Doc launched into a story from that week at the bar, one I’d already heard but was new to Dad. And as the smoke danced with the warm September wind on the porch, I finally let myself think about the woman everyone had asked me about all night.
Gemma Mancini.
Damn, did she come out of nowhere and knock me on my ass.
If I hadn’t already done a double-take at her long, dark, thick curtain of hair falling over her shoulders when she walked in the bar, if her almost neon-green eyes hadn’t been enough to make me want to know her name, if the way the Chicago Bears jersey she wore didn’t stretch across her curves like a dream — I still would have wanted to know more after the words her friend spoke.
“A friend who could, potentially, rail you into next year with his hammer cock.”
Um, I volunteer as tribute.
She’d simply laughed at me when she realized I’d overheard, placing her drink order with me like I was nothing special. And I guess to her, I probably wasn’t. After all, I was just the bartender. I was just some guy taking her order as she listened to her friend go on and on about her need to get laid.
Again, if she’s looking for a volunteer…
But I’d given her space, filled her drink order without much more than a smile and a nod as her friend set her up on a dating app. I noted her dark, exotic features from a distance, wondering if she laid out every day in the sun to get that tan or if it was just her natural hue. I wondered who, if anyone, got to kiss those plump, burgundy lips of hers. And more than anything, I wondered what the hell I could say to her to get her to see me — really see me — before she walked out of that bar.
It wasn’t until her friend walked away, until I saw Gemma sitting there all alone, staring at her phone like it might explode in the next second that I knew I had to talk to her.
She was talking football with the other guys at the bar, and call me cliché, but any chick who loves a sport enough to talk the way she was is a turn on. And since it was the sport I had loved my whole life, the one I grew up on, the one that left me more heartbroken than any woman ever had? Well, I was a sucker for it.
But, it was more than just the sport talk.
There was something about her eyes, the vulnerability behind them, the mixture of excitement and absolute fear laced within her irises as she stepped out of her comfort zone. I didn’t know her story, but it was easy to see she hadn’t done this before — the whole dating app thing. And since I hated it as much as the next person in this generation, I wanted to save her from the misery.
So, I told her to date me, instead.
I smiled as a new cloud of smoke escaped my lips, running over our playful conversation. I’d always been quick on my feet when it came to getting a girl in the sack with me, but most girls didn’t fight back. Most girls don’t call me on my shit.
Gemma Mancini had no problem doing just that.
I’d had to try for her, and I had no doubt that if I wanted more than one date with her, I’d have to try even harder tomorrow night.
From what I’d gathered, she was determined to take a new guy to every home game this season. Why, I had no idea. Maybe she didn’t want to date. Maybe, like her friend insinuated, she really did just want to get laid and had no interest in banging the same guy twice.
But I saw it, what her friend didn’t.
Gemma didn’t want some random guy touching her.
She wanted the guy touching her — the guy who turns her on, the guy who makes her feel safe, and comfortable.
Her red-headed friend might be the type that can fuck with no strings, that is perfectly content having a guy inside her one night and then never speaking to him again.
But Gemma isn’t that girl.
And I intended to prove it.
It sounded crazy, I realized, as I took another pull of my cigar, that I already felt like I knew her. In fact, if I said any of this out loud to anyone, I was sure I’d hear how much of a cocky asshole I was being.
But I’d never had a problem being cocky.
Especially when I knew I was right.
“Hey, think you could swing by a little early on Thursday?” Doc asked me when our cigars were spent, pulling me to the side after Dad had gone back in the house. “I know you work the late shift for the game, but I wanted to talk to you about something.”
I smiled, but something in Doc’s eyes made my stomach sink. He was watching me like whatever it was that he wanted to talk to me about wasn’t good news, and suddenly, I felt my heart beating in my throat.
God, please don’t say you have to let me go.
The bar had been busier than ever, but I knew the strip we sat on down in the South Loop was growing in popularity. Maybe rent was going up. Maybe Doc couldn’t afford to pay me anymore.
Then again, he couldn’t afford to pay me when he first hired me, either.
But he did it anyway.
“Sure, Doc,” I said after a moment, swallowing. “I’ll come in early. Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” he said quickly, forcing a worn smile. He clapped me on the back. “We’ll talk more then. For now, you just focus on that girl of yours.”
“She’s not my girl. We just met. We talked for like ten minutes.”
“Mm-hmm,” Doc said, cocking a brow as he pulled the sliding glass door open. “A girl who loves football almost as much as you do. Try not to come in your pants before you make it to the seats, okay?”
A laugh shot out of me, and Doc disappeared inside, both of us knowing I wouldn’t make a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep.
Gemma
It’s just a practice round.
I played that thought on repeat like a Britney Spears song circa 1999 as I got ready for the game Sunday afternoon.
Whenever my anxiety flared, whenever my nerves were rattled, all I had to do to calm myself was suppress those thoughts and focus on doing something.
So, I did my nails, and my hair, and my makeup. I shaved my legs and my arm pits and, just in case, my lady bits. I lotioned up and sprayed myself with my best perfume. And by the time I walked out the door and climbed into a cab, I was the best-smelling, smoothest, calmest version of me I could manage.
“Heading to the game, I presume?” the cabbie asked me, his kind eyes offering a smile in the rearview mirror.
“You got it.”
“Should be a good one. You going alone?”
“Meeting a…” I paused. “…friend there.”
“Lucky friend.”
I smirked at him, and he smiled in return, turning up the volume on the pre-game show as we made our way to the stadium. Cabbies in any other city in America would have asked me what music I wanted to listen to, but on game day in the windy city? There was no other option — it was game day, and that was all that mattered.
Excitement fluttered through me as we cruised across town toward the stadium, traffic getting thicker as we approached the south side.
It had been a long year.
I didn’t like to reflect on the past much. My grandfather had taught me when I was younger that there was no sense focusing on the past because you couldn’t change it, no matter how much you thought about it. All you could do was ask yourself what you regretted, what you loved, and what you learned. Then, you moved forward.
It was because of my grandpa that I adopted the “make a plan, keep it moving” mindset. My parents traveled a lot when I was younger, thanks to their careers as motivational speakers, and so I spent more time with my grandfather than I did with either of them. Funny enough, though they were the ones motivating people all over the country, I was more driven by my grandfather. He was a veteran, a simple country man, and he didn’t take any shit from anyone.
He tried to teach me to do the same.
Still, though I knew he would have hated it, I couldn’t help but think of him as the cab carried me across town. He was a huge Bears fan, and I wouldn’t have even had a date tonight if he’d been alive. He woul
d have been there in the seat next to me, and he would have helped me get over Carlo and move on with my life. He always knew the right things to say.
But he wasn’t here, anymore. Just like Carlo wasn’t.
It seemed everyone I loved in my life was destined to leave in some way.
Yes, it had been a long year. A sad year. And the closer we got to the stadium, the more I realized how ready I was for football, for the first regular season home game with a crowd all singing “Bear Down” together.
And when we pulled up to Soldier Field, it felt like I was coming home.
“This is fine, I can walk from here.” I handed the driver a twenty, popping the door open and smiling at the sound of the crowd filtering in. “Keep the change.”
“Have fun. Go Bears!”
“Go Bears!”
Once the door was shut and my navy blue Keds touched the concrete in front of the stadium, my stomach fell down to meet them.
I’m about to go on a date.
My palms sparked with heat, heart picking up the pace at my realization. I couldn’t date. I hadn’t had to date since Carlo, and even then, we’d met so young that dating wasn’t really dating. We’d met my first year of college, when he was working as a graduate assistant. Our version of dating was him walking me across campus to class or studying together in the library.
But before the nerves could take over, I closed my eyes and reminded myself.
It’s not a date. It’s a football game.
I am in control.
I pulled out my phone to text Zach, but before my fingers could touch down on the keys, Belle’s face lit up my screen. I slid the button at the bottom to answer her call, smiling.
“How’s your pussy?”
“Oh, my God, Belle.”
“Still empty? What time does the game end again?”
“It hasn’t even started. I just got here.”
“Oh, how does he look? What’s he wearing? Oh, my God, are you freaking out?”
I blew out a breath. “I wasn’t, until you called.”
“Is he with you?”
“I’m trying to find him now. Which means I have to go.”
“Just text him while you’re on the phone with me.”
“GOODBYE, BELLE.”
I hung up before she could protest, smiling and shaking my head. Then, I shot out a text to Zach to meet me in front of the Big Beaver Totem Pole at the north entrance.
As I made my way through the tailgating tents, I felt that excitement buzzing to life again. I’d been to so many Bears games, I couldn’t count them all — but this was my first year having season passes. My grandfather had season passes when he was younger, and he would bring me every now and then, letting me hang with him and his war buddies as they tailgated before the game. I wanted to tailgate, too. I wanted to start traditions, to build memories tied around football season.
I was supposed to do just that, with Carlo.
I bought the tickets before I found out about his affair, before I found out about his illness. In my mind, I pictured us buying a tent and chairs, a long table to play games on, a portable grill. I saw our friends tailgating with us, imagined us high-fiving the other season pass holders around us every time we scored — just the way my grandfather had.
It was supposed to be ours — this day, these tickets, these memories. He’d been all I could think about when I envisioned the Bears season, and I thought I was all he could think about, too.
Now, I knew he wasn’t even thinking of me at all.
He was too busy thinking about her.
When I reached the totem, I briefly debated leaving. I hadn’t even walked inside the stadium and already, I couldn’t stop thinking about Carlo.
I wasn’t ready for this.
But I didn’t have the chance to change my mind.
“Wow.”
A whistle rang out, and when I turned around, it was Zach. His brows were all the way up in his hairline as he took in my tiny, ripped-up jean shorts and Chicago Bears tank top. I felt his gaze like it was a fire thrower, warming my skin from my ankles all the way back up to my cheeks.
“I hope our seats aren’t too close, because there’s no way those players are going to be able to focus on the ball if you’re in viewing range.”
“That usually works for you, doesn’t it?” I volleyed, stepping closer. The breeze picked up his cologne, and it mixed with the smell of grilling and turf, wafting up the most intoxicating scent.
He chuckled, hands slipping into the pockets of his shorts. His dark hair was styled with a bit of gel, not quite as unruly as it had been at the bar. I couldn’t decide which look I liked more.
“Usually, yes. How did it do for you?”
I shrugged. “I think you can do better. Here,” I said, handing him his ticket. “Should we get inside? I don’t want to miss kick-off.”
“You’re the boss.”
His eyes flashed to my chest again when he swiped the ticket from my hands, and I laughed, shaking my head and leading the way through the crowd toward the entrance. I was thankful for the warm weather for the first regular season game, especially since I knew I’d be bundled up soon enough.
Zach didn’t seem to mind the outfit, either.
My hands shook a little as we went through security and had our tickets scanned, and once we were flowing with the crowd toward our seats, I noticed how silent we’d been the entire walk in. I glanced at Zach, but as soon as his eyes found mine, I pulled my gaze away, scanning the food stands as we passed, instead.
I didn’t realize I was wringing my hands together until Zach’s palm covered them where they were wrapped together in front of me.
“Hey,” he said, his eyes finding mine. “It’s just a game. Remember?”
I swallowed.
“You love football. So do I. Let’s drink a few beers and have some fun, yeah?”
At that, a slow, long breath escaped my lips, and I smiled. “Yeah.”
He grinned back at me. “Cool. I’ll grab two beers then. You hungry yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Okay. Go get settled in, watch the pre-game festivities. I’ll meet you at our seats.”
“No, no,” I said, forcing a steadier breath. “I’ll wait.”
His hand brushed the small of my back, that same smirk on his lips as he turned toward one of the stands. “Okay, then. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
I watched him go, chest still a little tight, eyes fixed on the way the muscles in his back flexed under his Bears t-shirt.
Relax, Gemma. This will be fun.
I repeated that mantra the entire time he ordered our beers, and it got louder and louder in my head as we made our way to the seats. I couldn’t help but cast glances at Zach’s face as we got lower and lower, the field only seven short rows away from our row.
“Gemma, these seats are incredible,” he said when we wiggled past the others in our row and took our seats. He set his beer in the holder, eyes scanning the field. “I’ve never sat this close before.”
“I wanted to be by the end zone,” I said, nodding to where our guys were warming up. “I know we’re not close enough for it, but I’ve always loved when the guys score and get so hyped that they jump into the crowd.”
“Well, like I said, if they see you?” Zach shook his head. “They might break records with how high they jump.”
I blushed, biting back a smile.
“So, can I ask… why did you buy two tickets? I mean, from what your friend was saying at the bar, she’s not a huge sports fan. And I know your new plan but… it wasn’t the original one, right?”
My throat constricted, and I reached for my beer to swallow down the cotton ball lodged in my esophagus before it could grow.
“I bought them for someone else… originally,” I explained. “But, I don’t really want to talk about it. If that’s okay.”
Zach watched me, his eyes so intense that I had to tear mine away. I watched the field instead
, hoping he wouldn’t push.
“Alright,” he said after a moment. “Hey, look at me.”
I didn’t.
“Gemma,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m not going to see all your secrets if you look at me for a second.”
I smiled a little at that, but when my eyes met his again, I wasn’t so sure.
“I’m here for a good time, just like you. Okay? You hold the reins. Whatever you want to talk about, we talk about. Whatever you don’t?” He shrugged. “Well, then, we don’t. You’re in control here.”
A heavy, relieved sigh left my chest. He had no idea what those words meant to me, how they triggered me in all the right ways.
And yet, somehow, maybe he did.
I am in control, I repeated, and then, I smiled.
Because with those words? All the nerves were gone.
And the game had just begun.
“ARE YOU KIDDING?! OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES, REF!”
Zach’s brows shot up at my outburst, and I swiped my beer from where it was resting in the cup holder, taking a big swig and slamming it back down again.
“Ridiculous, this guy is blind.” I turned to Zach for confirmation of my obviously correct assessment, and he just laughed, tossing a kernel of popcorn in his mouth.
“This is amazing to watch,” he said.
“The game?”
“You. Watching the game.”
I flushed, fighting back a smile as I brought my attention to the field for the next play. We were down by three, and less than two minutes away from half time.
And still, even with us being down and the refs being blind, I was having fun.
Maybe it was the beer helping my nerves, or maybe it was Zach. From the moment we sat down, we’d talked, and laughed, and cheered, and — when the occasion was right — boo’d together in solidarity. We were high-fiving all the fans around us when we scored, singing the lyrics to “Bear Down” at the top of our lungs, and talking smack about the other team to anyone not wearing a Bears jersey.
Zach Bowen was the perfect football buddy.
But as comfortable as he’d somehow made me, he still couldn’t make our team win. They had to do that on their own. With less than two minutes to go before halftime, we needed to score, and the ref calling holding on us wasn’t helping.
The Wrong Game: A Sports Romance Page 4
