Page 5 of The Wrong Game

“I’m not saying you should date. Hell, if anyone is against love as much as you, it’s me. Hello,” she said, sweeping the back of her hand over her lean body. “Single for life and loving it, okay? But, just because I don’tdatedoesn’t mean I don’t go out, have fun,meet people.” She eyed me. “And get some.”

I just stared at her, still not convinced.

“You have these tickets, right?” she continued. “And youlovethe Bears.”

“DaBears.”

“I’m not saying it like that.”

“Say it, or I’m not listening to the rest of this.”

Belle rolled her eyes. “DaBears.”

I smiled. “Better.”

“I hate you.” She readjusted her grip on my shoulders. “Anyway, you’re like an enigma to dudes. A girl who actually enjoys football? It’s gold, Gemma. So, instead of forcing your fun-loving best friend who absolutelyloathessports of all kinds, to suffer through every home game with you, take a chance and meet some new people. Have fun with a few guys who have the same interest as you, and, who knows,” she said, smirking. “Maybe a big wang to rock your world with at the end of every game. Nowthat’sthe definition of a win-win.”

I couldn’t help but smile at that. “I think you’re the horniest woman to ever exist.”

“Guilty as charged. Now,” she said, holding out her hand. “Give me your phone, let me download this app, and just… trust me. For once. This doesn’t go against any of yourplans, right? There’s no roses-and-chocolate dating, no Facebook-official relationship status updates, no love, no marriage or babies, or any of that.”

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I debated her reasoning. In a way, shedidhave a fair point — I maybe did need a little affection. I was dead set on never trusting anyone again, never falling for those stupid puppy-dog eyes as they stared into mine and told me they loved me and only me. I was done with that.

But football, beer, and a little romp in the sack?

I wasn’tnotinto that…

And, if I could be like anyone, it would be Belle. At thirty, she was happily single, successful in her career, and traveling like it was her only job. She’d never needed a man, never even given a guy more than a week totryto nail her down. She was my inspiration, my hope that there was a life to live after Carlo.

My heart sank when I thought of him again, because there was a time when all I wanted was everything that Belle just listed. The very things that now made me want to crawl into a ball and hide or start kicking the first man to approach me used to be the only things I desired. I wanted a husband, and a family, and a suburban life. I wanted a partner in life to grow old with, to laugh with, to lean on when life got hard.

Now, I only wanted to lean on myself, because I was the only one I could depend on to not let me fall.

So, instead of letting my emotions take over, I reverted to rule number one of my plan — the one I’d made on how to survive after he passed.

Don’t mourn the man you thought you knew. Remember the man he really was.

“Fine,” I conceded, shaking Carlo from my thoughts.

Belle did a little hop for joy, but I held up one finger to stop her celebration.

“But, it has to be in a way I can control. If I want to stop, if I never want to see the guy again or I feel icky at any point, I get to pull out. Deal?”

“Deal,” she agreed, still doing grabby-hands for my phone. “And make sure hepulls out, too. AYOOO!”

I rolled my eyes.

Belle was still smiling at her brilliance, fingers wiggling and waiting for my phone. “It’s perfect. Just only talk to them through the app, that way if you hate them after your date — er, after thegame,” she corrected. “You can just delete them. Then, they can’t talk to you anymore. And, honestly, I think you should just take a new guy every time.”

I handed her my phone, making my way inside the bar as she followed behind, still bouncing like a little girl who was just given twenty bucks to go wild in the toy store with.

“Oh, a new guy every game,” I echoed. “Okay, nowthatI could get down with. Then it’s more of like a… hangout. A game with a friend.”

“A friend who could, potentially, rail you into next year with his hammer cock.”

The bartender’s brows shot up at Belle’s comment as we slid into two blessedly empty stools at the corner end of the bar. I laughed, shaking my head to signal that he shouldn’t even ask.

“Titos and water with lime,” I told him. “Two, please.” Then, I turned back to my best friend, who was feverishly typing away on my phone. “I’m serious, Belle. If at any point I decide I hate this, I get to pull the plug. And,” I said, pointing at her. “If that happens, then you’re suckered into going to every remaining game with me. And you can’t complain. Even if it’s below fifty outside.”