Page 45 of The Wrong Game

I smiled, because it didn’t matter that she was telling me to keep my hands to myself. She wanted me to stay — andthatwas a win.

“Deal.”

We sat in silence for a while, Gemma checking behind her a few different times to see if there was any sign of Ben. Each time she turned back around without seeing him, she sighed, tapping her little sneaker on the back of the chair in front of her.

“He’ll be back,” I assured her.

“Doubtful.”

“He will. I mean, the guy may be about as interesting as a clump of dirt, but he’s not stupid. And trust me when I say he’d have to be an idiot not to come back.”

Gemma pulled her long hair over the shoulder opposite me, running her fingers through it as she glanced at me through her lashes.

And when she looked at me like that, I hoped like hell that guy would never come back.

I wanted her for myself.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer spoke as all the screens filled with the American flag. “Please rise as we honor a local soldier in the salute to service.”

I was immediately on my feet, clapping loudly as everyone slowly made their way to stand. The announcer went on about the woman being honored on the field, and with every word, I felt a surge of pride. Her name was Hazel McCoy, and she was a member of the United States Navy who had just returned from her fifth tour.

My chest squeezed a little as I watched her accept an honor from one of the leaders on the field, her husband and two boys standing beside her. When she teared up, waving at the fans — I couldn’t help but tear up a little, too.

I felt Gemma’s eyes on me when the salute was over, everyone taking their seats again.

“Go ahead,” I said, widening my eyes to keep the water brimming inside them from leaking over. “Take whatever crack you want.”

“I wasn’t going to say a thing.”

“Uh-huh.”

She smiled, but then her face softened, eyes searching mine. “You’re just a big softie under all that sarcasm, aren’t you?”

I chuckled. “I’m only a softie when it comes to three things, and the military is one of them.” I reached for my beer, something to give me back a little of my manhood, but I remembered once it was in my hand that it was empty. “Any chance your boyfriend there might be bringing back a beer for me, too?”

Gemma cocked a brow, pursing her lips. “What doyouthink?”

“Yeah, no chance.” I sighed, but held onto the empty bottle, anyway. “My dad was in the Army for almost thirty years,” I said, avoiding her gaze. “He sacrificed a lot for our family, for our country. I don’t know. I guess I just know a little better than most what kind of things you have to give up in order to serve, and I respect the hell out of anyone who will do that.”

“I think that’s sweet,” Gemma said, and I didn’t miss how she shifted her weight, leaning more toward me than away from me now. “What did he do in the Army?”

“He was in bomb disposal.”

Her eyes widened. “Whoa.”

“Yeah.” I nodded, sharing her sentiment. “Imagine being my mom.”

“She must have been so scared.”

“Every deployment, she’d freeze when the phone rang. I think in her head, she had to prepare before she answered. Just in case.”

Gemma watched me for a long moment. “My grandfather was a veteran. He served in Vietnam, and he was so proud of that. He used to always wear his veteran hat, his jacket, and he was down at the VFW outside his small town every night.”

Gemma had this far-off look in her eyes, and I knew it so well. It was the same way I looked at my past, at what could have been.

“Were you close with him?”

She smiled at that. “Very. My parents traveled a lot for work when I was younger. Well,” she added. “They still do, actually. He kind of raised me, taught me everything I know.”