Page 54 of The Wrong Game

When I glanced at Gemma again, just in time to see the guy she’d been hanging on for the past two hours slip his hand into her back pocket, I clenched my jaw.

“She’s drunk,” I said, bracing both hands on the bar as I blatantly stared at her. She’d been going to Doc to fill her drink orders after I not-so-subtly ignored her requests for more drinks on my end of the bar.

She wasn’t so drunk that we needed to cut her off, but she was well into the area where she could make some bad decisions.

And the lap she was currently crawling into hadbad decisionwritten all over it.

“You’re not wrong,” Belle said, popping another olive before chasing it with a drink of her martini. Her eyes were on Gemma, too, and she cringed a little at the sight of the meathead tickling her when she was finally in his lap. “She’s had a rough day.”

My chest tightened at that. “What happened?”

“Not my place to say,” Belle answered, swinging back around in her chair. “But, if it makes you feel any better, I think you’re right about what you said earlier.”

I cocked a brow.

“About her wanting to see you.” Belle shrugged, finger skating the rim of her glass. “It’s been a long time since that girl has had something to really smile about, and every time you text her? She lights up like a sparkler on the Fourth of July.”

I scratched my jaw, tearing my eyes away from Gemma long enough to look at Belle when I asked, “What’s her deal with not wanting to date? Who hurt her?”

Belle sucked air through her teeth. “Ah, again — not my story to tell. All I can say is she has a reason, and honestly? I don’t blame her. I mean, I’m already president of the Single Forever Club, but even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t push her to do something until she was ready.” Belle eyed her best friend from across the bar, a shadow of something washing over her face. “Not after what she’s been through.”

Her words circled in my head as my gaze swept back to Gemma. She had her arm around the guy she was sitting on, and he was drawing circles on her thigh with his thick, meathead fingers. I didn’t like him. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know him. He was looking at Gemma like she was something for him to conquer, like a joke between him and all his buddies there at that table.

And if he didn’t get his hands off her soon, I was going to lose my fucking mind.

“You want another drink?” I asked Belle, still staring at Gemma.

“Nah. Better stop here.” She paused. “Iwouldtake another bowl of olives, though.”

I eyed her under an arched brow. “We have pizza, you know.”

“Hey, don’t judge, just fill.” She pushed the bowl toward me, and I smirked, shaking my head as I filled it to the top with olives again.

It really was self-mutilation, the way I watched Gemma for the rest of the night. I couldn’t even answer if someone were to ask me what the score was, or what had just happened in the previous play. She was the only thing I could focus on, other than filling drink orders — and I did that just to keep myself from jumping over the bar, charging over there and ripping her out of that meathead’s arms.

When the game was almost over — the Bears winning by two touchdowns and an extra point — Gemma sauntered back over to Belle and me at the bar. I felt the knot in my chest give way once she was away from that table, and my breaths came a little easier.

Until she spoke.

“Andy and I are going to take off,” she said to Belle, eyes glossy and a lazy, drunken smile playing on her lips. The lipstick that had painted them so beautifully before was smudged now, the edges of it bleeding onto her skin.

“Um, you sure that’s a good idea?” Belle eyed the guys at the table.

“Mm-hmm,” Gemma said with a giggle. “He’s going to show me his favorite way to celebrate a Bears win.”

Belle’s eyes shot to me as a roar of anger and jealousy ripped through me like wildfire.

“What about yourplan?” I spat, grabbing two beers out of the ice bucket and slamming them on the bar in front of the guys who had just ordered. They exchanged glances, eyes wide, but I ignored them. “Thought you were hell bent on sticking to it.”

Gemma blinked, like she was digesting what I’d said. “I am.”

“So, this guy can get your time when it’s not a home game, when it’s not on your terms, but I can’t?”

Gemma’s defenses went up like a visible wall, and she narrowed her eyes. “It is onmy terms. You changed the rules, so why can’t I?”

I ground my teeth together, planting my hands on the bar as I leaned toward her. “Gemma, please, don’t do this.”

Her eyes were on her manicured fingernails as she swallowed, swaying a little. I covered that hand with my own, leaning down more until her eyes connected with mine.