is. It is weird that I sleep with my fake, g*y boyfriend.”

Gray’s body started shaking harder and the word was also shaking when he repeated, “Yeah.”

Great.

His arm around me tightened and he slid me partially up his chest so my face was closer to his still smiling one.

Then he said, “Shit that’s weird to a man from Mustang, Colorado is probably not weird in Vegas. There’s probably nothin’ you could do that would be weird in Vegas.”

I lived in Vegas for a long time therefore I knew this was totally true.

Gray wasn’t done.

“And he loves you near as much as I love you. And you love him. I see his play, I get it and the way you love him, I get why you’d give that gift to him. You got somethin’ outta it too and way he loves you, I get why he’d give it to you. You love someone, you do shit like that and that, Ivey, is not weird.”

Okay, well, good to know the seven years had not changed the fact that Grayson Cody was understanding, generous, kind and loving.

What he would say next would prove that seven years had not changed the fact that Grayson Cody was a serious macho man rancher cowboy.

And I knew this when the amusement shifted out of his face, it got serious, his arm got tighter and he stated, “That said, that shit stopped about half an hour ago.”

“Right,” I whispered.

“Right,” he whispered back.

Totally a macho man rancher cowboy.

Therefore, it killed me but I had to be honest and I felt it was fair to warn him, “You know, a long time has passed. I’ve changed. I’m not the Ivey you knew. You were right that night you saw me, I’m hard as nails. I’m not a pushover anymore.”

That was when he gave me the gift of Grayson Cody that I missed most of all.

His arm squeezed tight, his body shook deep and he burst out laughing.

I watched it. I loved it. I loved it no less than I always loved it but I didn’t laugh because I was being deadly serious.

Gray looked down at me, saw my serious face and pulled me further up his chest so we were eye-to-eye still, incidentally, chuckling.

Then he muttered, “Bullshit.”

“It’s true,” I told him.

He kept grinning and repeated a muttered, “Bullshit.”

My hand moved to curl around his neck and I whispered, “No, seriously, Gray, it’s true.”