“You’re probably right,” I conceded. But then, I smiled, cutting open a box of Blue Moon with my cutter. “But she is super fucking adorable when she’s angry, so maybe this is a win-win for me.”
Doc laughed.
We fell into our routine then, stocking the coolers, pulling out the bar mats, setting up the old bar games, getting the televisions situated on the right channels. The entire time, Doc hummed along to Bob Dylan, and I thought of Gemma.
I’d never had a woman infuriate me so much within the first week of knowing her.
She kicked me out with a smile on her face, after a night where I knew for a fact that she’d had just as much fun as I had. Still, I kind of loved it.
Gemma was challenging.
She had a plan, and she proved to me the next morning that she was serious about sticking with it. When she sent me the screenshot of the guy she’d already lined up for the next game — less than twelve hours after I’d left her place — it took everything in me not to crush my phone in the death grip I had.
I didn’t respond, but that didn’t mean I gave up.
Now I had a plan, too.
There was a fat chance in hell that I’d let Benjamin get my girl. Yeah, I’d only had one night with her but I felt that kind of possessiveness, anyway. I wasn’t done with Gemma. I was far from it.
And maybe she didn’t want to admit it, but she was far from done with me, too.
“Oh, hey, Doc,” I said once the citrus wedges were cut. “Didn’t you want to talk to me about something?”
He wiped his brow with a rag, chest heaving a little from pulling all the barstools down. “What?”
“At dinner,” I reminded him. “You said you wanted to talk to me about something.”
Doc blinked, wiping the rag down his face this time. “Oh, it’s nothing that can’t wait. I’ll talk to you about it next week.”
“You sure?” I asked, watching him. “I mean, I’m here now. Doors don’t open for another half hour.”
“I’m sure. I’ve got some paperwork to handle in the back. Can you finish up out here?”
He wouldn’t look at me, and my stomach dropped to the floor at what that might mean. Doc was an honorable man. He looked you in the eyes when he talked to you — always.
I had a feeling that what he had to tell me wasn’t good.
I had a feeling it had something to do with my paycheck.
If he did have to let me go, it would be harder on Doc than it would be on me. Maybe he couldn’t bring himself to do it yet.
“Alright,” I conceded with a nod. “Yeah, I can take care of this. Go ahead.”
Doc waved his rag in thanks, tossing it over his shoulder before he headed to the back office.
I wanted to know what he had to say, but there was no rushing Doc. He was like my dad in that respect, and I knew that when he was ready, he’d have the conversation with me — no matter how tough.
So, I filed those thoughts away, focusing instead on balancing the till in my drawer for the night. And as the pre-game show came on for the Thursday night game, the Kansas City Chiefs versus the Cleveland Browns, I couldn’t help but smile thinking about a different game that would come on Sunday.
Oh, Gemma.
I hope you’re ready to play.
Gemma
“I think I’m going to throw up,” I told Belle, bouncing a little as I waited at the same totem I’d met Zach under a week before. My new date, Ben, would be here any moment.
And my body was rebelling.
“I love how last week you hung up on me in this same scenario. Now, you’re interrupting my TV time.”
“I don’t think I’m ready for this,” I said, ignoring her jokes. I couldn’t find it in me to joke right now.
Belle sighed. “Hey, talk to me. What’s different this week? What has you feeling weird?”
I swallowed down the sticky knot in my throat, eyes bouncing over the crowd as I scanned the faces for Ben’s. I wanted to tell Gemma why it felt different, why I suddenly felt like my plan was impossible to stick to. But the truth was, I didn’t really know myself.
“Zach just… it didn’t feel like a date. It felt like hanging out with this smart-ass guy who I met at the bar.”
“Do you think it’s the online dating thing that’s bugging you?”
I thought about it, digesting her suggestion. Ben had texted me throughout the week, and we’d even talked on the phone last night for over an hour. He seemed like a nice guy. He was funny, sweet, easy to talk to.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Is it because you like Zach and wish it was him there instead?”
“No,” I answered quickly, rolling my eyes. “He was fun, and he served his purpose. Practice round, remember?”
“Uh-huh,” Belle mused, clearly not convinced.
Zach hadn’t texted me since I sent him the picture of Ben. And though I’d had a very vivid dream about him on my couch the other night, I hadn’t texted him, either. It didn’t matter that I wanted to. What mattered was that I was staying true to my original goal when I agreed to all of this.
New guy every game. Make a few friends, watch football, drink beers, engage in some touching. I’d had so much fun that night with Zach. I knew I could have just as much fun with Ben tonight.
So why was I freaking out?
I tapped my finger against my bottom lip, stomach tilting. It didn’t make sense. I’d made my pre-game check list and ticked everything off. I was following the plan I’d made. My anxiety should be in check.
“Gemma,” Belle said, her voice softer. “Do you think… I know I was joking with you about seeing someone, a therapist or something along those lines, but… do you think maybe you really do need to?”
“Why would I need to see someone?”
She cleared her throat. “I’m just saying, what happened with Carlo… it was—”
“Fine,” I finished for her, stomach twisting into an even tighter knot at the sound of his name. His eyes flashed in my mind — bright at first, like the night we met, and then dull and hollow, like the night he died. “It was fine, okay? People die. It’s part of life.”
“Yeah, but he was thirty-five. It’s not like he was eighty and this was expected.” She paused. “And he hurt you, Gemma. He cheated on you.”
My nose flared. “Thanks. I almost forgot how that all went down, so glad you could remind me.”
“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know, I just…” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. This was what happened when I felt out of control. I tilted toward anger, toward being irrational, and I said and did things I would come to regret. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.”
I paused, taking a deep breath.
“I’ll be okay. I’m just nervous, I guess.”
“You know I’d go with you,” Belle whispered. “If you ever changed your mind and wanted to go talk to someone. Just say the word.”
“Thank you,” I whispered back, and for a moment, I considered it. Belle was the only one who knew about Carlo’s infidelity. Not even my parents knew. Of course, they wouldn’t be at the top of my list of people to tell. Mom would probably blame me, and Dad would just try to use a quote from one of their books or speeches to motivate me to move on with my life. He’d try to convince me that his infidelity was just a hurdle in life, one of many that people were confronted with and it was how you overcame adversity that determined a person’s strength of character. Blah, blah, fucking blah.
I’d heard every line from Making It: How Our Relationship Survived Against All Odds in one way or another in my life.
Talking to them seemed impossible. Talking to my grandpa was, too, since he was gone. But could I talk to someone about it? To a stranger?
And what good would it do, anyway? I’d been fine. My life had carried on without him. I was excelling at work. I’d lost weight and toned up. I’d started eating better. I was sleeping fine.
I�
��m fine.
“Oh, shit,” I murmured, spotting Ben in the crowd. He was still searching for me. “He’s here.”
“You can bail, if you want to,” Belle said. “I’ll be your way out. Say I have explosive diarrhea and can’t even get to the store to get Gatorade to hydrate myself. Say you’re my emergency contact in this situation.”
I paused. “Okay, first, that’s disgusting.” I chuckled then, picturing the scene. “But thank you.” Ben spotted me, tossing up his hand in a wave. “Besides, he’s already seen me.”
“You going to be okay?”
I sighed, forcing a smile and waving back at Ben. “Yeah. I think so.”
“Go get that pussy licked, Tiger.”
“I hate you.”
Belle just laughed and ended the call, leaving me to face my first real date since I was seventeen. And it didn’t matter that I’d convinced myself in my head that this little plan was “not dating.” Yes, keeping it to one night meant I wasn’t engaging in any kind of relationship. But still, I was meeting a guy, for an event, with the intention of sleeping with him. It was a date.
And it was the first official one in my adult life.
Unless you count Zach…
I shook my head, because no — he definitely did not count. That was hanging out with a friend. That was watching the game.
That was having the best orgasm of my life…
My cheeks flushed, heat still crawling down my neck when Ben finally reached me, a wide grin on his perfect, Ken Doll face.
“Look at you,” he said, eyes washing over my outfit.
It was a little cooler tonight than it had been last week, so I wore jeans instead of shorts. But they were ripped up and down my thighs, and I’d worn burnt-orange fishnets underneath them that showed through the holes. Paired with my Bears jersey, tied in a knot at the front, I had a cute, casual look.
“And…” My face fell as I took in his attire. “Look at you.”
He was wearing a Detroit Lions t-shirt.
As in, not a Chicago Bears t-shirt.
“Ah, yeah,” Ben said, rubbing the back of his neck with an apologetic shrug. “Did I forget to mention I’m not a Bears fan?”
I blinked. “Why would you message me to come to a Bears game if you’re not a fan.”
“You said you needed someone to sit with you at the next home game,” he pointed out. “Which just happened to be against my hometown. I did tell you I moved here from Detroit just a couple of years ago, right?”
I blinked again. “You did.”
Ben cocked a brow, smiling like he didn’t just show up to a Bears game wearing the away team’s logo. And I just stood there, staring at him, wondering if I could still take Belle up on her offer.
Calm down, Gemma. It’s not that big of a deal. He’s still the same guy you’ve been talking to.
I forced a breath, and a smile, looping my arm through Ben’s when he offered it. As we walked toward the stadium, I reminded myself why I was doing this in the first place.
I didn’t want to fall in love. I didn’t need a man to survive. But, I missed that human connection. I missed flirting, and talking, and having someone to watch the game with who actually cared about football. I missed the feel of a man’s hands on my body, of his lips on my skin.
The memory of Zach’s mouth hot on my center flashed in my mind like the brightest lights, and just like that, in a split second, it was gone.
But my blush was not.
“Hey, I hope I didn’t upset you with this,” Ben said once we were inside the gates and climbing toward our seats. He gestured to his shirt. “I’ll take it off, if you want. Hell, I’ll go buy a Bears jersey right now.”
I smiled, squeezing his arms. “While I wouldn’t mind seeing you take this off,” I said tugging on the fabric. “It’s okay. It might be kind of fun to have a little friendly competition.”
“Should we place a bet on it?”
“Hmmm… what would you wager?”
He pulled us over to a beer stand, fishing his wallet out. “Bud Light okay?”
I nodded, and he paid the vendor, handing me the aluminum can as we started walking again.
“How about this. If the Lions win, you owe me a strip tease.”
I laughed, spitting out a little of my beer. “A strip tease, huh?” I asked, surveying him. “Real original.”
“You scared you’ll have to pay up?”
I narrowed my eyes then. “My Bears won’t lose to the Lions. You’ve got a deal. And when we win, it’s you who owes me a strip tease.”
“You really can’t wait to get this shirt off me, can you?”
I laughed, leading the way to our seats with relief washing over me. Ben was funny. He was charming. And he definitely wasn’t hard on the eyes.
I glanced back at him as we shimmied through the row to our seats, and I smiled.
See? Everything according to plan.
But when I turned back around, my heart skipped, and the universe laughed in my face as I blinked, again and again, to make sure what I was seeing was real.
“There you are,” Zach said, a stupid grin on his face as he stood to let Ben and me pass. He was wearing a white Bears jersey, the sleeves tight against his tan, bulging biceps. His hair was mussed, the stubble on his chin thicker than the last time I’d seen him.
He was all sex — the way his hair fell, the way he stood, the way his eyes hung under hooded lids, the way he licked his bottom lip as he watched me. My stomach did a little flip for joy when his eyes slid down to my waist and back up again, but I stamped that feeling down with a hard, heavy shoe.
He was not supposed to be here.
“It’s almost kick-off,” Zach said when I didn’t acknowledge his first greeting.
Ben ran into the back of me, because I’d stopped dead in front of the empty seat next to the one Zach was standing in front of. It was the seat Roy should have been in. And the one Zach was occupying belonged to Janet.
He grinned wider at my dumbfounded expression.
“Hey, man,” Zach said, extending his hand past me to where Ben stood, waiting. “I’m Zach.”
“Ben,” he responded, confusion in his voice. He looked at me, but I couldn’t stop shooting lasers via eyeball beams at the man I was never supposed to see again.
Everyone stood for the national anthem, jolting me out of my daze, and I wiggled past Zach as he continued to gloat. I took the seat next to him, letting Ben have the same seat Zach had last game. We recited the anthem — the words morphed in my ears, since my heartbeat was currently taking up all the available space — and at the end, the entire stadium cheered.
I didn’t.
I poked Zach hard in the ribs.
“Ouch!” he said, rubbing the spot where I’d assaulted him. But then, he laughed. “What was that for?”
“Don’t play dumb. What are you doing here?” I whisper-yelled.
Ben was focused on the field, and when he looked over at me, I smiled, leaning into him.
“You ready for your Lions to lose?” I sang.
He laughed. “We’ll see.”
Once his attention was back on the field, I glared at Zach again, waiting for an answer.
“I’m doing the same thing you are,” he said casually. “Watching the game.”
“Why are you watching the game here?”
He shrugged. “I told you, same as you.”
“No, not same as me,” I argued. “I have season passes.”
Zach smiled big enough to show his stupid dimple then, raising one brow like he was waiting for me to catch on. When I didn’t say anything, he leaned down, his breath hot on my ear. “So do I.”
“What?!”
I tried to whisper again, but I’d apparently failed. Ben cast a curious glance toward me first, before eyeing where Zach stood behind me. He put his arm around me possessively, tucking me into his side.
“Everything okay?”
His eyes were still on Zach’s, who was
just grinning like a stupid, smug, son-of-a-bitch.
“Everything’s fine,” I clipped, focusing on the next play so Ben would do the same. We watched it together, me cheering and teasing him when we sacked the Lions’ quarterback. When the play was over, I leaned back toward Zach.
“How can you possibly have season passes,” I asked, gesturing to his seats. “Those season passes.”
“Bought them from some friends,” Zach answered easily.
My jaw dropped then, and I turned to face him fully. “You bought their tickets from them?! Zach!” I smacked his arm. “How could you do that? They’ve had those seats for sixteen years, and season passes for twenty-two. How could you take that away from them? They could miss the playoffs, if we make it. All because of you!”
Zach was obviously not fazed by my outrage, because he just watched me like I was an adorable puppy. And when my rant was over, my chest still heaving, he tapped my nose with his pointer finger before aiming it up a few rows behind us.
I looked up where he was pointing, and there were Janet and Roy staring back at the two of us, Janet waving excitedly with a knowing smile as Roy sipped from his soda with a visible scowl.
“They have those seats, too. Remember?” Zach said, and when I was facing him again, he shrugged. “And they wanted to help.”
“Help what exactly?”
“Help me get the girl. Obviously.”
I rolled my eyes with the loudest, most annoyed huff I could manage, crossing my arms and turning to face the field again. Ben eyed me, and I reached over to squeeze his hand. Everyone was starting to sit, now that the energy from kick-off had settled, and we followed suit.
For three full plays, I didn’t look at Zach. I didn’t acknowledge him. I tried to pretend he didn’t exist. But all my stupid brain could do was toss his words over and over in my head like some loud, wet sneakers in a clothes dryer.
“You’re wasting your time,” I finally whispered to him, snatching my beer from the holder.
“We’ll see,” Zach mused, and he tapped the neck of his bottle to mine without asking, lifting his own bottle to his lips.
The Wrong Game Page 9