Page 47 of The Wrong Game

I laughed, holding up my empty bottle. “My turn for a beer run. You two love birds enjoy.” I gave Gemma a pointed look, and she fought back a grin, shaking her head in warning.

She might still have been here on a date with him, but I knew who she was thinking about — regardless ofhisarm being the one around her.

There wasn’t a single doubt in my mind who would be getting the “real kisses” later.

And it sure as hell wouldn’t be Ben.

The Bears lost, and if I wasn’t enough of a football fan for that to chap my ass already, I would have been upset just by looking at Gemma when the final whistle blew.

She was heartbroken.

Her shoulders were slumped, hair a little greasy from how much she’d run her hands through it in the final quarter as we weaved our way through the crowd filing out of the stadium. Ben held her hand, and I waited back, letting them be.

She pulled him to a stop in front of the same totem we’d met under last week before the game, and I could have left, could have started making my way toward the parking lot where I’d parked my car — but I waited. I told myself it was because traffic would be hell and there was no sense in hurrying.

But even a blind man could have seen I was waiting to see what Gemma did next.

Ben had gotten a little sloppy in the last part of the game, and as Gemma spoke to him under that totem, his eyes bounced around, body swaying. He said something to her, presumably something funny, since she laughed, and then they hugged, and he started pin-balling himself through the crowd toward the cab line.

Gemma sighed, folding her hands on top of her head as she watched him go. Then, she turned around, and when she spotted me, her eyes narrowed.

You would have thoughtIwas the reason the Bears lost for how she stormed through the crowd toward me like a raging bull. I knew her glare was meant to scare me, but it had the opposite effect.

I just wanted to take her home, take that jersey off her, and take my sweet time making her come with my name on her lips.

She was too fucking adorable when she was angry, and my smile was splitting my face by the time she reached me, jabbing her index finger straight into my chest.

“This doesn’t mean you win.”

“Ouch!” I laughed, rubbing my chest. “Damn, you need a permit for those things. I’m going to start calling you Finger Guns.”

“I didn’t sleep with him because he’s trashed,” she said, ignoring me as she explained her actions. “And because he couldn’t stop pissing on me after that little stunt you pulled.”

“Gross.”

“It’s a metaphor.”

“Whatever you say, no judgment here if you’re into golden showers.”

She poked me again.

“OUCH.”

“You did not win. I could have taken him home and gotten laid if I wanted to.”

“Okay,” I said, holding up both hands. She was still pointing that finger at me, ready to jab. “I surrender. Can you put that thing away now?”

Gemma glanced at her finger, chuckling as she let that hand fall to her side. “Goodnight, Zach.”

She turned, but before she could take a step, I called out, “Take me to the next game.”

Gemma paused, glancing at me over her shoulder with a grin before she turned back around. She tucked her hands into her back pockets, watching me for a long moment before she shook her head.

“I told you, that’s not part of the plan.”

“Your plan sucks.”

Her little mouth popped open at that. “Yousuck.”