Page 85 of The Wrong Game

But as he grabbed my hand in his, turning to the family behind us to let them know we needed to squeeze by, a tinge of guilt and something else settled low in my stomach. Perhaps, determination?

Damn competitive side.

Or maybe it was that Zach had planned this date for us, had listened to me tell him one of my fears and now here he was trying to help me face it.

And I was being a wuss.

“Wait,” I said, bouncing a little as I ran my hands through my hair. “Gah, okay, I can do this. I can do this.”

A smile split his face and he smacked my ass. “Atta girl!”

I’m not sure if I blacked out or if it really did only take a few seconds before we were standing on the little platform, hands braced on metal handles on either side of our respective windows as we looked out over the city. The windows were floor to ceiling, just like the ones in my apartment, except we were seventy-four floors higher and the windows were three times as large.

I swallowed.

“Holy shit,” I breathed, scanning the city as the sun set over it. It was really a breathtakingly beautiful sight…

If only I didn’t feel like my heart was coming out of my butt.

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” I said again, over and over, breathing so hard I thought my chest was going to explode.

Zach folded his hand over mine from where he stood to my right, holding me tighter to the railing. Someone tried to get me to turn around for a photo, but I couldn’t.

They snapped a photo of me freaking out from behind.

“Breathe, Gemma. Look at me,” Zach said.

“I can’t.”

“Look at me.”

Sighing, I did as he said, and when I did, my heart flitted in my chest.

God, he was handsome.

The orange and blue glow from the city sunset highlighted the strong features of his face while casting the rest in shadows, and he smiled, that little dimple popping on his cheek as he squeezed where his hand laid over mine.

“I’m right here,” he said, eyebrows lifting. “Okay? Take one deep breath for me, and then we’re doing this.”

I nodded, and took a breath, but it was tiny and labored. Zach kept his eyes on mine, taking deep breath after deep breath and waiting until mine matched his. Once we’d gotten in a solid, long inhale and exhale, he smiled again.

“Here we go.”

I turned back toward the window just in time for the first tilt.

And then I screamed holy murder.

None of the words that flew out of my mouth even made sense, and they were punctuated with F bombs instead of exclamation points. Zach squeezed my hand tighter, laughing, and somehow, by the time we were tilted again, I was laughing, too.

Tears sprung at the corners of my eyes, but not from fear. I couldn’t catch a breath, but not because I was scared. No, all the anxiety had turned to joy, all the screams to laughter. And as I scanned the buildings, the lights, the river — everything that made Chicago the city I loved — I didn’t find a single regret for stepping out onto that ledge.

In fact, I wanted to stay there longer.

“This is incredible!” I screamed, laughing even harder as they tilted us one last time.

“I told you!” Zach squeezed my hand.

“Stop trying to make this moment about you, Zach Bowen.”