Page 67 of The Wrong Game

“Brrr,” she said, shivering and crossing her arms over her chest. “I will say, we could have picked a warmer day to come.”

Gemma smiled. “I don’t know, I like the cold. Fall is my favorite season.”

Mine, too.

It took everything in me not to say those words out loud, not to drag Gemma out of her seat and into my lap and ask her to tell me everything she loved about the season.

Instead, I glanced at Belle, who was glaring at me with wide eyes like I missed a cue.

I cocked a brow, and she pursed her lips, glancing down at my hoodie.

Oh.

Clearing my throat, I stood, stripping my hoodie off and handing it down to Belle. “Here,” I said. “Take my hoodie.”

Belle lit up, pressing a hand to her chest as she looked up at me. “Oh, my God. That’s so sweet. Thank you, Zach.”

I shrugged, sitting back down like it was no big deal, but I could feel Gemma’s stare burning a hole into the side of my head.

Belle tugged the hoodie on over hers, and it swallowed her, covering her from her neck to her knees. She burrowed into it, inhaling a deep breath.

“Mmm,” she said. “It smells so good. I love your cologne.”

I chuckled, pulling the hood over her head playfully as she batted me away and fixed her hair. “Looks good on you.”

Belle just smiled, reaching forward for her beer and turning her attention toward the field. She started talking to Gemma, pretending like nothing had happened as she asked her to explain what everything on the scoreboard meant. And even though Gemma answered every single question, her eyes were lasered in on me, jaw tight as she spoke.

We all stood for the anthem and remained standing for the coin toss right after. Our boys won, and we elected to receive first. We were playing the Patriots, champions many years over, and our team needed to bring their A game if they wanted to win today.

They weren’t the only ones.

So, as we took our seats again, I put my arm around Belle, and I settled in for the first quarter that I didn’t even expect to play. I didn’t want to have to do it this way. If it were up to me, I would have just taken Gemma out to dinner, or to a movie, or to the freaking zoo. I would have made it clear to her that she was the only girl I was interested in, and that she could trust me not to hurt her.

But when her best friend says she knows a better way? Well, who am I to say she’s wrong? Belle has known Gemma for years, and judging by her reaction over the last ten minutes, I had a feeling Belle wasn’t wrong in her planning.

It wasn’t my favorite way to tackle things, but itwasmy last-ditch effort to win over Gemma Mancini, and that meant it was all or nothing.

Game time.

Gemma

I’m going to kill her.

I’m going to literally wrap my hands around her dainty little neck and shake her until she stops breathing.

I’d tried to talk myself out of murder for the past two quarters. I did everything I could to focus on Jordan — the insanely attractive doctor with the adorable dog whoshouldhave had all my attention, anyway. But it was useless. I couldn’t listen to a word he said or even give myself the chance to get butterflies when he held my hand or brushed the hair out of my face because all my senses were tuned into the two jackasses next to me.

Belle was my best friend. She had been since high school, when we bonded over our mutual hate for algebra. She’d been there when my grandpa died, and I’d been there when her first love broke her heart. She’d helped me stand up again after Carlo, and I’d helped her build an empire in interior design.

So thenwhywas she here, at a football game I knew she couldn’t give two shits about, hanging all over a guy she knew I liked.

I mean, I didn’tlikehim — not like that. But he was a friend, and hehadgone down on me roughly three weeks ago. No, I hadn’t planted a flag on him or claimed dibs, and yes, I’d told her I didn’t want to be in a relationship with him, but still… there was some kind of girl code being violated here.

And no matter how I tried to slice it, no matter how rational I attempted to be, the only thing I could think was that I was going to kill my best friend.

“Come on, come on,” I whispered under my breath, watching the field as our boys lined up for the next play. I was still overly aware of Belle and Zach, but that didn’t stop me from paying attention to the game. It was third down, and we were losing by three. We had less than two minutes before halftime to either tie up the game up or go all the way in for a touchdown.

The ball was snapped, and our quarterback handed it off to the rookie running back. It didn’t look good at first, the Patriots defensive line thick, but then, a hole opened up, and our running back jetted through it, high-tailing it twelve yards down the line and securing the first down.