Page 51 of The Wrong Game

Zach

Eight days had passed since the game, and I hadn’t seen Gemma.

Well,technically,anyway.

I’d seen her in my dreams, in my memories, in my fantasies as I wiped down the bar or ran the loop by my apartment. I’d seen the look on her face when she saw me in that seat next to her, and I’d relived that moment when I stole that kiss from her — over and over, again and again.

But I hadn’t seen herin personsince the night she strutted away from me after that Bears loss.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t beentryingto see her again, since the last game. I’d tried twisting her arm into a coffee date, a movie night, and even just a stroll on the river walk that wasn’t too far from her place.

She’d declined every time.

I wasn’t surprised, given that she was still hell bent on sticking to herplan.But, she was texting me every day, responding to my requests with the same witty banter we’d had since the day we met.

She was playing hard to get, but she’d be lying through her teeth if she told anyone that she didn’t want me, too.

At least, that’s what I wanted to tell myself.

And me? Well, I couldn’t get the girl out of my head.

I wasn’t ashamed to admit that, at first, the connection was physical. She was a gorgeous girl — stunning, really. With her dark hair, her emerald, almost neon eyes, and her tight body that somehow curved in all the right places, it was hard not to be instantly attracted to her.

But then, she gave me shit back just as easily as I gave it to her. That was the bait, drawing me in, making me want a closer look. And seeing her at a football game?

Thatwas the hook.

Playing football my entire life, I was no stranger to girls whosaidthey were into football. Of course, for most ofthosegirls, it meant they were into footballplayers. Ask them about a team, or a position, or any fundamental rule? They were clueless.

But not Gemma.

Watch her jumping around and smiling like a goon in that stadium, or holding her breath and lacing her fingers over her head as she watched a high-stakes play, and it was easy to see she had a genuine love for the game. She was invested, a true fan, and she knew what she was talking about.

Still, there was more to her than just her love for football and her adorable sense of humor. Under that smile, under those eyes, she had a story.

And I wanted to read it.

It’d been a long time since a woman had captivated me past a first date. Honestly, because most of the time, women were easy for me to read. I could see right through their fake laughs, their insincere compliments tossed my way with their hands wrapped tight around my bicep. When I was younger, they wanted me for my potential — for the money I’d get if I made it pro. And after that,especiallyafter my last actual girlfriend, I learned that I didn’t want someone who only wanted me for what I could do forthem.

Gemma wasn’t that kind of girl.

I didn’t know nearly as much as I wanted to about her, but I knew she was different. I knew she’d been hurt, and maybe because of that or maybe just because of who she was as a person — she didn’t look at the world and ask what it could give her.

She didn’t want a damn thing from me or from anyone else.

And maybe that’s what made me want more of her.

Too bad she had that book of hers closed tight, under lock and key like it was in the restricted area, not even flirting with the idea of giving me a look past the cover.

But it was Monday, a sacred night during football season, and our city was taking on the Packers in Wisconsin. They were our biggest rivals, and the bar would be packed with Chicagoans yelling at the television screens.

Including Gemma.

I smiled at her text — not the one that she originally sent, that said she wouldn’t be coming, but the one she sent ten minutes later that said she’d changed her mind. That smile was glued to my face as Doc and I filled orders at the bar, running back and forth as we took care of our clients as fast as we could. We were busier than hell, and Doc was stressed and grumpy.

But I couldn’t stop smiling.

When two of our regulars left the bar when the crowd started pouring in, I’d stolen their barstools and stashed them behind the bar. We were too busy for me to do any kind of seat saving from where I was, but I was hell bent on having Gemma close to me.