The Wrong Game

by Steiner, Kandi

  “You and your rules.”

  “I’m doing this, okay?” she said, resolved. “I have a plan, and I’m sticking to it. Besides…” Her voice faded, hand playing with her hair over her shoulder. “I can’t do more than one night right now. With anyone.”

  “Why?”

  Gemma smiled then, as if whatever had passed over her was gone now. “So many questions all of a sudden.”

  “I know. You should take me to the next game so you can answer them all.”

  Gemma laughed, pressing one hand on my chest, and I let that hand walk me backward until I was in the hallway and she was standing in her doorway.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” I asked. I couldn’t even hide my jaw on the floor.

  “Look, it may not make sense to you, but I’m not trying to date. I’m not trying to fall in love or whatever. I’m just trying to watch football.”

  “And get laid.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Yes.”

  “Well, we didn’t get all the way there tonight,” I pointed out. “Maybe you need another practice round. Just in case.”

  She gave me a pointed look.

  “What?” I threw my hands up. “I’m looking out for you here. Really, you should be thanking me.”

  She shook her head. “Okay, and on that note, I think it’s time to call it.”

  “Gemma.”

  “Tonight was amazing,” she said, cutting me off. “I had so much fun. Be safe getting home, okay?”

  And even though my ego was bruised and beat to shit, I couldn’t help but smile as this gorgeous woman kicked me out of her place less than five minutes after I’d brought her to climax with my face between her legs.

  I stopped her door from shutting all the way with one hand, shaking my head as I lowered my gaze to hers. “You are absolutely maddening, Gemma Mancini.”

  She cocked a brow. “Aren’t you glad the practice round is over, then?” A slow smile spread across her lips, and she bit that bottom one like she knew it was the one thing that drove me absolutely insane. “Goodnight, Zach.”

  With that, she twiddled her fingers, and I stepped back enough to let her close the door.

  Well, shit.

  For a moment, I just stood there, staring at the four black numbers that hung underneath the peephole on her door. I wondered if she was still on the other side, watching me, waiting for what I’d do next.

  Just in case, I smiled.

  Scrubbing a hand over my head, I took a few steps back, pointing my finger at the peephole. “This isn’t over,” I said, turning on my heel toward the elevator. “You and I both know it isn’t.”

  I heard a giggle on the other side of the door, but she didn’t respond. She didn’t have to. Gemma might have thought our practice round was over, that tonight was just one date to kickstart the long line of ones she’d have all season long.

  But I’d never met anyone like her, and I’d had more fun in the few hours we’d spent together than I’d had in the past twelve years.

  If she thought I was letting go that easy, she was in for a rude awakening.

  The elevator dinged, doors sliding open, and as I stepped inside, I readjusted my still-hard cock under my shorts. I could still taste Gemma on my tongue, feel her writhing under my touch, and there was no way that after that first taste I was just going to walk away from her.

  There was another home game next Sunday — just one week away — and I would be there beside her. One way or another, I’d be there.

  That was a promise I could keep.

  Gemma

  “I think you should see a therapist.”

  Belle was dead serious as she judged me over the cup of coffee I’d just poured her on Monday morning. I laughed, shaking my head and filling my own cup before rummaging in the fridge for creamer. She came over before work every morning, but she’d come extra early today — punishment for me ignoring all her texts last night.

  She wanted the dirt, and I wasn’t escaping until I gave it to her.

  “Why do I need to see a therapist?” I asked. “Because I stuck to the plan you set in place for me?”

  “No, because you kicked a tall, sexy, pussy-rocking god out of your apartment right after he ate you out like he hadn’t eaten in weeks and you were a steak dinner.”

  “That’s what I was supposed to do!”

  “No,” Belle said, holding up one manicured finger in protest. “What you were supposed to do is have fun, watch football with a new friend, and get an orgasm that wasn’t battery-operated. Where in that plan was there any fine print that said you had to boot the poor guy out before his lips were even dry from eating you out? Or that you weren’t allowed to see him again?”

  “If I saw him again, it would be more than just a game with a friend. It would be dating. Which, as we discussed, is off the table.”

  “Why is getting banged more than once by the same guy dating?” Belle argued. “I see it more as insurance. I mean, you know he’s fun, you know he’s going to stand up for you if shit goes down at the game, and you also know he’s going to rail you until the headboard breaks, if you give him the chance.”

  I laughed. “God, he really would.”

  “I KNOW. So, let the guy, for the love of Christ.”

  “I can’t,” I said, folding my hands over the steaming mug of coffee as I took the barstool next to Belle.

  “Why not,” Belle whined, kicking her little feet.

  I laughed. “Because, okay?” My smile slipped, heart squeezing like the ghosts of my past had just wrapped it in a tight fist. I traced the handle of my mug with my pointer finger, swallowing. “I’m just not ready to take it past a one-night thing right now, okay? Last night was fun, but it was also really hard for me.” I looked at my best friend then, pleading for understanding. “Maybe I’m being stupid, or crazy, but I’m trying. And right now, this is what I’ve got to give. We agreed — a different guy every game. That’s the plan I made, that’s what I agreed to, and that’s what my heart and my head have been able to wrap themselves around. I can’t see past that right now.”

  Belle watched me, eyes softening under bent brows as she reached over and squeezed my knee. “For the record, I do think you’re crazy for not seeing him again,” she said with a sigh. “But, I also have no idea what it’s like to go through what you have. And even if I don’t get it, I support you. Always.”

  I covered her hand on my knee and squeezed. “Thank you.”

  “So, does this mean it’s time to pick the next guy?” Belle bounced in her chair, waggling her brows.

  “I can see you’re still really heartbroken over my decision,” I mocked, sliding my phone across the counter toward her. “Here, why don’t you see if shopping for the next one makes you feel better.”

  “Retail therapy?” Belle pressed a hand to her heart, pretending to be touched. “My favorite. You do love me.”

  “Shut up and swipe.”

  She lit up as soon as the screen on my phone did, pulling up the dating app as I rolled my eyes and took the first sip of my coffee. As the hot liquid settled in, warming my bones, Belle swiped and remarked on the messages I’d gotten over the week.

  But all my thoughts drifted to Zach.

  Last night had been everything I thought it wouldn’t be. It was fun. It was easy. It was comfortable. I’d laughed more than I had in months, and I’d had Zach’s face buried between my legs until I came in what I was almost positive was the best orgasm I’d ever had.

  Literally, ever.

  We steered clear of the heavy stuff. I didn’t have to tell him about Carlo, and he didn’t ask. He didn’t divulge his entire life story, and I didn’t feel the need to fill the silence by asking him anything.

  We watched the game. We drank a few beers. He came back to my place. We hooked up. He left.

  Perfect.

  I took a sip of coffee, nodding when Belle asked me about a guy who’d messaged. She took the reins as I let myself be happy about a night well sp
ent. My eyes flashed to my couch, and I smiled, heat creeping up my neck.

  I could still feel his hands on my hips, my breasts, his tongue sweeping over my inner thighs. I could feel his fingers inside me, curling, pumping, his mouth sucking me hard in sync with his hand.

  I was so nervous, and he knew exactly what he needed to do to kill my anxiety.

  He took the lead.

  He blew my mind.

  And then, he stopped me when I tried to do the same.

  I felt a little bad for that, for Zach leaving before he let me repay the favor he’d so graciously gifted me. He said he wanted last night to be for me, that I should be selfish — and I listened.

  Because when was the last time anyone had told me that that was okay?

  When was the last time — or hell, the first time — I’d ever thought of me? Of only me?

  It was like without asking a single question, without hearing a single story about my life, Zach understood me. All he had to do was look at me, and he got it.

  I’d never known that level of understanding.

  And that, right there, was the danger in what I was doing.

  My coffee grew bitter when the realization hit me, how close I’d been to going against the number-one rule I’d set after Carlo passed away.

  Zach made me feel good. He made me laugh, made me happy — and I wanted more. I wanted to see him again, to go on a real date, to take him to the next game, to ask him about his past and his future and see if we could maybe fit together. When he’d asked to see me again last night, I almost said yes — without hesitation. He said he wanted to see me again and I knew without a doubt that I felt the same.

  Which, again, was why I needed rules.

  He was the first guy I’d taken to a game, my practice round, and already, I felt myself slipping into those forbidden feelings.

  It was easy to fall in love. It was harder to climb out of it.

  And I didn’t want to have to dig my way out of that hole again.

  So, as much as I wanted to see him again, I said no when he asked. I held onto that first, hard and fast rule.

  Last night was it for us. It was fun, it was surface-level, and it was feelings-free.

  Like I said before — perfect.

  Still, there was a flutter in my chest as that last thought passed through, almost as if my heart was laughing at me. Because even though we hadn’t talked about Carlo, Zach had seen right threw me. He’d known without words that I was nervous, and he’d taken control. He’d given me what I needed.

  I was already in too far, after just one night.

  That’s how stupid my heart was.

  “Alright, I think this guy is in,” Belle said. She handed me my phone, tapping the screen to show me the guy’s profile again. “He’s checking his schedule now to see if he has to volunteer, because of course he’s perfect and gives his free time to the kids down at the Boys & Girls Club.”

  I laughed as Belle visibly swooned.

  “I bet he’ll want you to call him Daddy when he’s banging you.”

  “Gross,” I said, half-laughing, half-wincing. “What do I do if he really wants that?”

  Belle blinked. “You call him Daddy. Obviously.”

  “I absolutely will not do that.”

  “Hey, you say that now,” she said, picking up her coffee and taking a tiny sip with a smirk. “But when your wrists are cuffed to the headboard and you’ve got vibrating clamps on your nipples, you’d be surprised what words come out of your mouth.”

  “I think it’s you who needs a therapist.”

  “Just see what he said.” Belle waved me off, pointing to the new notification that had just come through on the app. When I opened it, I smiled.

  “He’s in.”

  “BOOM!” Belle high-fived me. “Looks like you’ve got your first real round. Hope you got enough practice last night.”

  I swiped back to the guy’s profile, smiling as I read through his bio. He’d only lived in Chicago for a couple of years, was an accountant by day, and a self-proclaimed movie buff by night. He had sandy-blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a chin that gave Clark Kent a run for his money.

  He was hot.

  But somewhere in the pit of my stomach, I was a little disappointed.

  Because he wasn’t Zach.

  As if I’d summoned the object of my affection with my stupid, private slip of the mind, a text message from Zach popped up over the top of the app.

  - I should be making you breakfast right now. -

  I smiled, tapping on his text to open it full screen. Belle frowned, leaning over my shoulder and lighting up when she saw who it was.

  “Oh my God! He’s already texting you?!” She checked the time on her own phone. “It’s not even seven in the morning yet. Oh, girl, what did you do to him last night?”

  I laughed, typing out my text back to him. “I didn’t do anything. Other than tell him no. And we all know guys hate that.”

  “And love it, all at once.”

  “Exactly,” I said, sending my text. “He’ll be over me as soon as another girl rejects him.”

  - I don’t do breakfast. And I can make my coffee just fine on my own. -

  - Stop acting like you didn’t have the best time of your life last night and take me to the game this week. -

  - I did have fun. But preseason is over, my friend. It’s time for the real thing now. -

  I smirked, clicking back over to the app and taking a screen shot of my next date’s profile — Benjamin.

  Then, I sent that screenshot to Zach.

  - Meet Ben, real round number one. -

  The little bubbles popped up like Zach was typing, but then they disappeared, and no text came through.

  “You’re ruthless,” Belle said, shaking her head with a bit of a smile as she sipped down the last of her coffee. “Okay. My ass needs to shower before work. Meet you downstairs in a half hour?”

  “I’ll have the to-go cups.”

  “Bless you.”

  When Belle was gone, I curled my hair and put on my makeup, all while eyeing my phone. When it did buzz again, it was Benjamin telling me he couldn’t wait for Sunday. He finished his message with a Have a great week, beautiful. See you Sunday.

  Nothing else came through from Zach.

  I should have felt satisfied at that, that I’d gotten the point through with my last text to him. I should have been smiling as Belle and I walked the few blocks to the office, should have still been on a high from the night before.

  But instead, my stomach felt heavy and tight, almost like it was being dragged along behind me on the sidewalk.

  I’d gotten what I wanted. Zach was gone, practice round achieved, and now — it was game time. For real.

  Ready, or not.

  And I was definitely not.

  Zach

  “Oh, boy.”

  Doc crossed one arm over his chest, balancing the elbow of the other on top as he scrubbed the five o’clock shadow coming through on his chin. His eyes were fixed on the tickets I was proudly holding up in my hand.

  Season tickets.

  For the Chicago Bears.

  In the seats right next to Gemma’s.

  “Am I brilliant, or am I fucking brilliant?” I asked, slapping the tickets against my palm before holding them up again.

  “You’re something, alright.”

  It was Thursday afternoon, a full four days since I’d had my lips on Gemma’s in her apartment. Doc had asked me to come in a little earlier than usual, to get the bar ready for Thursday night football, but before we could even start, I had to tell him my master plan.

  “Does she know?” Doc asked, sliding up behind the counter to start making the mixer juices for the night.

  I scoffed, tucking the tickets in my pocket. “Of course not. That’s part of what makes it so genius. I’m just going to show up on Sunday.”

  “She wouldn’t give you a second date, so you’re taking it.”

  “Precise
ly.”

  Doc smirked, mixing up our sweet and sour juice. “Were you born stupid, or did you just get this way with time?”

  “It sounds crazy,” I admitted.

  “Because it is.”

  “But.” I continued with a smile. “Sometimes crazy is necessary — especially when it comes to a girl like Gemma. She’s not impressed by the easy, by the normal. And though she hasn’t told me what happened in her past, I can tell she’s been hurt before. Whoever had her last, he messed her up.” I cracked my neck. “I can’t fix that, but I can show her that I want my own chance to prove I can be more than he was.”

  Doc lined up the mixers and juices, working through unlocking the taps on the beers and wine next. There was a sideways grin on his face as he shook his head. “Well, you are persistent. I’ll give you that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But, this girl isn’t a potential employer,” he said. “She’s a woman. And from what you told me about her, she’s the kind of woman who makes lists, and plans, and then sticks to them.” Doc leaned a hip against the bar, crossing his arms. “You may think you’re going to woo her with this move, show you want her. But, you’re messing with her master plan,” he reminded me. “Which might just piss her off.”

  I scratched my head, letting out a heavy sigh. I knew Doc was right. Hell, I knew it when I was doing my research online, trying to track down that couple who sat next to us at the game. When I told them what I was trying to do, they were eager to help — well, Janet was, at least. Roy seemed perturbed, but also like he would do anything to see Janet happy and smiling.

  I liked that about him.

  And she was all about helping me out — especially since, as she had reminded me, she and Roy had a second pair of season passes just a few rows up from the ones they sold me.

  Janet said what I was doing was romantic.

  Roy said I was an idiot.

  Neither of them were wrong.

  I knew it was stupid. I knew it had the potential to blow up in my face. But none of that mattered, because the one thing I knew more than anything was that I wasn’t ready to let Gemma go.