Page 42 of The Wrong Game

“I’m great,” he clipped. Nodding his chin toward Ben, who was now watching the Bears set up for the next play, Zach lowered his voice. “You can’t really be serious with this guy.”

“What? He’s funny. And charming.”

“And about as interesting as a tumbleweed.”

I fought back a laugh, because as much as I hated to admit it — Zach wasn’t wrong. Ben was sweet, and he was able to joke back and forth with me. But during halftime when he’d talked for twenty minutes about his seashell collection from around the world — complete with photos of every single one — I’d had to actively try not to yawn.

He was a little weird, but hey — he was hot. And, he was exactly what my plan called for.

“Sounds like someone is a littlejealous,” I said, draining the rest of my beer.

“Sounds likesomeoneis trying to make me that way.”

“I’m not doing anything,” I argued. “Other than exactly what I told you I’d be doing at every home game this season. It’s not my fault you decided to buy tickets to watch.”

Zach smirked, his eyes still not meeting mine. “Whatever you say. I’m sure you’re genuinely havingsomuch fun with a Lions fan, who’s only joke he can keep going with you is about this stupid strip tease.”

I coughed. “Jealous.” I coughed again.

Zach looked at me then, leaning over until his mouth was just inches from mine. His eyes flicked down to my bottom lip, then back up to my eyes, and he gave me a sideways grin. “Hard to be jealous of a guy who’s just trying to get something I’ve already had.”

That same hot breath I’d felt between my thighs brushed across my lips, and I inhaled it, eyes fluttering into a series of blinks. I glanced at his lips, but yanked my gaze away just as soon as I’d let it fall.

Zach sat back again, still grinning. “Whatcha thinking about there, Gemma?”

I flushed, reaching for my beer to take a drink before I remembered it was empty. Zach chuckled, and I glared at him, slamming my empty bottle down just the way he had before leaning back into Ben.

I slipped my arm under his, wrapping my hand around his bicep as the Lions called a timeout on the field. “So,Ben,” I said, loud enough for Zach to overhear. “Tell me more about yourself.”

Ben smiled. “Well, did I tell you I do CrossFit?”

“How fascinating,” Zach murmured, and I subtly kicked him, never taking my eyes off Ben.

“You didn’t! That explains all these muscles,” I said, squeezing his arm. “Tell me about it, I’ve never done a class.”

“Well, so every class is different,” Ben started, but then the crowd around us grew louder, and someone tapped me on the shoulder.

“You’re on the kiss cam!” the woman said. “Look!”

She pointed to the screen, and sure enough, there Ben and I were — framed by a heart with little lipstick kiss graphics floating around us.

Ben stared at the screen, his eyes wide.

“Kiss her, man!” someone yelled, and Ben turned to me, something of a terrified smile on his face.

I leaned in closer, closing my eyes…

But nothing came.

The crowd groaned in unison, and when I opened my eyes, Ben was still looking at me, but hadn’t moved an inch. I glanced at the screen, which had moved on to a different couple.

“I’m sorry,” Ben said quickly, taking off his hat and running his hands through his damp blond hair. “I just, I get so shy in situations like that. I froze. I’m sorry.”

I swallowed, forcing a smile even though I just got rejected on the jumbotron in front of tens of thousands of people. “It’s okay,” I assured him, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “Don’t stress about it.”

The words didn’t even have time to roll off my tongue before that damn camera was on us again.

“Kiss her, dude!” a kid yelled from a few seats over from Ben.