Steepling my fingers together over my lips, I focused on the play, heart thundering.
“This part always makes me so nervous,” the woman next to me said, mirroring my stance. She was at least twenty years older than me, judging by the touch of gray in her hair and the life lines etched into her face. We’d shared a few high-fives throughout the game, and now, we were sharing our mini-heart attacks.
“Me, too. I think it’s even worse being here at the game instead of on my couch or at a bar.”
She laughed at that. “Roy and I have been season pass holders for twenty-two years now, and I’ll tell you this — the excitement never fades, but neither does the anxiety.”
Zach leaned over me then, smiling at the woman. “Twenty-two years? That’s incredible.”
“What can I say, we’re diehard fans.”
“Even in 2016,” her husband chimed in, just as the ball was snapped. He was a little shorter than her, and a little pudgier, too. Still, they shared a secretive smile, one that said spoke more than words could. It was a smile only years of love could breed.
Zach and I chuckled a bit at her husband’s joke, but then all eyes were on the field. We ran the ball, breaking through the Bills’ defensive line enough to move the chains.
First down.
Our section cheered as the guys lined up for another play, but before the ball could be snapped again, the Bills called a time-out.
“I’m Janet, by the way,” the woman said as the big screens filled with updates on the other games going on around the country.
I shook her hand first before she reached for Zach, and Roy waved over at us from his seat, still frowning as he watched the screen. It reminded me a little of how my grandpa used to watch football when I was younger — with a permanent scowl.
“Nice to meet you guys,” I said.
“Is this your first year as pass holders?”
I nodded. “It is, indeed. I’ve been to a lot of games before, though. Just never had the season passes.”
“Well, welcome. And you picked a great section. We haven’t changed seats since 2002, after we upgraded to these. We actually have two extra seats,” she continued, pointing behind us about ten rows up and to the right. “Those right there. We sold them for this game, but sometimes we invite friends.”
“We’ve been trying to get your seats for years,” Roy added, still scowling, though not at us.
“Roy!”
He shrugged. “What? It’s true. Wish we could have snagged them up before you, but hey, I’ll take what I can get at this point.” He looked at us then. “They were taken by the worst people the past few years. At least it’s not them sitting next to us this season.”
Janet laughed at that, brows raised like he had a point. “He’s not wrong. Two guys who painted themselves every game. The one who always sat next to me smelled like old deli meat forgotten in the fridge for months.”
“Well, I promise, we don’t smell. Well, at least, I don’t,” Zach said. Then, he leaned over, sniffing my neck. “Might have to watch out for her.”
I smacked his arm.
“You two are adorable. Newlyweds?” Janet asked, searching our hands for rings.
“Oh, no,” I answered quickly, shaking my head. “We’re just friends.”
Janet eyed me curiously, and when she looked behind me at Zach, she laughed. By the time I turned toward him, he was just holding his hands up innocently.
“Ah, well, we look forward to sharing the season with you,” she said, winking at Zach before we all turned back to the field for the next play.
I glared at that too-handsome-for-his-own-good bartender next to me, suspicion creeping in. “What did you do behind my back?”
“Nothing,” he said, holding up his hands again. “I swear.”
“Uh-huh.”
He just grinned, and I smirked back. For the longest second, his eyes held mine, and warmth crept up my neck at the way he looked at me. It was as if those eyes knew me, like we were playing a game and he was three moves ahead.
I wanted to know more about him.
I wanted to know everything.
But the ball was snapped, and we both ripped our attention back to the field.
“Come on, come on,” I whispered, watching the clock as our quarterback looked for an opening. But he couldn’t find anyone, and we all watched with a cringe as he was sacked to the ground.
“Shit,” Zach murmured.
There was no time to spare, and with no additional timeouts, all our guys could do was get back on the line. This time, our quarterback handed it off to our most agile running back, and he found a gap in the line, sprinting through it.
“Yes!” I threw my hands up, watching his speedy legs work him across the field. “Go, go, go, go!”
He made it all the way to our thirty-yard-line, securing the first down, and the entire stadium erupted in cheers.
Zach smacked my ass in celebration, and my mouth popped open. He was still carrying on and celebrating as I gaped at him, hand rubbing the spot that he’d slapped. When he looked at me again, he smiled and shrugged.
“What?” he asked. “That’s how we celebrate in football.”
“Oh, is it now?”
He nodded. “It is. But hey, I’m all about being fair.” He turned, offering his ass to me. “Your turn.”
I laughed, crossing my arms and shaking my head. “I mean, I don’t know if I’d classify this as fair. Sounds more like a win-win for you.”
“Don’t act like you don’t want to touch my ass,” he tossed over his shoulder. “I saw you staring at it the night we met.”
My mouth gaped wider.
“I definitely did not stare at your ass.”
“Sure,” he said, nodding. “And I definitely did not stare at your rack.”
I smacked his ass at that, and he threw his fists in the air at the win.
“See? Don’t you feel better?”
I rolled my eyes. “More like violated. Can’t a woman go to a bar and not have her tits ogled?”
“A girl built like you?” he asked, eyes flashing down to my chest before they met mine again. “Probably not.”
I just laughed, turning back to the field for the next play. Still, I couldn’t stop smiling — not with Zach standing next to me. He’d been like that all game — making jokes, laughing, cheering. In a way, I was kind of sad he’d offered to be a practice round, because I knew after tonight, I’d never talk to him again.
We could have been great friends.
Our guys didn’t make first down in the next three plays, so with just seconds to go on the clock, we kicked for three points, and just like that, the game was tied.
Halftime.
“I love games like this!” Janet screamed as the crowd grew louder, everyone filing up to the food stands and bathrooms. “Looks like our boys showed up ready to play this year.”
“Hell yeah, they did!” I bounced, smile splitting my face.
When Janet and Roy left for the bathrooms, it was just me and Zach, and we sat down in our seats for the first time all game.
“Do you want a sausage or anything? I can run up,” he offered, but I shook my head.
“Nah, I’m good with beer for now. I had a big lunch. Besides, if I got anything, it would be a hot dog — not an Italian sausage.” I grimaced. “Yuck.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Zach pressed a hand to his chest. “I think… I mean, I’m personally offended right now.”
“You and every other Chicagoan. I’ve just always been a hot dog girl.” I shrugged. “Sue me.”
“I might.”
I smiled. “You can go get food, though, if you want. I can wait here by myself. I’m a big girl, you know?”
“Oh, I don’t doubt you could handle yourself. But, I’m good for now.” He was still watching me curiously. “Wait, didn’t it say in your profile that you’re Italian?”
“I am, indeed.”
“But you don’t like Italia
n sausages.”
I chuckled. “We’re not going to move on from the street meat subject, are we?”
“Not until you tell me what you have against Italian sausage.”
I sighed, turning in my seat to face him. “Okay, long story short, my dad is German, mom is Italian. They made it together against the odds of our families pretty much hating each other. It was so bad, in fact, that I’ve never met my mom’s side of the family. And, honestly, my mom and dad traveled so much when I was a kid, I never really got any of the Italian heritage you would expect. Other than my love for red wine and pasta. Because, duh.”
Zach smirked.
“I spent most of my time with my dad’s dad, and he was a hot dog guy. He did try to get me into brats,” I said, scrunching my nose. “But I wasn’t a fan of those either.”
Zach nodded, mouth turning down like he was digesting what I’d just told him. “Alright then. Hot dog girl. Note taken.” He smiled. “Are you having fun?”
“I am,” I said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Thank you, for coming here with me. I think this practice round was exactly what I needed.”
The corner of Zach’s mouth pulled up in a grin, revealing that dimple on his cheek. “Hey, it’s me who’s honored here.”
“Although, I do feel a little gipped in this deal.”
He cocked a brow. “How so?”
“Well, we haven’t really done much practicing, if you know what I mean. Like… we’ve just been watching the game.”
“Isn’t that what you invited me here to do?”
“No. I mean, technically yes, but you said it was a practice round for this whole…” I waved my hand. “This whole thing Belle has schemed up. And, if we’re being honest, you’ve watched me more than the field.”
“Can you blame me?”
I flushed, shaking my head with a smile. “Are you going to help me, or did I waste my first ticket here?”
He laughed then, propping his arms up on the backs of the chairs. One of them was around me with that movement, and my pulse picked up speed with his bicep so close. “What are your concerns?”
“I don’t know,” I confessed, looking at my hands in my lap. “I mean, I don’t even know what you do on a date now. Like, do we hold hands? That seems weird for a football game.”
“If it seems weird, don’t do it.”
“Do we kiss?”
“If you want to.”
Zach’s eyes sparked at that, and my cheeks tinged more.
“I just, I don’t know. I need to have a plan, but I don’t even know where to start. Like, do I make a list of things he should do or say, and if he meets the qualifications, then I kiss him after the game and ask him back to my place?” My brain seemed to like that, because I was already nodding before Zach even answered. “Oh, yes. I feel like there should be a list. Like, must drink beer and know the lyrics to ‘Bear Down.’ Oh, and must like hot dogs.”
I winked at him with that last line, and Zach laughed.
“Why do you have to have a list, and a plan?” he asked, taking a swig of his beer. He held up his hand to one of the guys passing by with fresh ones, pulling out twenty bucks to grab us two more before he turned back to me. “I mean, why not just enjoy the game together, have fun, and see how you’re feeling? Just go with the flow. You know what I mean?”
“Go with the flow,” I deadpanned. “God, if you knew me, you’d realize how ridiculous that proposition is.”
“Well, I don’t know you. Not yet. And neither will these other guys. And, isn’t that the fun part?” Zach shrugged, handing me a fresh beer. “You can be whoever you want, especially if it’s only a one-night thing. Just have fun with it.”
“Are you suggesting I lie?”
“No,” he answered quickly, bringing the aluminum bottle to his lips. Then, he shrugged. “But, I’m not saying you can’t lie. If it’s fun. If it’s what you want to do.”
Carlo’s eyes flashed in my mind like a car wreck, those blue eyes I’d thought could never stare into mine while his lips told me anything other than the truth.
But he’d lied to me so easily, for so long, without me having a single clue.
I wondered if he did it just because he wanted to.
Just because it was fun.
“I don’t want to lie,” I said a little harsher than I intended. “Liars are on the top of two of my lists.” I held up one finger. “Things I Never Want to Be,” I said, then I popped up the second finger. “And People I Never Want in My Life.”
“Okay,” he said, watching me curiously with hands up in surrender. “No lying. Got it. But still, I think you should just relax and try to have fun. No lists. No plans. Just… live.”
I blinked at him.
“You’re looking at me like I just spoke to you in Chinese.”
“You might as well have.”
“Do you really have these lists? I mean, is this really a thing for you?”
I pulled out my phone, opening the notes app and showing it to him. Note after note, line after line, there were lists. The ones I’d viewed or edited most recently filtered in at the top. And there were lists for everything from what I needed to grab at the grocery store tomorrow to what I needed to accomplish before I turned thirty. The most recent one was everything I needed to do before I walked out the door for today’s game.
He tapped that one, pulling it open before I could stop him.
“Shave the goods,” he read, and one brow climbed as he smirked at me. “Okay, maybe I can get down with your lists.”
I closed the app quickly, shoving my phone in my clutch as he laughed.
“This may be funny to you,” I said, smiling despite the tiny tinge of hurt I felt inside. He wasn’t the first to make fun of me for how I handled my feelings and anxieties, and he wouldn’t be the last. “But, this works for me, okay?”
Zach’s expression softened, and he leaned forward, one elbow on his knee as his other hand grabbed mine. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you.”
“You’re laughing with me?” I mocked.
“No. I’m just laughing because I’m having fun, and because you’re the most interesting, unique, and adorable woman I’ve ever met.”
My heart stopped with those words, kicking back to life a few moments later when Janet and Roy sat back down next to us. Zach just smiled, his eyes still on mine as Janet went on about how bad the lines were, and how it was a rookie move to get up during halftime.
I barely registered a word.
All I could do was stare at the man who still had his hand on my knee, wondering where he came from, and what he saw that I didn’t.
Then, I mentally started a brand-new list.
Things I Like About Zach Bowen.
Zach
My dad once told me that he knew the very first time he met my mom that he would marry her one day.
He said they were in sixth grade, walking in a single-file line in opposite directions — she was going back to class, his class was heading to the music room. From across the hall, my mom smiled at him.
And right then and there, he knew.
I always thought it was crazy. Even the romantic in me found that a little far-fetched. When I was in sixth grade, about the only thing that could hold my attention longer than ten seconds was the Crash Bandicoot video game on my PlayStation.
But here I was, less than three hours into my first night with Gemma Mancini, and suddenly, I got it.
Not that I wanted to marry the girl — I wasn’t that crazy. At least, not admittedly so. But there was just… something about her. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, the way she laughed before taking a long sip of her beer, or the way her little nose scrunched up when she disagreed with a call the referee made. I laughed at her stupid jokes, and her stupid rules and lists for her life. I smiled at the respectful way she spoke to the older couple sitting on the other side of her, and at the way her eyes grew wide, cheeks flushing, any time I touched her.
; Her hair.
Her hand.
Her leg.
No, I didn’t want to go out and buy a ring, but one thing was certain.
I wanted more.
Halfway through the fourth quarter, the Bears were down by seven points, and Gemma was not happy about it. She stood with her hands laced over her head, eyes on the field like she could somehow control the ball with her gaze. I just watched her, trying to focus on how much fun she was instead of how much fun football used to be. It was easy to think about her, but to let myself remember football, to let myself fall into that deep hole of memories… it would hurt.
Still, I couldn’t escape the truth — not when I was this close to the sport that used to be my entire life.
I missed it.
Walking into the stadium, I’d been overwhelmed by how fast everything came rushing back to me — the smell of the turf, the sound of pads crashing together on the field, the roar of the crowd. The last time I’d been this close to a football field was almost twelve years ago now.
I hadn’t touched a football since.
Suddenly, my fingers itched to feel the leather again, to trace that white stitching before tucking the ball into my side and running the field for a touchdown. But I couldn’t do that to myself, not when I knew what the end result would be. It didn’t matter how honorable my intentions were when I gave up my dream, or how it was worth it every day that my little brother woke up and got to live another twenty-four hours.
It was still a wound.
A gaping, sticky, still-tender gash.
And I knew without question that if I opened that cut, even an inch, it’d never heal again.
It was barely being held together by gum and paper clips, as it was.
A loud, exaggerated huff from a few rows behind us brought me back to the moment, to the present game, and I shook off my memories, focusing on the next play.
“Hey!” a gruff voice called out behind us.
I glanced at Gemma, who was still staring at the field. Our guys were way down at the other end zone, the quarterback searching for an open receiver to make the connection.
“Hey!” the voice said again, and this time I turned, finding a red-faced Bears fan glaring down at me from three rows up.
The Wrong Game Page 5