“You’re kidding,” she said, face flat. “A cheerleader uniform.”
“You love football,” I defended.
“Yeah, I love football. In what world does that mean I also love cheerleading?”
“You cheer for the Bears, and you’re a chick.” I shrugged. “It’s kind of like you’re already one. I just thought you could dress the part.” I paused. “Mainly, for me.”
She scoffed, mouth popping open, but she couldn’t fight back her smile as she threw the little skirt at me. “Pig.”
“I even got it in the Bears colors for you!”
“I’m not wearing that,” she said, pointing to the skirt laying on the kitchen island where it’d bounced off me now. She didn’t even pull the top of the outfit from the box.
A laugh shot out of me, and I circled the island, taking the seat next to her and yanking her barstool until our legs threaded together.
“I can’t believe you don’t like your gift.” I pouted.
“That wasn’t a gift for me,” she said, crossing her arms. “That was a gift for you. And I’m sorry to say that, even on your birthday, I’m not wearing that.”
I chuckled again, but then I grabbed the smaller box, wrapped in the same paper, and slid it toward her. “Fine. Let’s see if I did better with this one.”
She eyed the gift like it was a Jack in the Box and she was cranking the handle. “If that’s a football-shaped dildo or something, I’m leaving.”
“It’s not,” I said through another laugh. Then, I cocked a brow. “How exactly would a football-shaped dildo work, anyway?”
“There would be lots of lube required.”
I laughed again, but my throat tightened when she grabbed the box, tearing into it just as fast as the first one, although this time with a slightly less excited and slightly more terrified expression on her face. I was equally freaking out, but I hid it with a tight smile, my heart ticking up without Gemma being any the wiser.
The first gift had been a gag, a joke, but this one was real.
And I desperately wanted her to like it.
When the paper was gone, she shoved it out of the way, eyes widening when she popped the lid on the box to see what was inside.
“Zach,” she breathed, her hands disappearing into the box before she pulled out the first item. It was a custom-made, chrome fountain pen, with an elegant G inscribed at the head. The chrome was a navy blue, the inscription silver, and she rolled the pen in her hand like it was a diamond necklace.
“It’s beautiful.”
“There’s more.”
She still held the pen, but reached inside the box again, this time pulling out the small stack of notebooks. There were three of them, all different sizes, with high-quality paper and leather binding. They were inscribed, too, each labeled with all capital letters.
LISTS.
PLANS.
RANDOM SHIT.
She laughed when she read the last one, shaking her head as she took it all in. “You got me stationery.”
“I did.” I let out a breath, hoping the idea wasn’t stupid instead of romantic, which was what I’d been going for. “One for your lists, one for your plans, and one for whatever you want it to be. And I saw you had a few of those kind of pens around, I figured they were your favorite.”
“They are,” she said, still staring at the gift. “I hate typing. I love the feel of pen and paper, of having a physical document to hold.”
I swallowed. “Well, there you go. I just… I felt like when you first told me about this part of you, you were ashamed, or embarrassed. But, just know you shouldn’t be. Because it’s part of what makes you the most unique and amazing woman I’ve ever met.”
She looked up at me with a smile then. “Don’t get all heavy on me now.”
I hooked a hand behind my neck, nodding to the notebook labeled LISTS. “I started that one for you, by the way.”
“You did, huh?” she asked, and she was still grinning as she flipped open the leather binding. I watched her eyes dance over the letters on that first page, and she closed her eyes, shaking her head.
“What?” I asked innocently.
“Sex Positions I Want to Try with Zach Bowen?”
“I thought it was a perfect list to start with.”
She looked back down at the page. “Number one: doggy-style.”
I waggled my brows. “Classic.”
“You even illustrated with stick figures,” she mused. “Thank goodness, because I had no idea what doggy style was.”
“I like to be thorough.”
Gemma laughed, closing the binding and sliding off her barstool. She slipped into my arms, wrapping her own around my neck. “Thank you. Seriously, I love it.” She shifted her weight to one side, fingers playing with the neck of my sweater. “Honestly, this is the most thoughtful gift I’ve been given in a very long time.”
My throat was tight again, but I swallowed the knot down. “Well, I’m glad you like it.”
We stood there a moment, her eyes on mine, my hands resting on her hips, and then she cleared her throat. “Can I use your restroom real quick?”
“Of course, it’s right back there,” I said, pointing back into my bedroom. “I’ll put on some music.”
Gemma gathered up her presents while I tapped through my phone for a playlist.
“No Marvin,” she said, kissing my cheek as she passed on her way to the bathroom. I didn’t even look up, but I smirked, remembering how adorable she was that first night.
I settled on a playlist with acoustic rock, walking over to my Bluetooth speaker by the TV and powering it on before I hit play. The first slow, steady melody filled my apartment, and I took a seat on the couch, kicking my feet up on the coffee table.
Gemma was taking a while, and I wondered if she’d maybe gotten sick. She didn’t seem anything past tipsy, but she had mixed liquor with beer at the bar. I played on my phone, checking social media and the game scores and trying to give her space. But after about ten minutes, I called out for her.
“You okay in there?” I asked, swiping through the ESPN highlights on my app.
“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?”
Her voice didn’t come from the bathroom, and I jerked my head up, confused. I hadn’t heard the bathroom door open or the toilet flush or the water run. When my eyes adjusted, though, I realized it didn’t matter.
Nothing else in the entire fucking world mattered.
Because Gemma Mancini was standing in my living room in a tiny, tight cheerleading outfit.
I dropped my phone onto the coffee table, jaw scraping the floor as I shamelessly devoured every inch of Gemma with my eyes. The burnt orange and navy blue fabric hugged her curves, the space between the top and the mini skirt exposing her tight, tan stomach, and her legs stretched on for miles under the frills. She’d tied her hair into pigtails, and they swung over her shoulders as she did a little turn.
Her ass peeked out from under the skirt when she did.
She wasn’t wearing any panties underneath it.
I groaned, biting my fist as I stood.
“How does it look?” she asked, batting her lashes with a knowing grin once she’d given me the full view.
“Like I’m not going to last long tonight.”
Gemma chuckled, but the smile fell quickly as she sauntered over to where I stood at the couch. She leaned in close, her lips nearly touching mine, but she paused with just a centimeter of space left between us.
“As long as you make me come first,” she whispered, then she pressed one hand into my chest, backing me away from the couch.
I couldn’t do anything but gape as she spun, shimmying in the skirt with her eyes watching me from over her shoulder. Then, her knees hit the couch cushions, her hands balancing on the back, and she arched her back, the bottom of her juicy ass peeking out from under the skirt. Her pigtails swung as she looked back at me again, and this time, she had her lip pinned between her teeth.
> “Time to check that first item off the list.”
A groan ached out of me, and I’m pretty sure I broke some kind of record for how quickly I stripped out of my sweater, jeans, and briefs. Gemma just smiled, watching me the entire time with her perfect little ass propped up in the air, waiting.
“You know this was just a joke,” I said, sliding up behind her. My hands automatically went to her ass, and I flipped the cheerleading skirt up to get a better view. “The list and this outfit. I never thought you’d actually wear it.”
“Well, you know I love to prove you wrong.”
“It is your favorite pastime,” I murmured, but I was done joking once I hooked my hands in the bend of her hips, brushing the soft rounds of her cheeks against my throbbing cock.
We both inhaled a breath, Gemma’s eyes rolling backward at the touch.
“We shouldn’t start with this position,” I warned, running my index and middle finger down between her cheeks. I groaned again when I felt how wet she was at her center, and I slipped the tips of both fingers in at once, warming her up. “Flip over, let me go down on you, let me get you close.”
“Do you not feel that?” she husked, arching her back and pushing her pussy down onto my fingers so I filled her more. “I’ve wanted you all day, Zach. I’m close already.”
“Fuck,” I growled as she lowered down more, sucking my fingers inside her without me even moving an inch. She lifted her hips and brought them down again, fucking my fingers as her head dropped back, pigtails falling over her shoulders.
“Please, Zach,” she begged, her voice between a whisper and a plea. “Fuck me.”
Her entire body convulsed when I pulled my fingers out, and in the next second I yanked my jeans from the floor, flipping open my wallet and pulling out the condom I’d stashed in there earlier. I tore open the packaging and rolled it on, and then I was behind her again, erection pressed against her ass.
“Not as shy with that uniform on,” I mused, running my head between her cheeks.
We both moaned when my tip lined up with her entrance, and Gemma arched her back more, allowing me entry. Just the tip of me penetrated her first, a gasp escaping between her lips at the feel of me stretching her open. When I flexed my hips, I filled her slowly, and every inch seemed to go on for miles until I was all the way inside her, balls deep, hitting her in a way I couldn’t when she rode me last week.
My hands gripped her hips, and when I withdrew, filling her again as slowly as I could manage, Gemma let out a loud, passionate cry.
“It’s so deep,” she breathed, and I paused, not wanting to hurt her. But she reached back, grabbing my thigh and pulling me toward her for more.
I started slow, picking up the pace the wetter she got, the more she stretched. Every thrust of my hips sent the bottom of that skirt bouncing, the flaps of it hitting my hands that wrapped around her small frame under the hem. It was criminal, the way her ass looked peeking out from the bottom of that fabric, and I had to look away and up at the ceiling to stop myself from coming too fast.
“You feel so fucking good,” I rasped, slowing my pace. Between how loud she was moaning, the outfit, and the position, I was going to come any second if I didn’t rein it in.
But Gemma was hell bent on making it nearly impossible for me. She widened her legs, knees stretching out as one hand slipped from where she held the back of the couch to between her thighs, instead. I couldn’t see what was happening under that skirt, but judging by the way her pussy throbbed, gripping me like a fucking firm handshake, I had a pretty good idea.
“Are you playing with your pussy, baby?”
“Yes,” she breathed, moaning and arching her back more.
“Are you going to come for me?”
“God, yes,” she moaned again, and she picked up speed, her hand working fast and merciless between her legs.
I thrust my hips quicker to match her pace, bending forward and slipping one hand beneath the fabric of her cheerleading top. Her nipples were hard and peaked, and I rolled the right one between my fingers, plucking it with just enough force to have her gasping for her next breath.
That was all it took.
She squeezed around me, body shaking as she came, her hand still working her clit under that skirt. I slowed my thrusts, pushing deeper to help her ride that orgasm as long as she could. And just hearing the way she moaned, my name rolling off her lips like I’d delivered her, it was enough to get me there with her.
I always thought coming together was a fictional phenomenon, something they romanticized in movies and books. It’d always been my job to get the woman there first, and that was my only focus. I couldn’t even think about my own release until she’d already come.
But with Gemma in that fucking skirt, I couldn’t wait a single second longer.
As soon as I knew she was climaxing, I reached up, grabbing both of her pigtails and tugging back with a firm grip. Her moans grew louder when I had that hair wrapped around my fists, and I pounded into her harder, my own release pulsing out after just three hard pumps.
“Fuck,” I groaned, dragging out the word like it was a song. Gemma cried out even louder, and I pulled her into me, holding still inside her as I came, cock throbbing, her pussy still so tight it almost hurt.
It was fast. It was porn-like and cheesy and like every high school boy’s fantasy.
And it was the best fucking sex I’d ever had.
I withdrew slowly and carefully, untwisting Gemma’s hair from around my hands before I plopped down on the couch next to her, panting, the condom still on.
“Holy shit,” I breathed, and Gemma laughed, crawling into my lap and straddling me. She kissed up and down my neck in quick little pecks before she found my lips, and I held her there, deepening the kiss until our breaths were synced.
“I have to check this off,” she said, wiggling out of my grip.
I was too weak to hold her there, though I tried. “Right now?”
“Right now.” She opened her birthday box again, pulling out the notebook labeled LISTS and scrawling a slow, purposeful checkmark next to what I’d written with her new pen.
I swore she lit up in a way I’d never seen before, checking off that damn list like it was her life’s purpose.
And I loved watching her little ass shake under that skirt while she did it.
“I was never into cheerleaders, but I think you just changed my mind,” I said, still catching my breath as she climbed back into my lap.
“Right,” she deadpanned. “I’m sure you played football your entire life and never once cared about the cheerleaders on the sideline.”
“I mean, I’m not saying I didn’t see them there.”
“Uh-huh.” Gemma smirked, cuddling into me. “That was fun,” she said after a moment. “Today was fun.”
“I’m glad you let me be a part of it, birthday girl,” I said, voice low as I kissed her forehead.
We were quiet for a moment, me playing with her hair as she drew circles on my shoulder with her fingertips. She laid her head on my chest, a long exhale leaving hers.
“I really like you, Zach Bowen,” she whispered.
I smiled, not too proud to admit my chest tightened at her words.
“You mean you don’t want to get back on the app and find another date for the next game?”
“Absolutely not.”
I chuckled, resting my chin on her head as a thought passed through me. “What if I told you I have a guy in mind for you to take.”
She pulled back, brows bending together. “What? Why on Earth would you want me to go to the game with someone else?”
“I’ll be there, too,” I clarified. “And it’s not a date. More like… a third wheel.”
“I’m confused.”
I smiled, reaching up and tugging on the bands that held her hair up until it all spilled down over her shoulders. “Just trust me. It’ll be fun.”
“Why do I feel like I’m getting set up here.”
At that, her eyes softened, and she leaned into me again. “Okay,” she conceded. “Who is it?”
I swallowed, pulling her closer. It would be the first time I’d ever introduced a woman to him since high school, since before his diagnosis.
Since her.
And though my nerves were already sparking, I quieted them the longer I held her, because I knew I wouldn’t regret it. I knew without a doubt I wanted him to meet her.
I wanted everyone I loved to meet her.
“You’ll see.”
Gemma
The first drop of ice cold rain hit my nose as I hustled inside the stadium the following Sunday, flowing with the other Bears fans as we made our way to our seats. Not that the stadium would do much to offer relief from the rain, since it was an open dome, but we hustled inside because rain, snow, or sleet — we were Bears fans.
And it was Football Sunday.
My phone buzzed once I was through security, and I dug it out of the pocket of my jacket, assuming it would be Zach. He and whoever his mystery guest was were already sitting in our section, waiting for me, and I was running behind. Traffic had been crazy, and I’d gotten a late start out the door. He was probably telling me I was going to miss kick-off if I didn’t get my butt down to our seat.
But it wasn’t his handsome face that filled my screen when I finally tugged my phone free.
It was my ex-mother-in-law’s.
I swallowed at the old photo of us, taken on a family cruise to the Bahamas a few years ago. Sofia held her oversized floppy hat with one hand, the other squeezing my shoulder from where her arm was wrapped around me. We were both a little sunburned, both laughing.
Carlo had taken the photo.
My thumb hovered over the green button that would answer the call before I slid it over to the red one, instead, sending her to voicemail. Then, I quickly typed out a text.
- Walking into Soldier Field for the game, can’t talk right now. Call you later? -
The Wrong Game Page 22