The Wrong Game

by Steiner, Kandi

  “Do you even still want to do this anymore?”

  I chewed the inside of my lip, considering her question. “I do. I mean, look…” I ran a hand back through my greasy, rat-nest-like hair. “I’m not ready to date, to be in a relationship.” I kind of laughed at that. “Clearly. And honestly, I don’t want to do that again. But you were right…” I sighed. “I miss being touched, being looked at by a man who wants me, spending time with the opposite sex or, honestly, anyone. And Zach showed me that that part of me I thought was dead is still very much alive. So, yes. I do want to keep going to the games, and I do want to stick to our original plan.”

  “Do you think,” Belle asked, pausing a moment before she continued. “Is it possible that maybe it’s Zach that you want, not just some random guy? Maybe that’s why it’s hard for you to pick the next one.”

  I shook my head firmly. “No. I mean, yes, I like Zach. He’s fun, he’s hot.” I chuckled. “He infuriates the hell out of me. But, I really do feel like I’m being true to myself when I say I don’t want to go past one night with a guy. I mean, I hope Zach and I can be friends, but… nothing more.”

  My chest was tight as I said those words, probably due to my drunken confessions to myself last night. But that was the tequila talking. I was attracted to Zach, which was normal, but I didn’t want more from him than what we’d already had.

  I couldn’t want more than that.

  My sober mind was all too aware of what its drunken counterpart had neglected to take into consideration last night, which was that no matter how safe Zach felt in this moment, he wasn’t.

  No one was.

  I could hear Belle moving around in her condo, but no words came. After a long pause, she cleared her throat. “Well, if that’s the case, then my theory is you feel out of control because you acted out of character last night. If you want to get the reins back, I think you should call Zach and apologize. Talk to him. Establish a friendship, make it crystal clear you want nothing more, and then you’ll feel better and you can move on to the next guy.”

  “In theory, that all sounds grand,” I said. “But, do you think there’s any chance in hell he’ll want to speak to me, let alone be my friend, after last night?”

  Belle sighed. “There’s only one way to find out.”

  We ended the call not too long after that, and I sat in my bed, staring at my cell phone and debating whether I should call Zach or not.

  On the one hand, I sort of felt validated in my actions. After all, I’d told him he was wasting his time. I told him I didn’t want anything more with him than that one night, and he just wouldn’t take no for an answer. So, last night, I proved to him that I was serious. It might not have been the classiest way to get my point across, but it worked.

  Still, the larger, louder part of me felt like putting my own self in timeout. It didn’t matter what I was trying to accomplish, my actions last night had been deplorable — even my own body was punishing me for it. I felt like shit because I should have. Just because I didn’t want to date Zach didn’t mean I didn’t like him as a human being.

  And wasn’t that part of my whole plan, to make friends, too? Why didn’t I just explain to him that I liked him, but that I couldn’t be more than friends right now? I played the game because it felt like fun, because I wanted to prove a point.

  The only thing I’d proven was how much of a jackass I could be.

  I could have sat and argued with myself all day, blaming my actions on the dream I’d had of Carlo, or on my past, or whatever else I could think of. But instead, I grabbed the phone, and I dialed Zach’s number.

  “Hello?”

  His voice was gruff, like he’d had just as rough of a night as I’d had.

  “Hey,” I said, and suddenly, any idea of what I should say was thrown out the window. “Uh… how are you?”

  “Just peachy. Did you need something?”

  He was being short, and I could tell he was angry. He should have been. I would have been.

  I inhaled, blowing out my next breath slowly and kicking the covers off my lap. “I’m sorry about last night, Zach.”

  My heart was in my throat, especially when he didn’t respond. But once I opened the flood gates, everything just poured out.

  “It’s not an excuse, but you’re right, I have been hurt. And yesterday was a bad day. I just… I wasn’t in the right mindset to be out and drinking, and I had all this stuff on my mind.”

  There was still silence on the other end, and suddenly I couldn’t have the conversation while sitting still. I crawled out of bed, pacing the floor in my bedroom.

  “At first, I was just having fun. I was playing your game.”

  “I wasn’t playing a game.”

  I swallowed. “No, no, I just mean, you know, I was teasing you or whatever. But I took it too far, and then I was all butthurt after some of the stuff you said last night. Again, I just wasn’t in the right mindset. But, that doesn’t mean I should have done what I did, or said those things, and I just feel like shit and…” I sighed. “I’m sorry, okay? Truly.”

  There was a long, heavy breath on the other end, and then Zach’s dejected voice. “It’s fine.”

  “No, seriously. I really am sorry. Look, I mean it when I say I’m not ready to date you… but it’s not just you. It’s anyone. And I know that sounds stupid and cliché, but I just… I’ve done the dating thing, and the love thing, and I don’t want to do it anymore.”

  “It’s cool. I get it.”

  “But just because I can’t go on a date with you or be in a relationship, it doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, right?” I stopped pacing, hope springing to my chest. “I really do have so much fun with you, Zach. I think it’d be awesome to hang out more, watch the games together, get to know each other more. Belle and I can come crash your shifts at the bar,” I added with a laugh. “What do you say? Truce?”

  Zach laughed, but it wasn’t the same kind of laugh as mine. It almost seemed laced with sarcasm, or disbelief.

  “Sure, Gemma. We can be friends.”

  “Do you really mean that, or are you being sarcastic?”

  He sighed, and my heart leapt into my throat waiting for his reply. When it didn’t come, I kept rambling.

  “This plan, I’m sure it seems stupid to you, but it’s really important to me. I think that’s why I went to such drastic lengths to preserve it. It’s the first time I’ve put myself out there since… since I was hurt, and—”

  “It’s fine, okay? It’s cool. Friends. Got it.”

  I sighed, smiling. “Okay. Thank you, Zach, for listening. For understanding.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Are you going to the game Sunday? Will I see you there?”

  There was another sigh. “Yeah, I’ll be at the game. And don’t worry. I got your message loud and clear. I won’t give you any trouble.”

  I swallowed a thick, sticky ball, wondering why my stomach was tying up so tightly when Zach was telling me exactly what I’d convinced myself I wanted to hear.

  “Thank you.” I paused. “You know, you should bring someone. A friend. We could all hang out, it’d be fun.”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay,” I said, pacing again. I’d always felt awkward when apologizing, mostly because I hated admitting I was wrong. And the longer I stayed on the phone with Zach, the more the heavy silence between us became too much. “Well, I should get going. But I’ll see you Sunday.”

  “See you Sunday.”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the line went dead.

  Part of me felt sick, like I’d made a mistake, but I was willing to recognize that that was the part of me that still believed in love. She was small, and weak, and beaten and bruised, but she was there. And that part of me was sad that I’d blown off such a sexy, funny, amazing guy.

  But, the larger part of me, the new me, was happy and relieved. Now that Zach and I had established a friendship, now that I knew he would no longer be pull
ing any tricks out of his hat to try to get another date with me, I could focus on the original plan.

  My next breath came easier, the relief of being back in control already hitting me like a shot of heroine. It was my drug — control — and I needed it to survive.

  I opened the dating app, swiping through my messages until I found one that looked promising. And once I had a date lined up for the next home game, it was like my hangover was gone altogether.

  I was back in control, the plan was back in place, and everything felt right again.

  Stripping out of my underwear and t-shirt, I ran a hot bath, sinking into the steaming water and letting it soothe my aching muscles. I knew Zach was still upset, and he had every right to be. But, tonight was a stepping stone for both of us. We’d both move forward, knowing where we stand with the other, and we could finally stop playing all the games.

  In fact, I was pretty sure this was the best thing that could have happened, the more I thought about it. Now, Zach and I were friends. He was a great guy, and we had so much fun together. Maybe one day, we’d look back on all this and laugh.

  I smiled, closing my eyes and sinking deeper into the water.

  Everything was back to normal.

  Zach

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?” Mom asked at dinner Saturday night, her eyes sad as she watched me push another bite of my lasagna around my plate. “You love lasagna. It’s your favorite.”

  “He’s probably just sad that I denied his request to work tonight,” Doc said.

  Mom gasped, like I’d personally offended her. “You wouldn’t miss family dinner. Why would you want to work tonight?”

  I sighed, dropping my fork to the plate and sinking back into my chair. “I just have a lot on my mind, Mom. I figured working would keep me from sulking.”

  “That’s not how we raised you,” Dad chimed in, wiping his mouth with his napkin. He took a sip of his red wine, leveling his gaze with mine across the table. “Suppressing whatever is bothering you is only going to make it more of a mess when it all boils over.”

  I ran a hand over my head, roughing up my hair and suppressing a groan. I would never be disrespectful to my father, but right now, the last thing I wanted to hear was his preachy shit about how I should embrace my feelings.

  That was what got me into this mess in the first place.

  “What’s going on, son?” he asked after a moment. “Talk to us.”

  “Oh, oh,” Micah said, shoveling a large piece of garlic bread into his mouth and holding up one hand like he was in school. “Let me guess. Football girl broke your heart already, didn’t she?”

  “Shut up, Micah.”

  He just laughed. “Oh, man, I nailed it, didn’t I? What, she didn’t fall for the rose pedals on the bed and the Nicholas Sparks double feature?”

  I gritted my teeth together, letting my fist fall hard on the table. “Damn it, Micah, I said don’t.”

  The whole table shook with my action, and Mom reached out to steady her wine glass before her eyes narrowed in on me. “Zachary Abel.”

  “Sorry, Mom. I’m sorry.” I sighed, folding up my napkin and placing it on the table. “I’m okay, I promise, okay, guys? Just not in the mood to be razzed tonight.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry, bro,” Micah said, sincerity in his eyes. “I was just messing around.”

  “It’s okay.” I cleared my throat, standing. “I’m going to get some fresh air. Excuse me.”

  I didn’t look at any of them as I ducked out of the dining room, my next breath coming once I was on our back porch. I draped my arms over the railing, watching the sun set over the trees in the distance, the Chicago skyline outlined behind them.

  I was pathetic.

  It had been five full days since I’d seen Gemma, since the night she’d made her point crystal clear at Doc’s bar, and yet I was still moping around like a boy who’d lost his dog. I should have been able to let her go by now, to accept that what I wanted wasn’t going to happen — but it seemed like my attitude about the whole thing only got worse the more time passed.

  At first, I’d just been pissed. There I was, excited as hell to see her that night, to talk to her, to learn more about her, and she’d shown up to my bar and hung all over another guy in front of me. What was worse was that she knew what she was doing to me. It was on purpose. It was a game. She even admitted it when she called me the next day.

  But, it was after that call that my anger turned to a feeling of helplessness.

  She was finally honest with me, telling me she’d been hurt, and asking me to respect the fact that she just wasn’t ready to date yet. It had been all fun and games before, buying the season passes next to her just to rattle her. I thought it was about sticking to her plan, about her OCD personality that needed to check shit off her list.

  But it was more than that.

  Someone had fucked her over. I didn’t know who, or what they did, and I probably never would. All I did know was that she’d asked me to be her friend with desperation in her voice that let me know she meant it when she said that’s all she could let me be.

  Friends.

  I laughed out loud again at that, shaking my head as the last little sliver of sun dipped below the skyline. The thought that I could be just friends with that woman was ludicrous, and yet somehow, I knew I’d take the torture. I knew I’d go to that game tomorrow and sit beside her, and try to be around her in whatever capacity she’d let me — simply because I wanted her that bad.

  Fucking pathetic.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket, snapping me out of my pity party. I didn’t recognize the number, so I sent it to voicemail, content to sulk on my own for a while longer. I knew, eventually, I’d have to suck it up and move on. Doc was right — she was just a girl. There were a million others out there.

  The problem was there wasn’t a single other one like her.

  That much I knew.

  My phone buzzed again, and I huffed, frowning when I saw the same number. I answered this time, resorting to taking my frustration out on whatever poor telemarketer was on the other end.

  “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying. Fuck off.”

  “Whoa,” a soft, familiar voice said. “That’s messed up. What if I was like a single mom just trying to sell carpet shampoo and make ends meet, you jerk.”

  I frowned. “Belle?”

  “Indeed. You free to talk for a sec?”

  I leaned a hip against the railing. “Uh, yeah. How did you get my number?”

  “Well, I’m at the bar right now, but the cute little bartender who’s here said you’re off on Saturdays. She gave me your number.”

  I sighed. “So much for protection of employees.”

  “Oh, shut it, I would have stolen it from Gemma if I had to. Which brings me to why I’m calling.”

  “Look, she already talked to me, okay?” I pushed off the railing, crossing the porch to sit on the swing Dad built for Mom a few years back. “I got it. Just friends.”

  “Yeah, well… about that.”

  Belle paused, and I sat up a little straighter.

  “Here’s the thing, PITA Boy.”

  “PITA?”

  “Pain In The Ass. That’s how Gemma affectionately refers to you.”

  I chuckled. “Why does that not surprise me.”

  “Anyway, look, I like you, okay? And I know Gemma does, too. She’s too fucked up to admit it, and her favorite thing to do is shove anything resembling an emotion down into a basement full of boxes so she can continue living upstairs and ignore everything lurking in the dark down there.” She sighed. “I know what she told you, and I know she thinks that’s what she wants — but, I also have the good fortune of knowing her better than she knows herself.”

  “What are you saying?” I asked, leaning forward on the swing and resting my elbows on my knees.

  “I’m saying that my dumb ass best friend likes you, and she’s scared of you because of it. And, I think we should band together
to get her to open her big, beautiful, dumb eyes.”

  I smirked, and though hope floated through me like a feather in the wind, reality snatched it in a fist, crushing it almost instantly.

  “You’re sweet, Belle,” I said, voice low. “And I appreciate you reaching out to try to make me feel better. But, Gemma made her point very clear on Monday night, and she sealed it with her call on Tuesday. She seemed to know very well what she wants… and what she doesn’t. I think we should both respect that.”

  “You’re right. We probably should. She told me she wants to keep going through with the new guy every game thing and I want to just support her in that but…” she sighed. “Well, the thing is, that even if it makes me an intrusive best friend, I don’t think I can do that.

  I didn’t know what to say, so I just waited for her to continue.

  “This is classic Gemma. She spiraled on Monday night, and then she felt like shit,” Belle said. “In a desperate attempt to gain back control over the situation, she took everything in front of her and looked at it as logically as she could. She packed the emotions away, tucked them in her basement, and focused on making lists, and plans. You’re not something she can easily fit into either category, therefore she had to push you into a zone she understood — the friend zone. There, she knows how to handle you. There, she thinks she’s in control. But I know her, and I know she likes you — more than she’s willing to admit.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she can’t stop talking about you,” Belle answered easily. I couldn’t help the way my stomach flipped at that, a smile climbing at the corner of my lips. “Even if it is only to say how much you infuriate her.”

  I laughed, and suddenly the energy running through me was too much. I stood, pacing the porch. Hope tried to fly again, but I couldn’t let go of everything Gemma had said to me on the phone, and I couldn’t erase everything I’d seen that night at the bar.