“Thank God for that.”
Zach
Make a wish, birthday girl.
I watched Gemma laugh over the top of the two candles, one in the shape of a three and the other, a zero. Of course, she’d asked for no cake, so instead, the candles sat smushed between a hot dog and the outer buns. It was the strangest thing I’d ever seen.
And it was absolutely perfect.
When she said she didn’t want any fanfare for her thirtieth birthday, it’d taken everything in me to actually listen. I wanted to throw her a big party, or take her out for an expensive night on the town. I wanted to spoil her.
But, she looked happier than I’d ever seen her, surrounded by a few friends from her office, Belle, and the other usual Sunday patrons at Doc’s bar. The Bears had won their one o’clock game against the Minnesota Vikings, and Gemma had celebrated with a round of shots for the entire bar.
She was tipsy, and smiling, and adorable.
Still, as she blew out the candles, laughing and immediately taking a bite of the hot dog once Belle pulled the extinguished candles away, I couldn’t help but stare a little longer. I couldn’t help but think of all I’d come to learn about her in the past week, and all I still had no idea about.
Gemma wasn’t who I thought she was when I first met her.
I thought I had her figured out. It was the classic “girl who’s been hurt and is afraid of love” scenario. I’d seen it in a hundred romantic comedies, and I was ready to step in and play my part as the hero, ready to peel back her layers slowly, to gain her trust and her heart — should we make it that far.
But she’d dropped a bomb on me Wednesday night.
I’d literally laughed out loud at myself on my way home that night, thinking of how over-confident I’d been. I should have known that Gemma was far from the norm, far from any other woman I’d ever met before, and therefore, the story of her past would be the same.
She had been married.
Those words had slipped from her mouth as easily as someone saying they were hungry or tired or that they’d had a long day at work. And after, she didn’t say much else. I supposed there wasn’t really much to say after she told me her husband had passed away, but now, I saw her in a new light.
I saw a completely different woman.
She wasn’t just strong, independent, fiery, and fun. She was a survivor. She had been through something that not many could emerge on the other side of.
I wasn’t sure I could have, if it’d been me in her shoes.
And still, there was more to the story. There was more to her late husband than she’d told me. I didn’t have an explanation for how I knew that other than I watched her as she talked, as we walked those city streets, and I felt it. I felt her holding back, being careful with her words, revealing only what she wanted to in that moment.
It wasn’t much, but it was more than she’d shared with me before. And I found out later in the week that it was more than she’d shared with anyone, other than Belle, since he’d passed.
She didn’t talk about him to anyone.
And maybe that’s how I knew there was more to say.
“Hey, you,” Gemma said, sliding her hands around my waist. She leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss me, a lazy smile on her face when she pulled back. “I’m a wee bit tipsy.”
I laughed. “As you should be, birthday girl.” I wiped a bit of ketchup from the corner of her mouth. “I still can’t believe you like hot dogs with ketchup on them.”
“And cheese.”
“So disgusting.”
“Hey,” she pouted, poking out her lip in a way that made me want to cuddle her and take her to the bedroom all at once. “It’s good, okay? Just because I don’t like stupid Italian sausages or Polish sausages or whatever.”
“It’s fine that you like hot dogs, but you could at least like Chicago-style hot dogs. Ketchup isn’t allowed.”
“Says the one who wasn’t even born or raised in Chicago,” she pointed out.
“Exactly. And even I know the proper way to eat a Chicago dog. I mean, I’m not judging you,” I said, voice fading. “But you’re wrong. Just so you know.”
She stuck her tongue out.
“You know,” Gemma said after a moment, pointing her finger right at my nose. “You promised me we’d play football today, and it’s almost sunset and you have not fulfilled said promise.”
She hiccuped, and her eyes widened, like that damn hiccup had snuck up on her and she had no idea what the hell it was.
I laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure you could catch a football right now if you wanted to.”
“I could, too,” she argued. “Did you bring one?”
“I always have one in my car.”
“Well, go get it, then.”
And that was all she said to me before she strutted her ass out of the bar. I turned, finding Doc watching me from behind the bar, and he shook his head on a laugh. “That one’s yours, huh?”
“I’m calling all the dibs.”
Doc chuckled. “I’ll hold it down in here. Go find her before she wanders off alone.”
I jogged out after her, stopping by my car out back before finding her in the little lot of grass between Doc’s bar and a local clothing boutique. She stood staring at graffiti art that covered the brick siding of Doc’s, her hands tucked into the back pocket of her jeans. And as I got closer, I noticed her shivering.
“It’s freezing out here,” I told her. She turned, smiling when she saw the football. “You need your jacket and scarf.”
“I’m fine. We’ll warm up. Here,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Hit me. I’m open.”
I cringed, worried about her ability to catch. So I wound up, and as gently as I could, tossed her the ball.
She caught it easily, and immediately scoffed.
“What the hell was that?” She shook her head, lining her fingers up with the white laces. “I know you were a receiver and not a QB, but that was terrible.”
She pulled the ball back behind her, and then threw with all her might, the ball soaring across the little field in a perfect spiral. I snapped my hands up just in time to catch it before it hit me square in the chest, and I fought to keep my jaw from dropping.
“Now,” she said, holding her hands up. “Really throw it. I promise, you’re not going to break me.”
I just stood there, gaping, blinking more than necessary before I finally blurted out, “Marry me.”
She laughed, hiccuping again. “Throw the damn ball, Bowen.”
I did, and this time I threw it the same way I would to my brother or dad or any of my guy friends. Gemma caught it easily, tucking it into her side and charging at me like she was running down the field toward the red zone.
I smirked, blocking her advance and picking her up in my arms to twirl her around. She kept the ball safe, though, and when I let her back down to the ground, she jogged across the lot, turning once she was farther away than before.
She threw it again, and I caught it easily, tossing it back to her with a little more gusto than before. For a while, we just fell into the rhythm of catching and throwing, and the more my arm warmed up, the more every inch of me itched to play.
This was the most I’d touched a football in years.
It wasn’t that I didn’t have opportunities to go play. I’d been asked to be in countless community leagues, and my coach from college had asked me to come out and help with their training camp three years in a row before he gave up. But the truth was, as much as it brought me joy to play, it also broke my fucking heart.
Because I’d wanted it so bad — to play all through college, take my team to the championship game, win a ring, go pro.
But I’d wanted my brother to have everything he needed, more.
And I wanted to spend as much time as I could with him — especially since I didn’t know how much time we actually had.
“Alright, let’s run a drill or something,” Gemma said, tossing t
he ball up as she backed farther away from me. “Show me your moves.”
“Don’t hurt yourself now, birthday girl.”
Gemma narrowed her eyes, catching the ball and gripping it hard in her tiny hands. “Go long.”
She wound up, taking a few steps back as I jogged lazily out a ways. But when she threw it, I realized I hadn’t gone nearly far enough.
“Shit,” I murmured, sprinting to get under the ball. I was still short though, so I jumped, sailing in the air with one hand outstretched toward the pigskin. The leather fell into that hand, and I jerked it quickly into my side, rolling to the ground to complete the catch.
“TOUCHDOWN!”
Gemma screamed, jumping up and down before sprinting over to me. I was on my way to standing, but she tackled me back to the ground, laughing as we rolled in the dead grass, the ground cold beneath us.
The ball was still tucked into my side, but I let it fall, pulling Gemma into me, instead. She was still laughing as she leaned up on one elbow, the other hand resting on my chest as her hair fell over her shoulder. There were little pieces of grass stuck in it, and I smiled, plucking them free as she watched me.
“You still love it, don’t you?” she asked, catching her breath. “You miss it.”
I nodded. “I do.”
“Why did you stop playing, Zach?”
I exhaled long and hard, eyes floating up to the overcast sky above. It was a perfect fall evening, cold and gray, exactly what I loved October to be. “I just realized that there were other, more important things in my life that needed my full attention.”
Gemma frowned. “Well, that’s not vague or anything.”
“It’s just hard to explain,” I said, pulling another blade of brown grass from her hair. “I will, one day. I’ll tell you. But not today, okay? It’s your birthday. Let’s talk about happy things.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, eyes rolling up to the sky again before I brought them back to hers. “Tell me about your job.”
“My job?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I know you work for Belle, and we kind of talked a little about what you do, but I want to know more. You don’t talk about it much.”
Gemma laid her cheek on my chest. “There’s not much to say. When we graduated college, she started her interior design firm, and she was a mess.” She chuckled. “She’s insanely talented when it comes to making someone’s home or office or event space gorgeous, but when it comes to balancing finances or sorting paperwork? Girl is helpless.”
“So, in steps you, the Planning Queen.”
“Exactly.”
I smiled. “So was that your dream, to work for your best friend?”
She shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know what my dream was. I don’t know that I ever had one. I love working for Belle, because she’s my best friend and I want to be a part of her journey. Plus, being her assistant, I get to do everything that comes naturally to my OCD brain, anyway.” She paused, eyes focused somewhere in the distance. “But, I don’t know. When I met Carlo, I just kind of fell in line behind him.”
My throat closed a little at the sound of his name. She hadn’t mentioned it before, and for some reason, giving her late husband a name made him more real.
“All through college, I did whatever he wanted to, even majored in business because he told me it would be the most beneficial,” she continued. “He was older than me, and already had a strong foot in the technology business when I graduated. He was making startup apps and selling them to the highest bidder, kind of like flipping houses.” Gemma shrugged. “And when I graduated, we got married, and I stepped into my role as his wife, and helped Belle build her business. I think I’ve always been an assistant, in more ways than one.”
I ran my hand through her hair, now grass-free. “I bet Belle loves having you.”
Gemma smiled at that. “She does. She’s so thankful, and she treats me so well. Pays me more than she should. But…” She shook her head. “This is going to sound weird, but ever since Carlo passed away, I’m starting to realize that I just did all this stuff without really asking myself what I wanted. Like, we were a unit, we did everything together. I don’t really know what I want or who I am without him.”
I frowned, pushing to sit up and bringing her with me. I wrapped my arms around her, kissing her hair. “I don’t really know what I want, either,” I said. “I haven’t really paused to ask myself, not since I gave up football. I mean, I love working at Doc’s. He’s like Belle in a way, pays me more than he should, probably more than he can afford, and he’s like a dad to me. But… I don’t know. Is it what I want for the rest of my life?”
“Exactly,” Gemma said on a sigh. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”
“Maybe we can figure it out together,” I offered, leaning back to search her eyes with my own. “But, I’m in no rush. Life isn’t all about where you work, anyway.”
“Right?” Gemma tossed her hands up. “Everyone always starts off with that, like at parties and stuff. They want to know where you work, what you do for a living. But isn’t it about so much more than that?”
“It is,” I said. “It’s about what you do when you’re not working, how you spend your free time in life. Where do you go to recharge, to find peace?”
Gemma leaned into me. “And where is that place for you?”
“Your bed.”
She swatted my arm.
“I don’t know, there are a lot of places. My parents’ house, the gym…” My voice faded, and I ran my fingers through her hair, tucking the strands behind one ear. “And, in all seriousness, places like this. With people like you.”
Gemma smiled, leaning into my hand still framing her face. She watched me for a long moment before closing the distance between us and sealing her lips with mine.
I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her into me, and we both inhaled that kiss like it was a fresh breath after being submerged under water. Her little hands fisted in my sweater, and she shivered, goosebumps racing all the way up to her neck.
“Let’s get back inside,” I whispered against her lips.
“Wait,” she said, swallowing. Her eyes watched my lips, crawling slowly up until they met my gaze. “What if we… left.”
“You want to leave your own birthday party?”
Gemma shrugged. “Game’s over, candles have been blown out. They’ll survive the rest of the night without me.”
A smile tugged my lips to one side. “And where is it that you’d like to go?”
She dragged her finger down my arm, gaze following it as she bit her lip. When her eyes found mine again, she watched me through her lashes, a slight tinge of pink on her cheeks. “Take me to your place?”
She licked the lip that had just been pinned between her teeth, and heat sparked low in my stomach, rolling through me as desire eclipsed everything else. I wanted those wet lips on me. I wanted Gemma in my bed, in the suit she was supposed to wear on this day.
So, I stood, tugging her to her feet before I pulled her in for one long, hot, intentional kiss.
And I gave the birthday girl what she wished for.
“Welcome to the palace,” I said, holding the door to my apartment open for Gemma. She rolled her eyes, stepping through and staying near the door as I locked up behind us, hanging my keys on the hook near the entrance.
Gemma tucked her hand in her back pockets, looking around with a small smile. My apartment was modest compared to hers — a small studio on the south side of town. The kitchen and living area were basically one room, with the bedroom and bathroom being separated only by a thin wall. It had a modern feel, brick and concrete and high-hanging wire lighting, but it was clean and minimal. I didn’t need much.
“This is so nice,” she said, and she started walking around, eyeing what little décor I had — old football photos, pictures of me and the family, some old bar signs from Doc’s. “It’s… cool. Modern.”
“You
sound surprised,” I said, feigning offense as I sat the two boxes I’d carried up on the kitchen bar. They were her birthday presents, but I told her she couldn’t open them until we were alone. “What, I don’t seem cool to you?”
“About as cool as Carlton from Fresh Prince.”
I laughed. “I can actually do that dance.”
“That doesn’t surprise me even a little bit.”
“It’s very entertaining after a few beers. It’s even better when my pants are off.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” she said with a giggle. “But seriously, this space fits you.” Her eyes hovered over the photo of me, Mom, Dad, Micah and Doc that we’d taken at Christmas a few years ago before she turned to face me. “I really like it.”
I rubbed the scruff on my jaw. “Thanks. You want a drink?”
“No,” she said, immediately shaking her head. “I’ve had plenty. I do, however, want to open these.”
She propped her ass on one of my barstools with a wide grin, tapping the top of one of the boxes I’d wrapped up for her.
“What happened to not wanting me to get you a gift, huh?”
“Well,” she said, dragging the word out matter-of-factly. “You didn’t listen. And now that I know you got me something, I wanna know what it is.”
“Funny how fast that story changed.”
She crossed her arms. “Don’t act like you’re not dying for me to open them.”
I couldn’t argue that, so I just smiled, pushing the first one — the larger one — toward her. “Well, put us both out of our misery then.”
She lit up when the box was in front of her, clapping with an excited squeal before her hands were flying over the box, tearing back the brown parchment paper I’d wrapped it in. When the paper was gone, she eyed the Blue Moon logo on the box before lifting a questioning brow.
“I work at a bar,” I reminded her. “I’m not paying for boxes when I have a shit ton lying around.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t have been mad at beer,” she said, and when she cracked the box open, her brows shot up. “Okay, now I would prefer the beer.”
I covered my mouth to hide my smile as she pulled the first item out, a little orange and blue scrap of fabric that she held between her fingers like it was a dead bug she had to dispose of.
The Wrong Game Page 21