The Wrong Game: A Sports Romance

by Kandi Steiner

  “Fine, you grump,” Mrs. Rudder said, and then she threw back the last of her merlot like it was a shot and not a cheap pour of red wine.

  Doc smiled, taking her empty glass. “I thought you liked ‘em better grumpy.”

  She didn’t respond, just waved him off as Doc and I shared a knowing look. I stepped outside to hail her a cab from the nearby hotel, helping her into her coat on her way out the door.

  “See you soon,” I told her as she stepped inside.

  “Yeah. Don’t be so happy next time.”

  I smiled. “No promises.”

  Once she was gone, I made my way back inside, locking the door behind me and turning off our neon signs that lit the dark windows facing the street. I hummed along with the music on our stereo, starting in on the last end-of-shift items on our list. I’d already done a lot of them, with us being slow, but it’d be at least another half hour before I could get out of there.

  Doc had disappeared back into his office, but he came back out not too long after Mrs. Rudder left, and he leaned a hip against the counter, watching me.

  “You really are like that damn skunk.”

  I chuckled. “I know. I’m almost annoyed with myself.”

  “She’s got you wrapped up, huh?”

  I blew out a breath, counting up my till for the night. “More than I’ll admit to you, old man.”

  Doc chuckled at that, but he was silent, still watching me from the edge of the bar.

  “She’s coming to family dinner tomorrow night,” I said, and I paused what I was working on at the register to watch that fact settle over him.

  Doc’s eyes widened a fraction, and he crossed his arm, shifting his weight to the other hip. “Wow. Meeting Mom and Dad now, huh?”

  I nodded, and my hand reached for the back of my neck on autopilot. “Is this too soon? Do you think I’ll scare her off?”

  “With your family? Maybe,” he said on a smile. “But if she survived Micah, I imagine she’ll do just fine.”

  “As long as you’re on your best behavior,” I volleyed. “No pulling up those old videos from New Year’s the first year we knew each other. She doesn’t need to know how easily you can drink me under the table.”

  Doc smirked, his head popping back a little as a silent laugh touched his eyes. But he just cleared his throat, eyes on the bottles lining the back of the bar.

  “Ah, actually, I won’t be there tomorrow night.”

  I scoffed, plucking the pour spouts from the bottles we’d used that night and tossing them in the tub of hot, soapy water. “Sure, you won’t be at family dinner,” I joked, screwing the lids back on the open bottles and shelving them. “What, you got a hot date with your little island princess? Going to jump on a last-minute flight?”

  “I wish,” he murmured. “But, I do have some business to attend to.”

  I was still chuckling, but when my eyes met Doc’s, he didn’t have even a hint of humor in his.

  I paused, holding the necks of two bottles of whiskey in each hand. “Wait, you’re really not coming?”

  Doc was quiet, his eyes sad as he watched me shelve the bottles I’d been holding. And something about the air shifted, like I’d been walking in a dark alley and just realized someone was walking behind me.

  “Doc,” I said, cocking a brow at his silence. I didn’t move for any of the other bottles, just stood there at the other end of the bar, watching my old friend. “What’s going on?”

  He let out a long sigh, closing his eyes for a moment before he opened them again, and his gray eyes found mine. “I’m leaving.”

  My chest tightened, but I leaned a hip against the bar, propping one hand on the wood. “What do you mean?” I asked. “Like, you’re going on vacation? You’re taking a trip?”

  “I mean I’m leaving. I’m moving.” He swallowed. “To St. Croix.”

  I blinked, heart beating three loud times in my chest before I threw my head back on a laugh.

  Doc still stood there, silent, committed to the joke.

  “Ha-ha,” I said, pointing at him when the laugh had subsided. “Very funny. I’m sure you’re just moving to St. Croix,” I joked, shaking my head. “Let me guess, for Rita, right? You guys are just going to get hitched and live in paradise.”

  “Damn it, Zach,” Doc said, his voice booming as he smacked the bar and stood straight.

  That motion zapped any and all traces of laughter from me.

  “This isn’t a joke. I’ve been trying to talk to you about this for months, but I didn’t know how. And then you were happy, with Gemma, and everything has been busy around here, but, I can’t wait any longer.” He swallowed, his chest heaving as his breaths came heavier. “I’m leaving. Soon. As in, before the new year.” His eyes fell from mine to the floor. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. But… just, don’t make a joke out of my love for Rita, okay? I know we poke fun at each other, but I see her the same way you see Gemma — and we’ve been in love for years, not months.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I just watched him, blinking.

  “Anyway, we’re tired of living apart from each other. I’ve always wanted to retire somewhere tropical, and I’ve been saving for a long time, and…” He sighed, running a hand over his head. “That doesn’t really matter. But, what does matter, and what I’ve been wanting to discuss with you is that when I go… I’m leaving you the bar.” He paused. “If you want it, that is.”

  The tightness in my chest had turned into an all-out vise grip, a giant fist squeezing so hard I felt the edges of my ribcage pressing in on my lungs.

  I forced a breath, blinking until my vision cleared. “I… I don’t understand.”

  “You love this bar,” Doc said. “You love it just as much as I do, and I know you would take care of it. I want to leave it to you.” He pushed off the edge of the bar and walked toward me, one hand finding my shoulder. He waited until I lifted my gaze to his. “But only if this is what you want. If this bar makes you happy, if it’s where you see yourself in this life, then I will happily give it to you. I don’t need the money from selling it. I’ve been saving for this for my entire life, and the bar has never been a factor in my decision.”

  He swallowed, his hand squeezing my shoulder.

  “But, if there’s even a chance in hell that you want to do something else — anything else — coach, fly a plane, run a hotel, whatever, then I want to sell this bar and help you get started on that dream.”

  I shook my head, blinking my eyes again and again, but somehow my vision was still blurred. “No, no you can’t do that. You can’t sell this bar. You can’t give me the money from selling this bar.”

  “I can,” he said, voice firm. “And I will, if that’s what you want.”

  I was still shaking my head, and Doc sighed, walking me around the edge of the bar until I sat down on one of the barstoolbarstools. He sat with me, and for a moment, we just existed in silence.

  “I know this is a lot,” he said. “But, I want this. Okay? I’ve been in Chicago my whole life, and I’m over the winters.” He laughed, his eyes growing brighter. “I want to open a little beachside bar that tourists can come to, or that locals can find a home in. I want to fall asleep on the beach and spend my afternoons reading in a hammock. I want to kiss the woman I’ve loved from afar any time I goddamn want to. I want to fish,” he said, throwing his hands up. “For fish I can actually eat, unlike these contaminated lake fish I’ve been catching in Lake Michigan my whole life.”

  I chuckled, but my chest was still tight, throat thick.

  “And I want to give this bar to you,” he said, his voice lower, eyes connecting with mine. “If it’s what you want. And if it’s not, then I want to sell it and help you get whatever it is that you do want.”

  “But—”

  “No, this is non-negotiable,” he said, brows furrowed. “I’m serious. You’re like a son to me, Zach.”

  His voice cracked, eyes washing over with a gloss of tears, and I had to look up at
the ceiling to hold my own tears at bay.

  “You brought a light into my life when you walked into it, even though you were a giant pain in my ass.”

  I laughed, and Doc did, too, his hand finding my shoulder again with a squeeze.

  “You turned this bar around. You gave it life again, gave me life again — purpose. And you have sacrificed everything for me, for your family.” He nodded at me like a proud dad, his eyes still glossy. “It’s time for us to give back to you. It’s time for you to start living your life, Zach.”

  I didn’t know what to say after that, and Doc didn’t want me to talk — not tonight. He made me promise to go home and think about it, to give it some serious consideration over the next couple of weeks and then give him my decision. Then, he sent me home early, saying he’d take care of the last items on our closing list.

  I walked back to my car without shielding myself from the rain. I felt numb, and maybe part of me hoped the freezing rain would somehow wake me up, that it would somehow give me the answers to all the questions I had — some I hadn’t even found words to ask yet.

  Doc was leaving. The man who was like a second father to me, who had taken me in when he couldn’t afford to, who had given me a place to work, a way to help my family — he was leaving.

  My best friend was leaving.

  And the bar was either mine, or it was going to be gone — sold to the highest bidder.

  The decision was mine to make.

  I sat in my car with my wet hands gripping the wheel for ten full minutes, trying to make sense of it all. And then, with nothing more than a blink and a sniff, I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed her number, throwing my car into drive.

  “Zach?” she asked, voice low and croaky. It was almost two in the morning now. “It’s late. Are you okay?”

  “Come over.”

  There was shuffling on the other end as I turned, pulling out of the parking lot and into the street.

  “Now?” she asked. “Zach, it’s almost two. I was sleeping. I… I’m not dressed, I don’t have any makeup on—”

  “Please.”

  The word cracked out of me, louder than I expected, with a desperation I didn’t realize I felt until it was hanging there between us.

  I forced a breath, closing my eyes before opening them wide and blinking away the fog. “Please, Gemma. I need you. Please. Please come over. I… I can come get you. I’m driving now. I’m by my house but I can come your way and get you and—”

  “Okay,” she said, her voice softer as she cut me off, and I could already hear her shuffling around. I imagined her jumping out of bed, pulling on her sweatpants. “Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Let me get myself together. Just go home. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Hurry, Gemma. Please. I mean, be safe, but—” I could hear the shaking in my voice, but I couldn’t stop it.

  “Zach, are you okay?” Gemma asked. But I couldn’t answer. “Is everything okay?”

  I swallowed, the silence stretching.

  “Yes,” I finally said, but my eyes blurred again. “No. Not really. I don’t know.”

  There was a short pause. “Okay,” Gemma whispered. “Okay, I’ll be right there.”

  Gemma was barely through my front door before I yanked her into my arms, and I buried my head in the crook of her neck, inhaling her sweet scent as I wrapped her up tight. I couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t have enough of her skin on mine.

  She dropped her purse on the ground at the door, folding her arms over me and holding me just as tight. She didn’t say a word, didn’t ask what was wrong, didn’t demand an explanation. In that moment, she felt me — and she didn’t push for more than what I could give her.

  My chest was still tight, heart thumping so loud in my ribcage I was sure Gemma could hear it, but now that she was here, my breaths came a little easier. I pulled back, and when she lifted her eyes to mine, those emerald irises peering up at me through her lashes, I did the only thing I could in that moment.

  I kissed her.

  The moment our lips met, I inhaled a breath like it was my first shot of clean oxygen since Doc had given me his news. I kissed her slow, gentle at first, and with my next breath, that oxygen met a spark, and that same fire I’d felt every time I touched Gemma came to life again.

  I needed her. I needed to feel her, to have her skin against mine, to have my tongue on hers, to have her eyes on me. There were no words that needed to be shared — not yet, not in that moment. Instead, I walked her to my bed, carefully lowering her into the still-messy sheets from that morning.

  Her hair splayed on my pillow, and she pulled me down into her, hands sliding into my hair as I nestled between her legs. She kissed me harder, tugging at my shirt until I leaned back and pulled it off. She leaned up on her elbows, helping me strip out of the sweats I’d put on, and I did the same with hers, peeling them off one leg and then the other.

  She didn’t wear anything underneath them.

  There was no foreplay, no playful banter or sexy costumes. I didn’t stop to take her sweater off. She didn’t ask me to tell her what had happened. It was animalistic, my need for Gemma in that moment, and I barely had a condom on before I was inside her.

  She whimpered at the feel, spreading her legs to allow more access as I buried my face in her neck again. My hands gripped where her thighs met her hips, and I flexed into her, filling her slowly as I rocked back and forth.

  My breaths turned from anxiety to passion, from an aching fire to one that burned me in the way I loved to be burned — the way only Gemma could. She wrapped her legs around my waist, her arms around my neck, kissing me and holding my gaze as I worked between her legs.

  Time was lost.

  There was no music, no words, no laughter. It was just the symphony of the city, still buzzing outside my window as I rolled us to one side. It was just her gentle sigh, my hungered groan as I spooned her from behind, hips thrusting, one hand snaking between her legs to rub her clit as the other gently tugged at her nipple under her sweater.

  Every moan eased the pain. Every sigh took away the uncertainty. Every time I filled her, and she tightened around me, I breathed a little easier, a little more of the worry subsiding.

  It felt like hours passed as we rolled in those sheets, her climbing on top of me to ride me slow before she laid on her stomach, letting me take her from behind. She climaxed first, quietly, with only her quickened breaths and hands fisting in the sheets letting me know she was coming at all.

  And I was next, in the same quiet fashion, biting the soft muscle at the back of her neck as I found my release.

  I didn’t move to discard the condom, just rolled us again until I was spooning her, our skin slick and chests heaving as we came down. I kissed her neck, her shoulders, her hair, holding her tighter, wishing I could somehow pull her closer, eliminate all space between us.

  She came.

  I told her I needed her, and at two in the morning, she answered. She came over. She was there for me when I needed her most, and she didn’t even ask why.

  My heart squeezed for a completely different reason than it had felt tight all night, and I held her closer, shaking my head. I couldn’t believe she was real.

  I couldn’t believe she was mine.

  “Doc is leaving,” I whispered after a moment, the words croaking out of me like they were the first ones I’d spoken in years.

  Gemma stiffened in my arms at first, but then she snuggled in closer, wiggling her hips to wedge us more together.

  “He’s leaving, and he wants to leave the bar to me. Or sell it, and give me the money to do whatever I want — if I don’t want the bar.” I sighed, and Gemma listened, fingers drawing lazy circles on my arms where I held her. “I don’t know what to do, Gemma. I don’t want him to leave.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “You don’t have to figure out anything tonight, okay?”

  Gemma rolled in my arms, and her eyes found mine in the dim lighting of m
y apartment. She swept her hand over my face, tucking it behind my neck, her thumb brushing my jaw.

  “I’m here,” she said. “I’m right here.”

  I nodded, pulling her into my chest and somehow finding a way to hold her tighter than before. My chest ached again, but this time it was with thankfulness, with a gratefulness I hadn’t known I could feel.

  I didn’t know what I would do. I didn’t know how I would survive without Doc in my life, let alone without him there at that bar every night I went to work. I didn’t know if I’d keep the bar, if I could run it on my own, if I could bear the thought of losing it or what I would do if he did sell it, what the money would go toward.

  I didn’t know what I wanted.

  But, she was right, I didn’t have to figure it out tonight.

  Tonight, I would hold Gemma, and listen to her breathing. I’d feel her heartbeat against my skin, and I’d find comfort in the fact that no matter what I chose to do, she was here.

  She came.

  She listened.

  She understood.

  She was here, with me, in one of the darkest nights I’d known since I found out Micah had cancer when I was only eighteen years old.

  I hadn’t had anyone then, but I had Gemma now.

  And that was what I held onto as I drifted off to sleep.

  Gemma

  My family never had dinner together.

  My parents traveled more so than not, and when they were home, they were always working, making plans for their next speaking tour. Since their inspirational speeches about their relationship and how they “made it” were heavily influenced by religion, they also spent more dinners with the Bible than they did with me.

  We were a family of fast food, or easy food, and eating in the living room with the television on for me and the computers in reach for them.