The Wrong Game

by Steiner, Kandi

  Belle lit up, pressing a hand to her chest as she looked up at me. “Oh, my God. That’s so sweet. Thank you, Zach.”

  I shrugged, sitting back down like it was no big deal, but I could feel Gemma’s stare burning a hole into the side of my head.

  Belle tugged the hoodie on over hers, and it swallowed her, covering her from her neck to her knees. She burrowed into it, inhaling a deep breath.

  “Mmm,” she said. “It smells so good. I love your cologne.”

  I chuckled, pulling the hood over her head playfully as she batted me away and fixed her hair. “Looks good on you.”

  Belle just smiled, reaching forward for her beer and turning her attention toward the field. She started talking to Gemma, pretending like nothing had happened as she asked her to explain what everything on the scoreboard meant. And even though Gemma answered every single question, her eyes were lasered in on me, jaw tight as she spoke.

  We all stood for the anthem and remained standing for the coin toss right after. Our boys won, and we elected to receive first. We were playing the Patriots, champions many years over, and our team needed to bring their A game if they wanted to win today.

  They weren’t the only ones.

  So, as we took our seats again, I put my arm around Belle, and I settled in for the first quarter that I didn’t even expect to play. I didn’t want to have to do it this way. If it were up to me, I would have just taken Gemma out to dinner, or to a movie, or to the freaking zoo. I would have made it clear to her that she was the only girl I was interested in, and that she could trust me not to hurt her.

  But when her best friend says she knows a better way? Well, who am I to say she’s wrong? Belle has known Gemma for years, and judging by her reaction over the last ten minutes, I had a feeling Belle wasn’t wrong in her planning.

  It wasn’t my favorite way to tackle things, but it was my last-ditch effort to win over Gemma Mancini, and that meant it was all or nothing.

  Game time.

  Gemma

  I’m going to kill her.

  I’m going to literally wrap my hands around her dainty little neck and shake her until she stops breathing.

  I’d tried to talk myself out of murder for the past two quarters. I did everything I could to focus on Jordan — the insanely attractive doctor with the adorable dog who should have had all my attention, anyway. But it was useless. I couldn’t listen to a word he said or even give myself the chance to get butterflies when he held my hand or brushed the hair out of my face because all my senses were tuned into the two jackasses next to me.

  Belle was my best friend. She had been since high school, when we bonded over our mutual hate for algebra. She’d been there when my grandpa died, and I’d been there when her first love broke her heart. She’d helped me stand up again after Carlo, and I’d helped her build an empire in interior design.

  So then why was she here, at a football game I knew she couldn’t give two shits about, hanging all over a guy she knew I liked.

  I mean, I didn’t like him — not like that. But he was a friend, and he had gone down on me roughly three weeks ago. No, I hadn’t planted a flag on him or claimed dibs, and yes, I’d told her I didn’t want to be in a relationship with him, but still… there was some kind of girl code being violated here.

  And no matter how I tried to slice it, no matter how rational I attempted to be, the only thing I could think was that I was going to kill my best friend.

  “Come on, come on,” I whispered under my breath, watching the field as our boys lined up for the next play. I was still overly aware of Belle and Zach, but that didn’t stop me from paying attention to the game. It was third down, and we were losing by three. We had less than two minutes before halftime to either tie up the game up or go all the way in for a touchdown.

  The ball was snapped, and our quarterback handed it off to the rookie running back. It didn’t look good at first, the Patriots defensive line thick, but then, a hole opened up, and our running back jetted through it, high-tailing it twelve yards down the line and securing the first down.

  The stadium roared just as the Patriots called a time-out, and I high-fived Jordan, letting out a whoo before I snatched my beer from the holder. I tilted it back, bouncing in my excitement.

  “Aw, look,” Jordan said, pointing to the screen. “Kiss cam.”

  I followed where he was pointing, and my chest tightened, my next breath barely squeezing through. An older couple blushed and laughed on the screen before leaning in for a sweet kiss, the entire stadium singing a collective aww together.

  My eyes flicked to Zach, and like a magnet, I pulled his gaze from the screen to me, instead. He swallowed, and I watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, eyes bouncing up to look at his mouth next.

  I could still feel that mouth on mine — that first night at my place, and perhaps even stronger at that next game, when he stole a kiss that should have belonged to Ben. I was so mad when he kissed me, but was I really?

  We both knew the answer to that.

  I wanted him to kiss me — that first night, that next game, Monday night.

  Now.

  I wanted him to kiss me. And I hated that I could never hide that from him.

  Belle smacked Zach’s chest, snapping his attention away from me and back to her. She smiled, pointing up at the screen, and Zach and I both looked back up at it at the same time.

  It was them.

  Zach’s eyes were wide with shock, his mouth gaping open a little as Belle laughed, turning toward him with an adorable, expectant grin. The crowd cheered, and Zach looked off camera, but not at Belle.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen.

  Because I knew he was looking at me.

  Instead, I watched like I was somewhere else, like I was in a completely different state or country altogether as Zach ran the pad of his thumb over Belle’s cheek, and then he leaned in and kissed the spot his skin had just touched.

  There was another chorus of aww’s, but he did earn some boo’s, too, since it was just a kiss on the cheek. Still, Belle lit up like she’d never been kissed before, like she was a little girl with her first crush, and she leaned into him with the camera still on them, wrapping her arms around his waist as he tucked her under his arm.

  And that’s when the thought hit me.

  Maybe he liked her.

  I hadn’t even considered it, but he had asked her here after all, right? Maybe, when I’d blown him off, he’d moved on. They had hung out all night at the bar on Monday, when I was with Andy and his friends. Maybe they bonded. Maybe they made a connection.

  My stomach twisted, and I doubled over with the pain, covering my mouth as the possibility played out in my head. Jordan rubbed my back, asking if I was okay, and I nodded, sitting back up straight just as the guys lined up for the next play.

  I didn’t breathe the rest of the quarter.

  My eyes were on the field. I stood and cheered when appropriate, I groaned when the play didn’t go the way it should have, and though I couldn’t have told a single soul how it happened, we somehow got the touchdown by the time the whistle blew for halftime.

  I cheered as our guys ran into the locker room, high-fiving Jordan and a few others around us, all the while using every cell in my brain just to take my next breath.

  “Wow, this is such a great game!” Belle said. We were all still standing, and she hung her hands on her hips, turning her attention up to Zach. “I’m hungry. Let’s go get those hot dogs.”

  “NO.”

  The word flew out of my mouth on my next exhale, which was still coming painfully from my chest. Every breath was a struggle, my will to keep my cool fading fast.

  I cleared my throat. “I mean, let the guys stay here. I’m hungry, too, and since I messed up my first hot dog, I’ll go with you.”

  “Oh, okay,” Belle said, oblivious. She smiled, running her hand down Zach’s arm. “Want anything?”

  “I’ll take another beer
.”

  “You got it.” She smiled, giving him a wink as she started for the aisleway. I followed, not asking Jordan if he wanted anything and not looking up at Zach when I squeezed past him, either.

  My eyes were zeroed in on the back of my best friend’s pretty little head as I imagined what it’d look like if I kicked her to the ground.

  Belle bounced up the stairs, falling in line behind the other fans filing up to the concession stands. When we made it to the top, she pulled off to the side, smiling and flipping her hair over her shoulder.

  “Hmm, now that we’re up here, I think I might want pizza. Do you want pizza?”

  I wrapped my fist in Zach’s hoodie and tugged her into a corner out of the way. “Cut the shit, Belle.”

  “Hey!” she pouted, swatting my hand away and smoothing the fabric of the hoodie.

  “What are you doing?”

  Belle blinked. “I’m watching the game, just like you.”

  “No. I mean what are you doing here, with him.”

  She smiled, looking back to our seats like she could somehow see him over the crowd. “He asked me to come. We hung out that night at the bar, and I don’t know, he’s fun. I figured it’d be cool. Plus, you’re here. I can hang out with both of you.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Belle.”

  “What?” she asked incredulously, pulling her hair over one shoulder and running her fingers through it. “What does it matter that I came with him, anyway? I thought you didn’t want to date him. I thought you wanted to be his friend.”

  “I do,” I answered with a huff, blinking more than necessary. “That’s not the point.”

  “What is the point?”

  “The point is, you’re my best friend,” I said, stepping into her. “And you’re on a date with a guy I was on a date with three weeks ago.”

  Belle smirked, one brow perking up as she crossed her arms and leaned her weight on one hip.

  “I thought it wasn’t a date.”

  I tossed my hands up. “Oh, my God. You know what I mean. Stop playing dumb. I—”

  “YOU FIRST,” Belle said, cutting me off as she poked me hard in the chest.

  Her eyes narrowed, lips flattening into a thin line as I rubbed the spot she’d just poked, taking a step back.

  She shook her head, like I was blind or crazy or both. “Gemma, I’m not here because I want to date Zach. Although, to be completely honest, if he would have showed interest in me before you, you can guaranfuckingtee I would have jumped all over that.”

  I blinked, digesting her words as the crowd shifted around us, but she didn’t give me much of a chance to catch on before she continued.

  “I’m here because you’re being stupid. You’re letting this guy go when you know you like him, you know he’s amazing, and all because what? You’re afraid of being hurt?” Belle laughed. “Yeah, dating is scary. It’s fucking terrifying. But look at how happy Zach makes you when you’re not dating him. Can you imagine what it could be like if you were?”

  I swallowed, pressing my lips together, not a single word coming to mind to refute her point.

  “You’ll never know what happiness you could have with him if you don’t take the risk of being hurt, Gemma.”

  My shoulders sagged, mind running over what she’d said as my heart squeezed painfully in my chest. But then I crossed my arms, shaking my head at the pot calling the kettle black. “Says the queen of being single,” I popped off. “You never date. How can you preach to me when you’re the spokesperson for this shit?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I never date,” she said, her jaw tight. “I never let anyone in. And you know what? I’m miserable. I’m lonely, and detached, and I haven’t had a real, genuine connection with anyone other than you in years. So yeah, I have some shit to figure out, and I’m working on it.” Her bottom lip quivered a bit, but she stood taller, holding her shoulders back. “But don’t be fooled into thinking that this is some sort of glamorous life,” she continued, gesturing to herself. “Because it isn’t.”

  I softened at that, reaching out to squeeze her hand. At first, she flinched, but she didn’t pull away. She squeezed my hand in return, a heavy sigh leaving her chest.

  “I know Carlo hurt you, okay? I know,” she said softly. “And I know that me showing up here with Zach wasn’t the best thing I could do as your friend. I knew I was pushing your buttons — that was the goal. And it was against everything you told me you wanted,” she admitted. “But Zach is a good guy. And unlike Carlo, he’s here, fighting for you. He wants you. And I know you want him. Stop fighting against him and just… try. Trust him. See what happens.”

  In theory, her advice sounded so pleasant. It sounded like everything I wanted, to go fall into Zach’s arms, to let him in, to try.

  But my wounds from Carlo were still fresh, not even scabbed over and scarring yet. They throbbed in protest of the thought.

  “What if I get hurt again?” I asked her, something stinging the back of my eyes. I knew it couldn’t be tears. I hadn’t cried since the day of Carlo’s funeral, and even then, those tears hadn’t felt like mine. “I can’t… I don’t know if I could ever come back from that again.”

  Belle ran her thumb over my knuckles. “If he hurts you, then you do exactly what you did last time. You pick yourself up, dust that shit off, and keep walking. You stand a little straighter and you learn.” She paused, glancing to the left like she was thinking of something else metaphoric to say. But when she turned back to me, she shrugged. “And I’ll castrate him, for good measure.”

  A laugh shot out of me, just one at first, but then she laughed and I laughed again, and before I knew it, we were both crying from surrendering to a fit of giggles.

  “Ugh,” I said, wiping at the corner of my eyes. “Damn it, Belle, I wanted to kill you. You know that? Like, I was weighing the risk of going to prison for life.”

  Belle smiled, wrapping me in a hug. “I know. I’m a great actress, aren’t I? Maybe I should change careers.”

  “Please don’t.”

  She was still smiling as she let me go, holding her hands on my shoulders. “Fine, I won’t. And I’m sorry I had to do that, but I had to wake you up somehow, and this was the closest bucket of cold water I could find.”

  She watched me for a moment, fixing my hair and straightening my sweater before she smacked my ass playfully.

  “Now,” she said, pulling back to assess me. “Go get your man.”

  “What about Jordan?”

  She grinned. “Oh, I think I can handle him.”

  I returned her smile, wrapping her in one more hug and whispering a thank you. Then, I was jogging down the steps back to our seats, not knowing what the hell I was going to say once I got there.

  Belle was right behind me, and when I plopped down in the seat next to Zach, he frowned, eyes questioning me before they flicked up to look at Belle.

  “Hey, Jordan,” she called over my head, ignoring Zach. “Can you come help me with something?”

  Jordan looked at me, but I didn’t return his gaze, keeping my eyes fixed on Zach.

  “Uh, sure.”

  He stood, letting Belle tug him up toward the concession stands as Zach looked back to me.

  “Hi,” I breathed.

  Zach smirked. “Hi?”

  Swallowing, I extended a shaking hand toward him. “I’m Gemma Mancini. And I am really, really stupid.”

  He laughed, taking my hand in his. “I’m Zach Bowen. I can also be pretty stupid.”

  “Looks like we already have something in common.”

  I smiled, heart pounding out of my chest as I searched for the right words to say. I kept Zach’s hand in mine, but dropped it down until it rested in my lap. I held onto him like he was the one thing grounding me, trying to remember everything Belle had just said as my heart screamed at me to reconsider what I was about to do.

  “I’m sorry, Zach. For everything.” I shook my head, shrugging. “I had this plan, right? Like, I had
this thing that I felt like I could do. Take a different guy to every game, don’t get attached, have fun without having to risk getting hurt.” I paused. “Again.” Swallowing, I squeezed his hand in mine. “I felt like I was in control. But then you happened.”

  Zach cringed, but smiled through it. “Sorry?”

  “You should be,” I said on a laugh, but I covered his hand that was still in mine with the other. “Stepping out of that plan, it freaked me out. You freaked me out,” I admitted. “You still do. And that’s why I’ve fought against the way you make me feel. It wasn’t you I was trying to prove a point to on Monday,” I whispered. “It was me.”

  He smiled, touching my chin with the thumb and pointer finger of his free hand. “The way I make you feel, huh?” he asked. “And how’s that?”

  I blew out a breath. “Like I’m dancing on top of the world and falling off of it into a dark oblivion all at once.”

  Zach laughed.

  “I don’t know what I have to give, or how crazy I’ll be while I try to figure it out, but…” I shrugged. “I do like you, Zach. And I don’t want to be friends.” I paused. “I don’t want to be just friends.”

  His hand tightened around mine, and he shook his head, watching me like I was the most infuriating, yet adorable creature in the world.

  At least, that’s where I hoped I’d landed.

  “I have a wild proposition,” he finally said, still holding my hand.

  “What’s that?”

  “I know it’s only halftime, but how do you feel about watching the rest of this game back at your place?”

  His eyes sparked with heat, a devilish smile curling on his lips as he watched me. That heat spread from my neck to my toes, pooling between my legs as a completely different kind of throbbing took over my body.

  “At least no one will yell at us for standing up there, right?” I teased.

  He barked out a laugh, and in the next second, I was in his arms, his lips pressed against mine as my entire body melted into him. It was the kind of relief you felt after a fight, or after hearing the good news you’ve been praying for for weeks. Every worry, every ounce of tension flowed out of me at once, releasing the knots in my muscles in a single breath.