Game On: The Friend Zone Part 28

"Gray..." My hand slides along the cool counter, and I'm wishing it was his skin I stroked. "You're really sweet sometimes, you know?"

"That's just my thick and creamy frosting. Tell them. And call me afterward, okay?"

Fi is home, an increasingly rare occurrence. But I take advantage, tracking her down in her room. Where mine is an oasis of whites, hers is a dark nest of plums and pinks. It's disturbingly womblike and features an excess of satin fabric hanging from windows, her wrought-iron canopy-because we both have a thing for canopies-and even skirting her chairs.

Curled up like a little Thumbelina on one pink satin chair, Fi is reading a text book and making notes on her iPad.

"What's up?" she asks, not taking her eyes from her work.

"I invited Dad over. He'll be here in five."

Her brow quirks as she finally looks at me. "Yeah. So?"

I set my hand against my fluttering stomach. "I'm going to Skype Mom. You know...tell them about not wanting to work with her."

Fi sets aside her things. "You need a little moral support?"

"Yes." It's a burst of breath.

From the living room Dad's voice booms out. "Anybody here?"

"We're coming," I shout back as Fi glares at the door.

"We need to get that key back from him," she says.

"He never comes when he isn't invited." Well, almost never. I think about Gray pressed on top of me, his gaze on my lips, and Dad finding us. "Yeah," I say a little raggedly. "I guess we should ask for it back."

"Well," says Fi, standing, "he's here now. No use stalling."

Right. Only I drag my feet as I follow her out.

I don't tell Dad why he's here before Mom is on the computer screen. I set the laptop up on the counter, facing it out toward us, which makes it seem as though her head is a hovering specter in the room.

Although my mother is blonde and blue-eyed, I look the most like her. Fi has Mom's coloring, but Dad's features.

"h.e.l.lo, my darlings," she says to Fi and me as we sit on the couch. "While I'm happy to see you both, is everything all right?"

"You've got me, Helena," Dad tells her. His att.i.tude with her is, as always, slightly stiff but cordial.

I take a deep breath. "It's me. I'm just going to say it. Mom, I've been thinking about this for a while, and I'm sorry, but I don't want to manage the store."

"What?" Dad snaps.

"Darling, why?" Mom says in a shocked voice.

It's hard to explain to them my reasons, but I do, with Fi holding my hand the entire time. It's funny, usually I'm the one holding her hand while she disappoints our parents.

And disappoint them I have.

"Oh, Ivy," Mom says with a sigh. "I don't understand this. You've spent so much time learning the business. And you love baking. Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

"I do love baking. But, Mom, baking and running a bakery aren't the same things, are they?"

Her mouth presses flat in the same way mine does when I'm annoyed. "No," she says. "They aren't. But you cannot run a successful bakery without loving baking."

"And there's the fact that I didn't have a social life when I worked with you," I say softly. "I'm sorry, but it's true. Early to bed, early to rise. Everything becomes about the bakery."

I glance to Dad and back to Mom. "My whole life I've focused on school or working. I want more. I want to love what I do and have time to enjoy the rest as well."

"All right," Mom says slowly. "I do understand, Ivy."

"Well, I don't." Dad lowers his dark brows at me. "For years this has been your focus. I expect this of Fiona-"

"Leave Fi out of this." I squeeze my sister's hand before she can shout at him. "This is about me and what I want."

"If this is about wanting to spend more time with Grayson..." he begins.

"Finish that thought," I say softly, "and I'm walking out of here."

Silence greets me.

"Sean," Mom finally says, "Ivy's twenty-two years old. She's an adult now, so let's treat her as one."

That earns Mom a quick glare, but he relents. "I'm just a little shocked. But all right, Ivy. You don't want to work with your mother. That's your call. What do you want to do?"

A small laugh leaves me. And I bite down on my lips to prevent any more. Because I feel slightly crazy for what I'm about to tell them. I know they're going to think I am.

"I..." G.o.d, getting the words out is harder than I thought. "I think I want to look into sports agenting."

Fi's mouth falls open as she stares at me. "You're s.h.i.tting me, right?"

Mom and Dad are not better.

"Pardon?"

"Are you out of your mind?"

The last one from my outraged father.

I take a deep breath. "I'm perfectly serious." My legs tense with the urge to walk away. "I've been talking to Gray and his friends, and I realized that it makes me happy to help them. I love sports. I love interacting with athletes. It excites me."

"Yeah, but..." Fi makes a helpless gesture. "That world, all the sleaze..."

Dad glares at her as Mom mutters something censorious.

Dad focuses on me. "Fi's vivid imagery aside, she isn't entirely incorrect. It's a hard life, Ivy, and not something I want for you."

"The thing is, at some point I have to do what I want for my life. Not what I think the two of you want for me."

Mom's lips press together. "Is that what you've been doing? Appeasing us?"

"Not entirely. I thought I wanted the bakery too. But I won't say your feelings didn't factor."

Dad shakes his head as if this confession is neither here nor there. "You've always hated my job. Do not lie to me, young lady. You have."

"I know. h.e.l.l." I stand and pace. "I don't know, maybe I can make it something more."

"Sweet Jesus," Dad snaps. "Don't you dare go Jerry Maguire on me."

I almost laugh. Sports agents hate that movie, calling it a fantasy.

"I'm not naive," I say quietly as I sit back down. "Though, really, Daddy? You do care about your clients' lives. Don't deny it."

"Of course I care. I'm not going to work my a.s.s off for a job I don't care about. And don't you use 'Daddy' to soften me up," he counters with a pointed look.

I huff out a laugh then. "Fine. And maybe I'm not entirely clear on what I want. Perhaps I can go into life coaching and planning for athletes. That's the part that inspires me, not the deals."

Fi nods slowly. "I can see that."

Sighing, I run a finger along the edge of the sofa. "I know it sounds weird, and it's true I've resisted having anything to do with Dad's business for so long. But when I think of doing this, if feels good. Right." I can't explain it any other way.

Everyone grows quiet. Then my mom speaks up. "Darling, I want you to be happy in your life. If you believe this is the way, then I support you."

My throat goes tight. "Thanks, Mom."

Dad just sighs and plops his b.u.t.t on the arm of the sofa. "You want to work with me." He sounds so shocked that I do laugh.

"I can go it on my own, Dad. I don't mind the challenge. I'll apply for an internship at an agency."

"No. You want to learn this business, you're going to learn it right." His stern expression eases to wariness. "Or I can set you up with one of my colleagues if you want your independence."

"If you think you can treat me like any other intern, I'm happy to work with you."

"Oh, well, thank you for that," he says dryly. Then he laughs. "Get ready for h.e.l.l."

I find myself smiling. "Yes, sir."

It feels strange this new course I'm plotting, and my insides are still shaking from excess nerves. But for the first time the future excites me. For the first time everything feels just as it should be.

IvyMac: It is done. Parents are okay with my change of plans. I'm going to try to work with my dad. Tell me I'm not crazy.

GrayG: Not crazy. You're my girl. So proud of you, Special Sauce.

IvyMac: Come over?

GrayG: Better idea. Go to Red Room Lounge at 8 p.m. Wear a skirt (panties optional but greatly discouraged). Head for the bar. Hot blond dude will be there. Let him say h.e.l.lo first.

IvyMac: ?? And what's with the cryptic text? Are you on something?

GrayG: No more questions. You'll like what I have planned. Trust me.

IvyMac: Ok. But only because it's you.

GrayG: Don't forget: No questions. Wear a skirt. And a hot top too.

IvyMac: *Grumble*

Twenty-Four.

Ivy

The Red Room Lounge isn't the kind of place I'd usually frequent-at least, not on my own. The decor is tasteful, moody, the walls a deep, lush red. Low-slung cream leather couches are arranged in intimate seating groups. Votive candles flicker on glossy wood tables. For all the style, it's clearly a meat market. Not in the lively college-age way of Palmers, but for serious businessmen on the prowl.

Eyes follow me as soon as I give the hostess my coat and walk in. I'm aware of every step I take, the way the black-and-white striped A-line skirt I'm wearing slides over my bare legs. On an average-height girl, it would probably rest a few inches above the knee. On me, it's mid-thigh, and I'm far too aware of my panty-less state.

The thought of flashing the bar with a flick of my skirt fills me with horror. It's also oddly arousing. I feel naughty, s.e.xy. A rarity for me-I usually either feel a bit like a giraffe or I act like one of the guys.