The Wrong Game

by Steiner, Kandi

  Her eyes widened. “Whoa.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded, sharing her sentiment. “Imagine being my mom.”

  “She must have been so scared.”

  “Every deployment, she’d freeze when the phone rang. I think in her head, she had to prepare before she answered. Just in case.”

  Gemma watched me for a long moment. “My grandfather was a veteran. He served in Vietnam, and he was so proud of that. He used to always wear his veteran hat, his jacket, and he was down at the VFW outside his small town every night.”

  Gemma had this far-off look in her eyes, and I knew it so well. It was the same way I looked at my past, at what could have been.

  “Were you close with him?”

  She smiled at that. “Very. My parents traveled a lot for work when I was younger. Well,” she added. “They still do, actually. He kind of raised me, taught me everything I know.”

  “Like how to be a giant pain in the ass.”

  “Especially that.”

  I smiled, and Gemma leaned in a little closer, watching me.

  “Were you in the military, too?” she asked after a moment.

  “No. I thought about it, but football took up so much of my time, it became priority number one.” I shrugged. “If anything, the military was only an afterthought. Football was everything.”

  “And what happened to football?”

  Now I really need a beer.

  I scratched my chin, and then the Bears completed a pass down the field. Gemma stood with the rest of the fans, cheering the receiver on as he ran, her question temporarily forgotten. But when she sat back down again, her eyes were on me. Waiting.

  “That’s a long story, for another time,” I offered. And I couldn’t help myself. I leaned over, invading her space.

  And just like before, her face went red, her eyes wide when I tucked her hair behind one ear.

  “Maybe if you let me take you on another date…”

  “Nice try,” she teased, batting my hand away. But she was smiling — and that was better than looking at me like she wanted to rip my head off.

  I’d take it.

  “What are the other two things?”

  I tilted my head. “What?”

  “The other two things you’re a softie about.”

  “No way, you don’t get any more freebies. You’ll have to give me another date to find out.”

  Gemma crossed her arms. “You do realize this is never going to work out in your favor, right? You’re playing the wrong game.”

  “That’s fine,” I conceded, leaning over her seat again. This time, I locked my eyes on hers, holding her gaze as my hand slid over her knee. “As long as I’m the right winner.”

  Gemma blinked, mouth opening like she was ready to pop off her own remark, but it died somewhere on her tongue. Her eyes flicked to my mouth and back up again, but then someone cleared their throat behind me.

  “Ben!” Gemma stood, making my hand fall from where it had been on her knee. I ran that hand back through my hair and stood, too, so Ben could pass.

  He watched me the entire time.

  “Thank you,” Gemma said when he handed her a beer. He had two for himself. “Ben, I’m so sorry, about what happened. I—”

  “It’s all good, babe,” he said.

  Babe? Who did this guy think he was. He’d known Gemma for all of two hours.

  Ben wrapped his arm possessively around her, his glossy eyes finding mine. “I know who’ll be getting the real kisses later.”

  He cocked a smirk at that, and I tongued my cheek, fists tightening at my sides. I wanted to knock that pretty boy smirk off his perfectly-symmetrical face, but that wouldn’t work in my favor. Gemma was pissed at me earlier, but somehow, I’d earned back a little of her trust. She was laughing with me. She wanted to know more about me.

  And pretty boy Ben could play his best cards. I still knew who’d win.

  Gemma watched Ben like a slimy green substance she wasn’t sure about — like he could be fun putty or vomit. “Uh, okay. Well, thank you for the beer.”

  “Anytime, babe.” Ben tugged her even closer, and I saw Gemma’s top lip visibly curl.

  I laughed, holding up my empty bottle. “My turn for a beer run. You two love birds enjoy.” I gave Gemma a pointed look, and she fought back a grin, shaking her head in warning.

  She might still have been here on a date with him, but I knew who she was thinking about — regardless of his arm being the one around her.

  There wasn’t a single doubt in my mind who would be getting the “real kisses” later.

  And it sure as hell wouldn’t be Ben.

  The Bears lost, and if I wasn’t enough of a football fan for that to chap my ass already, I would have been upset just by looking at Gemma when the final whistle blew.

  She was heartbroken.

  Her shoulders were slumped, hair a little greasy from how much she’d run her hands through it in the final quarter as we weaved our way through the crowd filing out of the stadium. Ben held her hand, and I waited back, letting them be.

  She pulled him to a stop in front of the same totem we’d met under last week before the game, and I could have left, could have started making my way toward the parking lot where I’d parked my car — but I waited. I told myself it was because traffic would be hell and there was no sense in hurrying.

  But even a blind man could have seen I was waiting to see what Gemma did next.

  Ben had gotten a little sloppy in the last part of the game, and as Gemma spoke to him under that totem, his eyes bounced around, body swaying. He said something to her, presumably something funny, since she laughed, and then they hugged, and he started pin-balling himself through the crowd toward the cab line.

  Gemma sighed, folding her hands on top of her head as she watched him go. Then, she turned around, and when she spotted me, her eyes narrowed.

  You would have thought I was the reason the Bears lost for how she stormed through the crowd toward me like a raging bull. I knew her glare was meant to scare me, but it had the opposite effect.

  I just wanted to take her home, take that jersey off her, and take my sweet time making her come with my name on her lips.

  She was too fucking adorable when she was angry, and my smile was splitting my face by the time she reached me, jabbing her index finger straight into my chest.

  “This doesn’t mean you win.”

  “Ouch!” I laughed, rubbing my chest. “Damn, you need a permit for those things. I’m going to start calling you Finger Guns.”

  “I didn’t sleep with him because he’s trashed,” she said, ignoring me as she explained her actions. “And because he couldn’t stop pissing on me after that little stunt you pulled.”

  “Gross.”

  “It’s a metaphor.”

  “Whatever you say, no judgment here if you’re into golden showers.”

  She poked me again.

  “OUCH.”

  “You did not win. I could have taken him home and gotten laid if I wanted to.”

  “Okay,” I said, holding up both hands. She was still pointing that finger at me, ready to jab. “I surrender. Can you put that thing away now?”

  Gemma glanced at her finger, chuckling as she let that hand fall to her side. “Goodnight, Zach.”

  She turned, but before she could take a step, I called out, “Take me to the next game.”

  Gemma paused, glancing at me over her shoulder with a grin before she turned back around. She tucked her hands into her back pockets, watching me for a long moment before she shook her head.

  “I told you, that’s not part of the plan.”

  “Your plan sucks.”

  Her little mouth popped open at that. “You suck.”

  “Ah, so she does remember.” I licked my lips, stepping toward her with a satisfied grin as I watched every shade of pink and red color her cheeks. I reached forward, tucking one finger into the loop of her jeans. “You know, we never did get to the whole being ra
iled into next year thing.”

  Her skin flamed, mouth pursing as she fought the urge to smile. I trailed my hand up her side, running my fingertips up her arms on a track to frame her face. I wanted her lips on mine again, her little mouth opening to let me in for more.

  But before I could make that move, she poked me again.

  “Ou-ch-uh,” I said on a laugh, enunciating the one syllable in the word and adding two more of my own at the end. I eyed her, rubbing my arm.

  “Goodnight, Zach,” she said again, one brow raised. Then, she held up the finger she’d just poked me with, thumb framing it like it was a gun, and she blew the tip of it as she walked away, tucking it into her pocket like a cowboy in an old western movie.

  She strutted off with her shoulders back, chin held high, a little skip in her step like she’d won. But she didn’t know — that little move had only added fuel to my fire.

  Nothing worth having ever came easy, that was something I learned at a young age. I never expected Gemma to cave fast, to give into me without fighting back. If anything, I loved that she had her plans, her list-filled goals she wanted to stick to.

  It was part of what made her unique.

  I watched her hips sway until she was out of view, running a hand over the stubble lining my jaw as every bone in my body ached for me to chase after her.

  But, I was a patient man, and I’d played football long enough to know you never spent all your energy in the first quarter.

  There was still plenty of game to play.

  And when the ball was in my hands again, I’d be ready.

  Gemma

  His hand rested on her hip, the same way it had rested on mine that morning when he kissed me goodbye. He was kissing this girl, too — but not because he was leaving.

  He stepped into her, pulling her closer, his lips seeking hers. And when they kissed, I felt those lips like they were pressed against my own. I knew those lips. I had memorized the way they felt when they touched my forehead, my cheek, my mouth.

  Did she know his kisses the same way I did?

  I blinked, and then she was there, in the back of the church where he and I were married. She wore black, just like me, but her tears came easier than mine. She cried for a lover taken too soon by death.

  I cried for a lover taken too soon by her.

  And when I faced the casket, he was there, staring back at me with tired, gray eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, but my heart felt no relief.

  He wasn’t sorry he’d cheated. He was sorry I’d found out. He was sorry I had to stay by his side while he withered away, burying his secret along with his body.

  When they closed the casket door, I screamed.

  I bolted upright on my couch, one hand flying to my head as it pounded in protest at my sudden movement. I squeezed my eyes shut, falling back down on the cushions and kicking the blanket off me.

  I was hot, slick with sweat, my chest heaving and heart racing. I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know what year I was in. I didn’t know what was real, and what was a dream.

  Or rather, a nightmare.

  I groaned, the sweat cooling on my chest now that I’d abandoned my blanket. Letting my hand flop to the floor, I felt around for my cell phone, peeking at the screen with one eye. I had three missed calls from Belle and a text from Zach.

  It was just after six in the evening.

  I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the beat of my heart slow more with every new breath. I’d laid down somewhere around three to take a cat nap, just wanting to recharge after an early day at the office before I dragged Belle out to watch tonight’s game with me. It was Monday night football, and an away game for the Bears.

  We were playing the Packers — our biggest rivals.

  I’d been excited, but tired from the day, so I laid down to rest.

  And here it was, three hours later, and I felt like I’d died and come back as a zombie.

  Carlo’s eyes from my dream were still as vivid as if he were there with me when I sat up on the couch, looking around my empty condo. It was hard to believe it was mine. I still remembered buying it, the papers signed and everything in motion before I’d even driven home with the intention of telling Carlo I knew what he was doing.

  I had a plan. I had set everything in motion. I had the proof to show him, the words to say to him, and a place to go once I’d gotten all of that out. I was going to move on. I was going to be okay.

  But he spoke first that day, and my plan went up in flames.

  Sometimes I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that I lived here — or anywhere — alone. Other times, it seemed impossible to believe that I’d woken up in a little house with him one year ago, thinking everything in my life was fine.

  With my cell phone still in my hand, I padded over to the kitchen, pouring a cold glass of water from my fridge. I drained half of it before unlocking my phone, deciding to read Zach’s text first.

  - Hey Finger Guns, you free tonight? Could use some back up down at Doc’s Bar, what with it being Monday night football and all. Plus, I know you need somewhere to scream at the Packers with like-minded people. -

  I smiled, just like I did every time he texted me. I hated that I smiled, because there were about a million neon signs hanging above Zach’s head, warning me to steer clear. He was just the kind of guy I could fall for, the kind I could let in, get close to.

  And he was just the kind of guy who could make you swoon and sigh as he told you lies, making you believe he meant the words he said.

  Still, I couldn’t help but be drawn to the comfort I felt when I was with him. Even when he infuriated me, showing up at that game in the seat next to mine, he still somehow managed to make me feel safe when he was around.

  I couldn’t remember the last time anyone made me feel that way.

  And the last person who did proved why I should never trust that feeling.

  Carlo had been easy to trust. He had been careful with my heart. He proved time and time again that I had no reason to worry, that I could relax, that I could feel safe with him.

  And then, he betrayed me.

  That’s why you never trust your heart, even when you think it’s safe.

  - Sorry, the guns are out of commission tonight. Enjoy the game. Go Bears! -

  The little dots were already bouncing on the screen, indicating Zach was typing back, but I closed the text and pulled up Belle’s missed call. When I hit the green button to call her back, she answered before the first ring even finished.

  “What the hell, woman?” She huffed. “You told me to be ready by five, and here I am, all dolled up waiting on you like my period.”

  “I’m sorry, I took a nap and…” I groaned as another rip of pain zinged through my head. “Let’s just say I died a little in the process.”

  “Oof,” she said sympathetically. “That kind of nap, huh? Did you forget what day it was?”

  “More like what year.”

  I rummaged through my purse on the counter for some ibuprofen, knocking two pills back and chasing them with a shot of water.

  “Sorry, but I’m bailing on tonight. As crazy as it sounds, I think I could just go back to sleep if I tried.”

  “Um, you absolutely will not do that,” Belle said. “I have makeup on. And I re-curled my hair. I’m even wearing your stupid team’s colors, for Christ’s sake.”

  “You’re wearing orange?” I asked. “Oh, my God. You really do love me.”

  “Calm down, I’m not that crazy,” she said quickly. “But I am wearing navy blue and white, which is close enough.”

  “I’m sorry, I’ll owe you one. I just don’t feel like going out right now.”

  Belle paused. “What happened? Did you have another nightmare?”

  I swallowed, and when I didn’t respond, there was a heavy sigh on the other end.

  “Oh, sweetie…”

  “I’m fine,” I said hurriedly. I was okay when she sympathized with my nap of the
dead, but not with this. “Seriously. It’s all good, I just feel a little weird now.”

  “What happened in it this time?”

  I shrugged, refilling my glass of water. “Just reliving the first time I saw him kiss her, and then her being at the church the day of his funeral. Only this time, when I looked at him, he was alive in the casket.”

  “Jesus, Gemma.”

  “He said he was sorry,” I whispered. “But, it wasn’t the kind of apology where you knew the person actually was sorry. It was like… I don’t know, like he pitied me.”

  She was silent for a long moment, and I sipped my water, nausea settling in my stomach to join my headache in kicking my ass.

  “Anyway,” I said, brushing it off. “It was just a dream. But I woke up with a headache and I’m just not feeling too hot.”

  “Why don’t I come down,” she offered. “I’ll bring some ice cream, we can watch the game on your couch.”

  “I kind of want to be alone right now, Belle.”

  She laughed.

  “Oh, no you don’t. You’re not going to sit in that empty condo and be all up in your sads thinking about your shitty, cheating ex-husband.” She paused. “May he rest in peace.”

  “But—”

  “Nope. Get your ass up and put on something presentable. We’re going to watch the game.”

  “Belle,” I whined.

  “Hey, listen to me.” I could almost imagine her leveling her little blue eyes with mine. “I know it sucks sometimes, and it hurts. Honestly, if it were me, I’d be the hottest of hot messes. What I really want to do is come down there, hug you, rock you, pet your hair and make you tell me everything that hurts that you’ve never talked about. But how does that make you feel when you picture that?”

  I grimaced. “Like crawling out of my own skin.”

  “Well,” Belle conceded. “Beer and avoiding it is, then. Meet you downstairs in thirty.”

  There was no arguing with her at that point, so I let her go with a sigh, glancing at myself in the reflection of my now-black phone screen.

  I needed dry shampoo. And concealer. Stat.

  - Change of plans. Save me a seat at the bar. -