Page 52 of The Wrong Game

And when she walked through the door twenty minutes after kick-off, her hair pulled into a high ponytail and eyes outlined in a smoky charcoal, I had to actively work to keep my jaw from hitting the floor.

Along with every other guy in the bar.

Belle spotted me before Gemma did, and she grinned, skipping over to where I was pushing through the crowd to deliver their barstools. I wiggled my way through some of our regulars, apologizing and telling them their next beers were on me just so they’d back away from the bar. I sat the stools down, grinning as Belle plopped herself down in the first one.

“Wow,” she crooned, smoothing her hands over the countertop once her butt was in the seat. “You save these two seats just for us, Mr. Bartender Sir?”

“Just for you.” My eyes flicked to Gemma, and I stood on the other side of the bar to see if maybe there was a hug in my future.

There wasn’t.

She did let me pull the stool out for her, though, and I gently touched the small of her back as I scooted her in. There was a small smile on her lips, but her eyes seemed distant, and she did little more than that smile to greet me.

I tried not to take it personally, wondering if maybe she was just playing her same hard-to-get games as I made my way back around to the other side of the bar. I slid a coaster in front of Belle first, the next one landing in front of Gemma just as she ran a hand through her pony tail and let it swing back over her shoulder. Her eyes caught mine, and her cheeks tinged a light pink, a bigger smile threatening the corners of her mouth.

She looked at Belle, but I kept my gaze on her.

“It’s like knowing the guy who can get us backstage at a concert,” Belle said.

“Except way less cool,” Doc chimed from behind me. He clapped a hand on my shoulder, extending his other for Belle. “I’m Doc, and I own this place. So if you want to have any kind of connection that counts, it’s me you should flirt with.”

Belle laughed, her head shooting back. “You know, I thought I liked you, Zach, but I just found my new favorite person.”

“Hard to compete with this guy,” I said. My eyes were still on Gemma.

Belle shook Doc’s hand. “I’m Belle.”

“Nice to meet you.” Doc reached for Gemma next, and her eyes skated to mine briefly before she smiled at him and slid her tiny hand in his. “You must be the woman this guy can’t stop talking about.”

She flushed even more, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear once she had her hand back. “If by that you mean the woman he won’t stop pestering, then yes, I’m the lucky one.”

Doc chuckled, squeezing my shoulder. “Looks like you’re real close to another date there, son. Keep it up.”

I smirked, nodding as Doc walked to the other end of the bar to take another drink order. But my eyes were still on Gemma.

And I was calling bullshit.

“I’m a pest now, huh?”

She nodded, leaning one elbow on the bar. “But, you’re the cute kind of pest. Like a family of mice.”

Belle laughed, tapping her knuckle on the bar in front of our staring contest. “Okay, before you two battle this out, can you get me a martini, please? Extra dirty.” She flicked her long, curled, strawberry-blonde hair over her shoulders. “I already have to suffer through a football game. If I also have to suffer through your middle school flirting, I at least need lubrication.”

Gemma laughed, and I broke our eye contact long enough to stir up Belle’s drink and slide it in front of her. She thanked me with a wink, popping an olive between her lips after the first sip.

“And for you?” I asked Gemma.

“Double shot of your best Añejo tequila. Chilled.”

I whistled through my teeth, filling her order and garnishing it with a slice of lime. “That kind of night, huh?”

I was just kidding, but when I noticed the way Belle was watching Gemma, I frowned. And it wasn’t until then that I really saw it.

She was there, in the bar, her makeup done and her team’s logo on her chest. But she wasn’tthere— not really. Her eyes were a bit glazed, distant, and every smile she gave me seemed subdued and far off, like she was medicated or living in some sort of dream.

I realized what I’d seen before, what she’d shown me up until this point — all that toughness and that blasé attitude — it was her mask.

And tonight, she’d let it slip.