Page 21 of The Wrong Game

“You might as well have.”

“Do you really have these lists? I mean, is this really a thing for you?”

I pulled out my phone, opening the notes app and showing it to him. Note after note, line after line, there were lists. The ones I’d viewed or edited most recently filtered in at the top. And there were lists for everything from what I needed to grab at the grocery store tomorrow to what I needed to accomplish before I turned thirty. The most recent one was everything I needed to do before I walked out the door for today’s game.

He tapped that one, pulling it open before I could stop him.

“Shave the goods,” he read, and one brow climbed as he smirked at me. “Okay, maybe I can get down with your lists.”

I closed the app quickly, shoving my phone in my clutch as he laughed.

“This may be funny to you,” I said, smiling despite the tiny tinge of hurt I felt inside. He wasn’t the first to make fun of me for how I handled my feelings and anxieties, and he wouldn’t be the last. “But, this works for me, okay?”

Zach’s expression softened, and he leaned forward, one elbow on his knee as his other hand grabbed mine. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughingatyou.”

“You’re laughingwithme?” I mocked.

“No. I’m just laughing because I’m having fun, and because you’re the most interesting, unique, and adorable woman I’ve ever met.”

My heart stopped with those words, kicking back to life a few moments later when Janet and Roy sat back down next to us. Zach just smiled, his eyes still on mine as Janet went on about how bad the lines were, and how it was a rookie move to get up during halftime.

I barely registered a word.

All I could do was stare at the man who still had his hand on my knee, wondering where he came from, and what he saw that I didn’t.

Then, I mentally started a brand-new list.

Things I Like About Zach Bowen.

Zach

My dad once told me that he knew the very first time he met my mom that he would marry her one day.

He said they were in sixth grade, walking in a single-file line in opposite directions — she was going back to class, his class was heading to the music room. From across the hall, my mom smiled at him.

And right then and there, he knew.

I always thought it was crazy. Even the romantic in me found that a little far-fetched. WhenIwas in sixth grade, about the only thing that could hold my attention longer than ten seconds was the Crash Bandicoot video game on my PlayStation.

But here I was, less than three hours into my first night with Gemma Mancini, and suddenly, I got it.

Not that I wanted to marry the girl — I wasn’tthatcrazy. At least, not admittedly so. But there was just…somethingabout her. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, the way she laughed before taking a long sip of her beer, or the way her little nose scrunched up when she disagreed with a call the referee made. I laughed at her stupid jokes, and her stupid rules and lists for her life. I smiled at the respectful way she spoke to the older couple sitting on the other side of her, and at the way her eyes grew wide, cheeks flushing, any time I touched her.

Her hair.

Her hand.

Her leg.

No, I didn’t want to go out and buy a ring, but one thing was certain.

I wantedmore.

Halfway through the fourth quarter, the Bears were down by seven points, and Gemma was not happy about it. She stood with her hands laced over her head, eyes on the field like she could somehow control the ball with her gaze. I just watched her, trying to focus on how much fun she was instead of how much fun footballusedto be. It was easy to think about her, but to let myself remember football, to let myself fall into that deep hole of memories… it would hurt.

Still, I couldn’t escape the truth — not when I was this close to the sport that used to be my entire life.

I missed it.