Page 58 of The Wrong Game

I knew what happened when I did, when I believed a man who told me he cared about me. I knew the kind of heartbreak that came from being betrayed, from being lied to. And yet, I was still a slave to my emotions.

I liked him.

I shook my head as soon as the thought hit me, digging the heels of my hands into my eyes. “Ugh, you’re drunk, Gemma. Go to bed.”

Speaking the words out loud seemed to make them true, and I took my own advice, peeling off my clothes and climbing under my sheets again with my head still spinning.

I didn’t like Zach. I didn’t want to date him or anyone. There was a reason I agreed to Belle’s idea, to her plan for using my season tickets — because it was safe. It would be football, and fun, and making new friends without the possibility of having my heart — what was left of it, anyway — shattered again.

And the bonus was having a little human contact, something I’d been missing, and something I could get without falling in love.

Why did he have to be theone guywho wasn’t okay with banging me and leaving me alone? Any other man would have jumped for joy at the arrangement. But not Zach Bowen.

I sighed, wincing against the headache that was already starting to pound through. Maybe it was residual from the one I’d had earlier, or maybe it was the tequila punishing me before I’d even had the chance to sleep. Regardless, I forced a calming breath and rolled onto my stomach, stretching out and focusing on what I could control.

I can call him in the morning.

I can apologize.

I can explain that I was having a bad day, and that I didn’t mean to upset him.

I’d messed up, but I could fix it.

In the morning.

When I was sober.

Gemma

I did not feel better in the morning.

In fact, I did not feel better in the afternoon or the evening, either. It was the first time I’d called out of work in years.

Luckily, I had a very forgiving, and very understanding boss — one who had witnessed the train wreck that was my life the night before.

“How ya feeling over there, sport?”

I groaned, putting Belle on speaker phone and dropping my phone on the bed before pulling the covers up over my shoulders. “Why are you yelling at me?”

“I’m practically whispering. Are you still feeling that bad?”

“Like I was beaten and thrown in a dumpster.”

Belle clicked her tongue. “Well, tequila will do that.”

“How is work? I’m sorry I didn’t make it in.”

“Well, seeing as how it’s seven pm, work is over.”

My eyes popped open, and I rolled, squinting at the decorative clock hanging on the opposite end of my room. “Oh, my God. It’sseven?”

“You’re still in bed, aren’t you?”

I didn’t answer, and Belle chuckled.

“Work was fine. You’re the best assistant in this world and while I’m willing to admit that I’m insanely happy I don’t have to do this without you every day, I am proud to report that I made it through just fine on my own.”

I smiled. Belle was one of the most sought-after interior designers in the city, offering everything from consulting and design to full furnishing and decorating. Since I’d never really wanted anything other than to have a family, I’d happily taken her up on her offer to be her assistant once her business started booming.