Page 88 of The Wrong Game

“Fine,” he conceded, letting out a big breath. “But I’m getting you a gift.”

“No.”

“It’s non-negotiable,” he said, and before I could argue more, his hands slipped into my hair, framing my face as he pulled me in for a kiss. His lips warmed against mine, a sigh leaving both of us as we melted into each other, and he dragged his hands down my shoulders, my arms, my hips, his palms smoothing over my back before he dropped them lower and gripped my ass firmly.

I wasn’t tired anymore.

But he just gripped hard, another longing sigh on his lips before he pulled back, smacked my butt, and winked. Then, he started walking backward toward the elevator with a devilish grin.

“See you soon, birthday girl.”

I stood there, gaping.

“That’s justmean, Zach Bowen.”

“Payback is a bitch, isn’t it? At least you don’t have to watch me leave with another girl.”

I gritted my teeth, but couldn’t fight back the smile. “Okay, fine. That’s fair. But this isn’t over.”

The elevator dinged, and Zach smiled even wider as he slipped one foot inside. But he paused, hanging half-in, half-out of the box as his eyes found mine.

“Thank God for that.”

Zach

Make a wish, birthday girl.

I watched Gemma laugh over the top of the two candles, one in the shape of a three and the other, a zero. Of course, she’d asked for no cake, so instead, the candles sat smushed between a hot dog and the outer buns. It was the strangest thing I’d ever seen.

And it was absolutely perfect.

When she said she didn’t want any fanfare for her thirtieth birthday, it’d taken everything in me to actually listen. I wanted to throw her a big party, or take her out for an expensive night on the town. I wanted to spoil her.

But, she looked happier than I’d ever seen her, surrounded by a few friends from her office, Belle, and the other usual Sunday patrons at Doc’s bar. The Bears had won their one o’clock game against the Minnesota Vikings, and Gemma had celebrated with a round of shots for the entire bar.

She was tipsy, and smiling, and adorable.

Still, as she blew out the candles, laughing and immediately taking a bite of the hot dog once Belle pulled the extinguished candles away, I couldn’t help but stare a little longer. I couldn’t help but think of all I’d come to learn about her in the past week, and all I still had no idea about.

Gemma wasn’t who I thought she was when I first met her.

I thought I had her figured out. It was the classic “girl who’s been hurt and is afraid of love” scenario. I’d seen it in a hundred romantic comedies, and I was ready to step in and play my part as the hero, ready to peel back her layers slowly, to gain her trust and her heart — should we make it that far.

But she’d dropped a bomb on me Wednesday night.

I’d literally laughed out loud at myself on my way home that night, thinking of how over-confident I’d been. I should have known that Gemma was far from the norm, far from any other woman I’d ever met before, and therefore, the story of her past would be the same.

She had been married.

Those words had slipped from her mouth as easily as someone saying they were hungry or tired or that they’d had a long day at work. And after, she didn’t say much else. I supposed there wasn’t really much to say after she told me her husband had passed away, but now, I saw her in a new light.

I saw a completely different woman.

She wasn’t just strong, independent, fiery, and fun. She was a survivor. She had been through something that not many could emerge on the other side of.

I wasn’t sureIcould have, if it’d been me in her shoes.

And still, there was more to the story. There was more to her late husband than she’d told me. I didn’t have an explanation for how I knew that other than I watched her as she talked, as we walked those city streets, and I felt it. I felt her holding back, being careful with her words, revealing only what she wanted to in that moment.